The Mystery of Natural Farming Unraveled Through the Process of Hip-Hop

Afrika Bambaataa, a legend who had been active since the 70s before hip-hop was even called hip-hop, passed away on April 9th, and the news spread across the world in an instant.

Originally a gang leader, he advocated for non-violence and unity, spreading the philosophy of "Peace, Love, Unity and Having Fun." Afrofuturism is still cool today.

I love hip-hop, and its process in particular has influenced my life and work.

Most of them were low-income African Americans who would record sounds from their parents' old records using battered samplers picked up from city trash cans, then cut and paste them to compose music.

They rapped their assertions to the rhythm, graffiti art was born from scribbles, and breakdancing, influenced by kung fu movies, emerged as a way to show off high physical prowess.

It was also utilized to mediate conflicts between local gangs. That is why hip-hop has a tough vibe.

In other words, culture as a survival strategy is the starting point of hip-hop.

By ripping off others' music, combining it, and turning sound systems and turntables into a new art form, it was created as a culture to avert local crises.

I am simply in awe of the human "will to live."

By the way, turntables and samplers were made in Japan. It is said that hip-hop was born precisely because Japanese people created the tools.

At first, I just liked the funky groove, but as I learned about the music, I resonated with the mindset behind its production process.

In my 20s, I was producing music in collaboration with overseas labels. Once you do music to a certain extent, your interest deepens in seeking originality that is not just an imitation of others.

My encounter with hip-hop was between my teens and early 20s.

I was shocked by the process of sampling parts of existing music and combining them to create new music.

The feeling of picking up things that seem good and patching them together to express something within myself is the most valuable thing I learned from hip-hop.

That was also applied to the "mystery" of natural farming as of 2011.

One year in the field is invaluable.

To make natural farming a success, I test-cultivated over 10 varieties of native rice.

I verified various environments, timings, and varieties.

Furthermore, whenever I had time, I visited producers from Hokkaido in the north to Kyushu in the south, and if I found a good hint, I would immediately try it out in my own field.

Anyway, after repeating a patchwork of new methods and potential varieties for about ten years, with a batting average of maybe 20 or 30 percent, and piling failure upon failure, I managed to establish a certain pattern for cultivation, and annual sales reached nearly 10 million yen.

Eventually, the patchwork became part of my style, much like a skin graft that gradually blends in.

In the end, that style was not 'my original' creation; rather, it was the environment, timing, and varieties permitted by that specific location that led to the most stable and sustainable farming.

I came to realize that the way permitted by the place, the soil, and the climate was far more sustainable than anything I could have imposed.

In Azumino, where the Hida Mountains cause typhoons to veer off course, Norin No. 22 rice was a good fit, Tsukui Zairai soybeans thrived, and ancient wheat grew well despite the severe cold.

In this way, things settled into a surprisingly simple state. What was essentially a translation of the way the place existed inevitably became my style.

By the way, the miso and soy sauce made from these using mountain groundwater are exquisite umami extracts layered with multiple patchworks, and I hope to brew them again in large vats with a brewery that shares my sensibilities.

In the world, there is often talk about how imitation—or 'ripping off'—is wrong, or about plagiarism.

However, as long as the observer is different, it will never be exactly the same.

Furthermore, if you are overflowing with creativity, repeating that process endlessly will eventually brew something that is uniquely yours.

I believe that if you keep imitating what you think is good, your own originality will eventually emerge.

If you feel you still lack originality, perhaps you just haven't imitated enough.

To use an analogy,

'a creation of gathering pieces of your own shattered mirror'

is what it is like, and in the end, you see yourself reflected in the mirror.

It was hip-hop that gave me that inspiration, and one of the creators of that culture was Afrika Bambaataa.

I offer my heartfelt condolences.

Thank you for reading.