Next Stop, Shibuya

It isn’t until you truly live in Tokyo that you are able to peel back the city in all of its glory. With a metropolitan population boasting about 37 million people, it can feel like an endless maze of urbanity. To put it into perspective, that’s more people than the entire population of Canada. Mixing the ultramodern and traditional, Tokyo offers everything from age-old shrines to fluorescently-lit skyscrapers– sometimes even on the same street. 

This past summer, I had the chance to go on an exchange to Tokyo. After studying Japanese for almost five years, I was more than ready to explore the mega-city. I am left with fond memories of returning home from restless nights of karaoke, vocal cords destroyed, half-asleep on the subway with my head leaning on my friend’s lap. In those moments, there was only one thing that could shake my drowsiness— but more on that later.  

When it comes to cultural nuances, Japan has no shortage.You’ll quickly realize the intricacies of chopstick etiquette, learn the different levels of bowing, and remember to take off your shoes before stepping foot in a restaurant. It won’t be long before you notice that strollers are designed for dogs, not babies, and that the high-tech smart toilets have more buttons than your average TV remote. Looking for a quick snack? You’ll find an assortment of vending machines and convenient stores on every block. Trying to buy a drink at the bar? There’s a good chance that a robot is ready to fetch your order. 

I could go on and on, but there’s one thing about my experience abroad that really stuck with me: the public transportation system. 

Japan is known for its extensive railway network, making it the primary mode of transportation in big cities like Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka. In Greater Tokyo alone, the Metro and subway lines manage 15 million daily commuters. At Shinjuku station, the largest and busiest station in the world, there are over 3.5 million people a day that use it as a connecting hub. Even after walking through the hustle and bustle a hundred times over, I found it impossible to get accustomed to the whirlwind of steadfast travelers. 

Just like the customs that apply to everything else in Japan, taking a train comes with its own idiosyncrasies. 

You never need to stress about running on time as it’s a rarity for a train to be more than a second late. The railway operators take pride in running on time to appeal to the Japanese obsession with punctuality. 

Once you’re boarded, you won’t see anyone scarfing down a last-minute meal. It’s an unspoken rule that eating in public is a no-no. Same goes for chatting on the phone. No one wants to hear you talk to your mom about the mysterious rash on your shoulder. 

Right when you’re feeling like a sardine in a can, a sound from above wil serenade the crowd. 

What you’re hearing is an eki-mero, or a train station melody, that signals the arrival and departure of a train from its station. On the Tokyo Metro, over 110 uniquely-crafted jingles have been written for the railway lines. 

In 1971, Keihan Electric Railway became the first private railway company in Japan to introduce train melodies. They were used to encourage passengers to on-board and disembark in a timely but unrushed manner. The tunes were designed to match the average 7-second dwell time at a station. 

Imemuri, meaning drifting off in public spaces, is common among Japanese workers.

After receiving positive public reaction, the use of train melodies gained immense popularity in Japan. Nowadays, the chimes are intended to help busy commuters recognize their location with minimal effort. So long are the days of looking up from your phone or waking up from your nap, the Tokyo Metro has got you covered with a built-in alarm clock. 

The mastermind behind the urban soundtrack is Minoru Mukaiya, an illustrious keyboardist and densha otaku (train fanatic). Before his infamous train jingles, he played in a jazz-fusion band called Casiopea. Formed in 1976, Casiopea’s style incorporated groovy bass riffs, sleek chord progressions, and upbeat tempos. Throw on their self-titled debut album, and the sound will make you feel like you’re in a live-action Wii Resort, kicking back on Wuhu Island. 

To no surprise, video game music in the 80s and 90s was often inspired by jazz-fusion. Listen to T-Square’s “Sister Marian” (skip to 1:03) and recall the Super Mario Bros. theme song and you’ll see what I mean. Due to the limitations of an 8-bit sound chip, video game music tends to experiment with melody at their forefront, and is thus inspired by novel melodic content. The ingrained appreciation of melody allows eki-mero to be embraced as a cultural staple.

Thirty-five years later, with several Casiopea albums and world tours in the bag, Mukaiya had the art of playing synthesizers down pat. His focus then shifted to his other passion, where he formed a company that builds train simulators. 

If there’s one person suited for the job of composing sticky melodies, it’s undoubtedly Minoru Mukaiya. When producing the platform jingles, Mukaiya takes an approach that’s nothing short of creative genius.  Along the Tozai Line of the Tokyo Metro, the melody forms an entire song from the first stop to the last. For areas that are heavily populated with students, like Waseda or Ikebukuro station, Mukaiya designs melodies to appeal to younger generations. In newer areas, he will use state-of-the-art keyboards and modern workstations. On the other hand, in older areas, he will use old Japanese instruments and FM Synthesizers. The jingle at Ebisu station even samples the catchy tune from the locally-renowned commercials of Ebisu Brewery.

Looking back, life in Tokyo wouldn’t be the same without its quirks and quarks. Taking the train to traverse Tokyo’s sprawl was a vital part of my day-to-day that got me A to B faster than a Canadian train system ever could. It wasn’t until I took the TTC in Toronto that I realized how much I missed the memorable jingles. The monotonous beep that signaled my arrival at Union Station was far from an earworm. Not to mention the absence of cell service— I didn’t miss the feeling of refreshing my Google Maps repeatedly to make sure the route wouldn’t be delayed. 

It didn’t take long for me to begin daydreaming about my time in Japan. With my memories coloured by the distinct jingles, it was a visceral reminder of the ways in which music finds home outside of our headphones, cascading into the soundscapes of our reality.

Header by: Valerie Letts