“I didn’t understand the full extent of the Hiroshima tragedy until I went to study abroad.”

He knew he would be a composer after hearing a work by Toru Takemitsu on the radio as a child. However, it wasn't Japanese tradition that attracted him in his youth: what he admired was the European avant-garde. He moved to Berlin and immediately fit in with the famous Darmstadt Summer Courses... However, it was precisely while abroad that he felt compelled to explore his roots, from the gagaku music of the imperial court to Noh theater and Zen thought. Toshio Hosokawa (Hiroshima, 1955) is today the most important Japanese composer and a defining figure on the international scene. Yesterday, he collected the BBVA Frontiers of Knowledge Award in Bilbao.

The jury considers you the greatest exponent of the synthesis between Eastern and Western, "a bridge between Japanese musical tradition and contemporary Western aesthetics." How would you define those bridges you've built?

It's hard to say because it's not intentional; I don't try to be a bridge between East and West. There's a point where I can no longer distinguish how Eastern I am, as I draw on Western sources of learning. Throughout my work, my work has consisted of reflecting on my inner self, on my existence, and analyzing the extent of that Western influence.

There are elements in your music of stillness, ceremony, contemplation, silence... Does it speak to the nature of this world or also of a quantum one?

When I speak of nature, I mean the nature we contemplate and that exists in the world we live in, the nature of which both my existence and yours are a part. It's not about placing a barrier between nature and human beings: we ourselves, as human beings, are part of nature, and that is what I also want to express in my work.

European composers tend to have a very clear concept when writing a piece of music, and they stick to it; I try to be much more natural.”

Your music is becoming more lyrical. Do you seek to connect with the audience? What do you think of composers who have ignored the needs of the public?

It's a difficult question. I don't compose with the audience in mind, but rather with the music I want to hear. In Europe, it's very common for composers to have a very clear concept when composing a piece of music, and they're faithful to that concept. You could call it a kind of ideology: they're faithful to that ideology. I'm not so much; I try to be much more natural when it comes to composing.

And how did Tōru Takemitsu, Luigi Nono, Helmut Lachenmann influence you in your work?

I've been greatly influenced by these three composers you just mentioned. Tōru Takemitsu is my, in Japanese, eisei senpai , my predecessor, my teacher. In other words, the fact that I exist today as a composer is largely due to the fact that he was a great composer. I owe a lot to Tōru Takemitsu. In the case of Luigi Nono, I had the opportunity to meet him from a young age, and I admire him greatly. And it was through Lachenmann, who is very close, like family, that I was able to meet his teacher, Nono, and I was able to understand what he was like, how he thought, and what his work was like. Incidentally, I learned about the BBVA Award when Lachenmann received it. I was meeting him at the time at the student residence in Berlin. I remember it well.

What did you think of that award?

I thought it was impressive, because every composer and musician I admire has received it. I assumed it would never be for me.

Do Western performers understand your music, and are they good interpreters of your work?

They understand it more deeply and have a better grasp of the concept of music than Japanese performers.

I knew that my mother and my relatives had suffered from the bomb, but no one wanted to talk about it, they never spoke openly to me about this subject.

You were born in Hiroshima ten years after the United States dropped the atomic bomb there. How did that impact your childhood?

The truth is that in Japan, as a child, I didn't have much of an understanding of the tragedy. It wasn't until I was 20, when I moved to Germany and told my classmates I was from Hiroshima, that I saw that everyone identified it as a city destroyed by the atomic catastrophe. When I returned, I felt the need to learn a little more, because I knew my mother and my relatives had suffered through it, but no one wanted to talk about it; they never spoke openly to me about it. I studied the facts, and all of that influenced my work: this episode is reflected in future oratorios and operas. Not only Hiroshima [ Voiceless Voice in Hiroshima ], but also the Fukushima nuclear accident is the background for other operas [ Stilles Meer and Meditation ].

And was politics discussed at home when you were a child?

Never.

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How do you approach operas in relation to Noh theatre?

In Noh theater, the protagonist is a ghost, the spirit of a deceased person who still harbors a profound sadness within his soul. He comes from the afterlife to the earthly world to recite poems, sing, and dance, seeking to free himself from that melancholy. After this performance, he crosses the bridge that connects the two worlds and returns to the afterlife. Opera attempts to reflect this bridge.

Do you think there is a musical chord that sums up the universe?

Rather than a musical chord or melody, we should focus on a sound, on the search for the existence of a specific sound that is born precisely from the previous state, which is absolute silence. A sound of such magnitude that it would be capable of materializing the concept of the universe.

The pause-silence has enormous significance, because it indicates that a sound is coming next that impacts the listener.

And how does silence operate in your music?

In Europe, we can see this in the pauses we find indicated in sheet music. This pause has enormous significance, because it indicates that a sound that impacts the listener is coming next. In many cases, this deep sound is preceded by a kind of pause-silence that, in fact, is part of the sound, of the meaning of the sound that follows.

How important is calligraphy in your music?

The section that mentions calligraphy is the representation of Japanese vocal music, because in calligraphy, the canvas—the white Japanese paper and the blank spaces—is just as important as what is written within that space. It has the same importance. That is to say, in Japanese music, when there is a chant, it's a continuous line; it's not a succession of different tones when performing that piece, but rather a whole continuity, as if it were the stroke of calligraphy.

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The artist Chiharu Shiota, with whom you've worked, is currently having an exhibition in Bilbao. How does it relate conceptually to her work?

His representation of lines, those beautiful lines like cobwebs, is closely related to my concept of line when I talk about calligraphy. Or, for example, the representation of ruins that appears in his work.

And do you know Antoni Tàpies?

Of course. That stroke of yours has something to do with calligraphy.