Why Is Japan a Jazz Paradise—or—Why the Japanese Feel at Home in Jazz?

Part 1 | Part 2

Why is Japan such a jazz-loving nation?

No other country has reissued so many classic jazz albums as Japan. From Blue Note to Riverside to Prestige, masterpieces are constantly being revived—remastered with pristine sound, released in exclusive paper sleeves, or in ultra-high-quality formats like SHM-CD or SACD. Some albums long out of print even in the U.S. have been revived only in Japan.

For instance, Bill Evans' Waltz for Debby and Sunday at the Village Vanguard have seen multiple reissues over the decades—and will be released again this fall in a UHQCD version in Japan.

And it's not just about records. Japan is home to a huge variety of jazz literature: translations of biographies, encyclopedias, deep musical analysis, and even books with titles like Jazz as Cultural Literacy. Clearly, jazz in Japan is not niche—it's a serious cultural presence.

Jazz cafes and live venues exist even in small provincial cities, and Tokyo alone boasts around 90-100 jazz clubs. Across Japan, estimates suggest hundreds of live venues—more than almost anywhere else in the world.

In Japan, jazz isn't just played in clubs or on stage. You'll hear it in shopping malls, department stores, restaurants, cafés, and even noodle shops. I was once genuinely surprised to hear Coltrane's My Favorite Things playing in a tiny ramen shop in Yokohama. Nobody blinked. In fact, everyone seems perfectly at ease, as if the music naturally belongs there. Whether anyone is actually listening, though, is anyone's guess.

So, why is jazz so alive here? Why do Japanese listeners connect with this music so deeply?

Can the Japanese really understand jazz?

A fair question—especially when you remember Japan was isolated for more than 200 years during the Edo period (1639—1854), when Western music was virtually nonexistent. It wasn't until the Meiji Restoration in the late 19th century that classical music, and eventually jazz and pop, began to enter Japanese life.

And yet, jazz struck a chord.

Some examples of Japanese jazz publications

Kind of Blue and Japanese Ink Painting

When I lived in New York (1994-2001), I was often asked by Americans, "Why is jazz so popular in Japan? How could people from such a faraway island really understand this music?"

My answer was simple: "Because jazz and Japanese aesthetics share something profound."

In the liner notes for Kind of Blue, Bill Evans wrote:

"There is a Japanese visual art in which the artist is forced to be spontaneous. He must paint on a thin stretched parchment with a special brush and black water paint in such a way that an unnatural or interrupted stroke will destroy the line or break through the parchment. Erasures or changes are impossible..."

He was describing sumi-e, Japanese ink painting—a one-shot act of expressive precision, where every brushstroke must carry intention. That same spirit lives in jazz improvisation: no edits, no second takes—only truth in the moment.

The simplicity of black ink on white paper also echoes the pared-down clarity of modal jazz, especially in Kind of Blue.

We Japanese understand this. We live in the moment. And so does jazz.

Japanese Ink painting (Sumi-e) by Sesshu

Ichigo-Ichie & Eric Dolphy

"When you hear music, after it's over, it's gone, in the air. You can never capture it again." —Eric Dolphy

This quote reminds me of the Japanese concept of Ichigo-Ichie—"one time, one meeting." A Zen-inspired phrase that reminds us to treasure every moment as it will never recur.

Jazz improvisation is exactly that: a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Even if we play the same tune with the same people, we can never recreate the same feeling. That's the joy. That's the beauty. That's jazz, isn't it?

Ma—The Art of Space

A Dutch drummer friend of mine, who lives in Japan, once said:

"Lately, I've been studying Ma in my drumming."

Ma (間) refers to the space between things—not just silence, but active presence. It's the silence between notes, the breath between phrases, the tension between movements.

Unlike a Western rest, Ma is a time to listen.

In traditional Japanese music (shakuhachi, koto, etc.), Ma defines mastery. Similarly, in jazz, the timing of silence—or delay—shapes swing and groove. That tiny delay behind the beat? It's Ma in motion.

"Ma"—the empty space seen in traditional Japanese home

Shu-Ha-Ri and the Path of Jazz

There's an old Japanese concept: Shu-Ha-Ri—

Shu (守): follow the form
Ha (破): break the form
Ri (離): transcend the form

First taught in 14th-century Noh theater, it describes the path to mastery. You learn the rules. You challenge the rules. Then, you rise above them.

Jazz musicians do this instinctively—whether it's John Coltrane, Ornette Coleman, or today's young artists. We absorb what came before, break it open, and search for freedom.

Isn't that the heart of jazz?

SHu-Ha-Ri in Japanese calligraphy

In Closing

Maybe now you see why jazz speaks so deeply to the Japanese spirit.

Through Ma, Ichigo-Ichie, and Shu-Ha-Ri, we find in jazz something we've always known. And maybe—just maybe—that's why Japan has become a jazz paradise.

Of course, playing jazz is never easy.

But we try—with sincerity, spirit, and deep respect for every moment.

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