Watching Ryuichi Sakamoto’s Final Performance.
Rarely, if ever, are we able to convey to the artists who’ve influenced us the full impact they’ve made on us. On Saturday I was able to do just that when I met one of my biggest musical influences, Sampha, a great pianist, electronic producer and prominent collaborator within the R&B and Hip-Hop scene. In front of The Showbox, I was able to tell him that he was one of the reasons I started taking the piano seriously. Between choked up tears and shock I briefly spoke with him about his music as well as Ryuichi Sakamoto, who’s posthumous gift in the form of the film Opus I’d be seeing the next day. I often wish I could speak to Sakamoto about his influence on me as I did with Sampha, but I soon learned that there are still ways to do so with others.
The following afternoon I arrived at the local showing of Opus to find a fully packed lobby of about 90 people waiting to watch Sakamoto’s final performance on the big screen. There were so many diverse walks of life in attendance: young, old, African, Japanese, European you name it. The audience was a beautiful reflection of Sakamoto’s own production and influences ranging from Japanese, European and traditional African/Indian music. As I began to speak with other attendees I was able to truly perceive the range and impact Sakamoto had with his art.
We began sharing stories of how we first heard of Ryuichi Sakamoto. For me, the story I shared was of how I first recognized his work on Michael Jackson’s posthumous album Michael through his cover of Behind the Mask. As I did research, I learned retroactively that Sakamoto composed many works that I was already a fan of ranging from the Sega Dreamcast opening to Dawn of Mana’s opening theme to directly influencing Afrika Bambaataa’s Planet Rock with his track Riot in Lagos. Other’s shared that they first heard Sakamoto’s work through their love of David Bowie in Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence, through years of following Yellow Magic Orchestra’s rise within the electronic music scene or through learning piano themselves. Every story was completely unique, a testament to the broad range of the artist’s discography.
While the lobby of the film was full of life and joyful conversation, sitting within the theater as the performance began was a complete juxtaposition. The theater entered into a completely different world once the film started. The audience fell completely silent and expressionless as Sakamoto appeared on screen.
No dramatic title drop, no introduction, just pure silence, the audience and Ryuichi Sakamoto sitting at the piano.
Sakamoto began the film by playing a rendition of The Little Buddha Theme. I smiled a bit but felt my heart drop as we all watched. There was a sort of tense, somber atmosphere in the air; the kind that you feel when everyone’s collectively waiting for their name to be eliminated at an award show. We were all watching the final performance of someone who’s music was a part of our lives and it washed everyone like a slow, sweeping wave. I’ve never had a theater experience this quiet before.
I watched as Sakamoto bounced between physically struggling to play certain songs, enjoying the resonance the sound was emitting to having fun conducting himself as he played as if he were in front of an orchestra. Watching someone go through so many emotions and memories of their own music gave me so many conflicting feelings of joy, sorrow and appreciation. You could see through their reminiscing expressions how Sakamoto and the audience recall the special spaces and times these songs took up within their lives. I realized that this is where I want to be with own my work when I’m older. Still enjoying it with everyone as if it were the first time I’m hearing it.
Each time a new song would start I could see individuals in the crowd resonate with them completely differently. It made me realize how valuable it is to have a diverse body of work ranging over decades. Older fans shifted and began to smile when the cover of the Yellow Magic Orchestra track Tong Poo began, as if they were recalling the first time they went to a YMO concert. Others began to cry when their favorite film composition played, as if it were the first time they watched it with their family. But everyone in the theater wiped away tears when Sakamoto played the first 3 notes of Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence. By this point, everyone had shed tears but the audience was suddenly filled with a soundscape of sniffles and sobbing. The woman next to me put her head down and started shaking. I’ve been to plenty of concerts that gave me a sonder experience but something about sharing this intimate experience with so many different walks of life made me realize the true power that music can have on humanity.
While the artist may not be here, their legacy and message still remains and is passed on through those it reached. The final shots of the film are Sakamoto’s piano playing the final notes of his last performance on their own, his body gone.
The final words of the film appear before forever cutting to black:
“Ars Longa, Vita Brevis. Art is long; life is short.”
