A collective gasp permeated the room as one of the most iconic series of notes in the Studio Ghibli world made way for the end of a transformative evening with the Cleveland Orchestra. On Sept. 4, I encountered an immersion of nostalgia, sound, and community as Joe Hisaishi led the orchestra through three sensational pieces: Symphony No. 3, “Metaphysica;” Viola Saga; and The Boy and the Heron Suite.
Before entering the Jack, Joseph, and Morton Mandel Concert Hall, I could already feel the air of lively excitement flooded with eager conversations and sophisticated attire of guests chattering in the lobby. Known best for his long-standing collaboration with Japanese anime director Hayao Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli, Hisaishi attracted fans not only of classical music, but also of Spirited Away, My Neighbor Totoro, Howl’s Moving Castle, and eight other world-renowned Studio Ghibli films that he composed the soundtracks for. I can attest to the overwhelming wistfulness and sentimentality that audience members buzzed with, as we anxiously awaited the familiar melodies that resided within core childhood memories. While I had decided to attend the evening for the music I had already grown to love, I was curious to experience Hisaishi’s other works as well.
Commissioned to commemorate the New Japan Philharmonic’s 50th anniversary, Symphony No. 3, “Metaphysica,” opened the evening. When composing this piece, Hisaishi was inspired by the concept of metaphysics, a branch of philosophy that contemplates existence, knowledge, and the nature of reality. With this, Hisaishi aimed to explore the “movement of sound itself,” rather than seeking to evoke emotion.
The first of three movements, I. existence, features a repetition of three sixteenth notes that builds a foundation for the developing melody to evolve upon. There were more moments of chaos than there were of calm, as if the instruments were bouncing waves off of each other in a frenzy to realize a collective answer. This movement ended abruptly, hurriedly scattering awkward silence among the audience before the symphony transitioned to a much slower and more melancholy phase, II. where are we going?
Ironically, I found myself being carried through an emotional experience instead of noticing the technical, tangible aspects of the movement, going against the goals of the metaphysical approach. Seemingly a complete contrast from the first movement, its smooth, elongated notes evoked a feeling of longing that was otherwise inexplicable. This movement varied moments of slowly creeping, dull sounds with inquisitive staccato jolts; its underlying caution was at spontaneous bursts overtaken with disordered battles of notes competing against each other.
The third movement, III. substance, consisted entirely of a variation of six notes — C, G, D, F, B-flat, E-flat — and its structure was inspired by Sudoku. With a dramatic start, this movement felt as though it was the long-awaited culmination of the previous two movements, boasting short bursts of energy that had been formed by the endless pile of questions about existence and destination which preceded it. I will admit, knowing the titles of these movements ahead of time, I subconsciously formed a narrative of the emotions to expect while listening to each one. Whether that helped or hindered my natural experience of the sound, I am not sure. However, what I can say is that during the 35 minutes of Symphony No. 3, “Metaphysica,” I contemplated past walks through my life and pondered emotions I do not typically care to. With that, I can appreciate the vast variation of sound, intensity, and texture that Hisaishi built this composition upon.
A standing ovation roared through the crowd at the end of the next piece, Viola Saga, and it was well-deserved. Consisting of two movements, the first is characterized by a stubborn repetition, building suspense and curiosity. The performance was lively and playful, as if it were embarking on a novel and impassioned journey of discovery. The second movement was much more contemplative. A pattern of grounded rhythm served as a checkpoint to which complex melodies consistently returned. I interpreted this piece as a transition to a grander, more mature stage in life, questioning identity and loss of youth. However, occasional high notes made for extreme peaks in a beautiful, rollercoaster-like-flow within the composition. At this point, the musicians themselves moved their bodies with their instruments in ways that accentuated the conflict and tension the music made me feel. With whirling, overarching melodies and repetitive rhythms battling in one moment and working in concert in another, the 20-minute piece succeeded in engaging the audience from start to finish.
For the final piece, The Boy and the Heron Suite, Hisaishi both conducted the orchestra and played the piano, impressively alternating between the two from his bench. This composition was written for Hayao Miyazaki’s 2023 film of the same name, starting with a depiction of everyday life and slowly transitioning into fantasy. In order to avoid a dramatic score from distracting from the director’s message, Hisaishi centered the music on the piano, allowing the orchestra to play a supporting role. Some comical moments featured musicians using just their mouthpieces to create different bird sounds, resulting in booming laughter from the audience.
While these three pieces certainly showcased immense talent and brilliance, I was most struck by the encore. Howl’s Moving Castle was the first Studio Ghibli film I had ever watched and one I continue to rewatch with the same child-like amazement each time. I hold this film incredibly close to my heart, and the soundtrack has established a firm presence in many of my playlists.
With just the first two notes of the encore, there was a physical, unified lift in the audience with members standing from their seats in teary-eyed shock. “Merry-Go-Round of Life” beautifully wrapped up the night with the warmth and complexity of its film’s familiar narrative. At once, I was thrown into the film’s magnificent scenery: a field of flowers and reflections in puddles, the creaky, off-balanced castle steaming across the flow of the mountain horizon. Hearing this enchanting melody, I let go of all ties to reality and gave in to unrelenting nostalgia and rapture. This moment has diffused throughout my daily thoughts and will, perhaps, remain there indefinitely. Needless to say, that evening was one to remember, and I urge any strangers to Hisaishi’s work to indulge themselves in what will rewire their brains and their ways of perceiving the broader world for the better.
