On December 3, 2010, NHK Hi-Vision broadcast a special on Toshiko Akiyoshi, then 81. Discovered by Oscar Peterson, she moved to Berklee, performed with jazz legends, and explored identity through music. From her big-band debut Kogun to her Hiroshima-themed composition and the profound “Hope,” her artistry deepened over decades. Despite illness, she rebuilt her piano playing, proving resilience. The program revealed not just a musician but a thinker, leaving a message of respect and hope for the next century.

A record of watching a documentary about Toshiko Akiyoshi that aired on NHK on December 3, 2010. The author is deeply moved by her presence as an active artist at the age of 81, writing about her extraordinary talent and human depth. The essay describes her struggles after being discovered by Oscar Peterson and moving to the U.S. alone, the emotional turmoil of leaving her daughter with her family, and her relentless search for her identity as a Japanese person in the mecca of jazz. It relives her challenges and conflicts, including her big band’s fusion of “tsuzumi” (a traditional Japanese drum) and jazz, her work on the theme of Hiroshima, and her recovery from a debilitating hand condition. The author is particularly struck by the “first note” of her final performance of “Hope,” passionately advocating for the power of “sound” created by a true artist and the richness that such an experience brings to one’s life.

NHK Hi-Vision aired the “Toshiko Akiyoshi Special” at 8:00 p.m.
December 3, 2010

(It has just ended. She is 81 years old… like Fumichi Saito, who wrote Kenji Miyazawa as a Scientist after turning 80. What extraordinary people they are—another true giant has emerged.)

She came from New York at NHK’s invitation.

(I had felt a bit heavy-hearted after work. Though I keep recordings of jazz masters in iTunes, I rarely listen to jazz. Still, I overcame that reluctance and was glad I watched from the beginning.)

(She opened the program by playing the piece she always performs at concerts…)

In 1953, at what was said to be Japan’s first live house, the Tennessee Café, she was discovered during Oscar Peterson’s Japan tour. With his support, she released Toshiko’s Piano. Then she went to the United States alone, enrolling at Berklee College of Music in Boston.

She performed with Louis Armstrong, Dizzy Gillespie, Duke Ellington, and others.

Marriage and divorce followed.

To raise her child, she went to the employment office… she could do nothing, not even typing. Her sister took the child in, and her mother was still alive then…

“Money can’t solve the most important things, but it can solve so many others.” At that time, she barely managed to pay the rent.

So she entrusted her child to her family. That was a mistake.

(She tried to hide it, but when she casually placed her hand on her throat, I realized she was crying inside. Later, the camera caught her face—those normally clear eyes were slightly clouded.)

Then she worked without sleep to earn money, even funding her own concerts.

Being Japanese in jazz. Standing at the front always requires success.

She remarried Lew Tabackin. At one point, she thought of quitting jazz.

She asked herself, “Who am I?” After reading Junzō Karaki’s Philosophy of the Useless, she confronted her own existence. Amid racial tensions and black riots, being Asian seemed comical. Feeling worthless, she seriously considered her meaning of existence.

Perhaps if she had stayed in Japan, she would never have felt that way. Always gasping for air, wondering where she stood as a jazz musician.

Her famous big-band debut piece “Kogun” played. (I was shocked by the opening note—it was incredible.)

She said she dedicated the piece to the memory of Lieutenant Onodera, whose figure had deeply moved her. His pain, following orders from above, resonated with her.

The drum flows sideways, jazz flows vertically. Combining the two took much time.

What she possessed naturally emerged. She thought Japanese fans might reject it, but instead, they responded with astonished acceptance.

When Duke Ellington died, she reflected: “He cherished and was proud of being Black. I should also dig into my own tradition. By expressing Japan, I can repay jazz.”

(Her sound was astonishing. Though I had known her name and achievements, this was my first real listening—truly overwhelming.)

In 2001, she released a piece themed on Hiroshima. (Again astonishing—the tenor sax had a profound beauty.)

“As a musician, I recorded it in the language of jazz. I never want such tragedy repeated. At first, I wanted to refuse the commission after seeing shocking photographs. But one image of a young woman looking upward, with such a beautiful expression, inspired me. It showed me that people can always hold onto hope.”

She developed a disease that caused her hands to contract, leading to the dissolution of her big band. Instead, she resolved to focus on piano. After surgery and rehabilitation, she cried upon first playing again.

“When building, the foundation must be solid. I lived in an age when the jazz giants were alive, and I played with them. That is my treasure.”

“Daily training must be intense. I am still immature, must study more. Technically, I haven’t caught up with my twenties. But musically, I think I’ve improved. The sound is better.” (I agree—the sound was extraordinary.)

“Performing means playing what you think… That is why…”

We can’t win but we can try. That is life.

“I feel something new will happen. What I find, I hope, will be something everyone shares.”

Be kind to yourself… “You have so much—don’t stop here.” That’s how Americans put it.

Finally, she played “Hope.”
(It was extraordinary—the resonance from the very first note was profound, deep, and magnificent.)

A message for 100 years ahead:
“Though religions still divide us, I hope 100 years from now they will not. I hope people will respect each other, and be respected in return, to make the Earth a better place—if the Earth still exists.”

(So, no matter how heavy the feeling after work, one must overcome it. You must watch what should be watched. That was my realization at 8 p.m. today.)

The difference is truly vast—just like in life. If you had spent that time watching trivial variety shows, you and I would be a whole world apart. Perhaps through my live account, you can catch up halfway. (laughs)

https://youtu.be/lJ5mlrv2Z8s?si=hXhB0vCIGoLWPYcE