The Takei Music Library

Published by Robert Coldwell on

Below are translations from the Japan Mandolin Union bulletins in 1990 and 1991 detailing the depositing of the Takei Music Library in the Kunitachi College of Music in Tokyo, Japan. Please see my earlier articles on Morishige Takei, an incomplete listing of the contents while it was held by others, and some additional details I learned from Kunitachi librarians.

Morishige Takei, “Seiyo Gakudo” Practice Hall

About the “Takei Music Library”

Rikio Ichige

1) The “Takei Music Library” is a collection of mandolin and guitar-related scores, instructional books, magazines and books collected by Morishige Takei ( 1890-1949), one of the founders of mandolin music in Japan. This is accompanied by an original “Takei Music Library Catalog” made by Mr. Takei, and according to it there are overwhelmingly many guitar-related items, about 2,500 of them are listed in addition to 800 or so mandolin-related items. However, there are many mandolin-related items that are not listed in the catalog equivalent to about the numbers listed above combined.

2) The “Takei Music Library” was taken over by Murao Sugita (former vice president of JMU) and his brother-in-law, Hiroshi Kawai (a lawyer and guitar enthusiast), from the widow of Takei Morishige in November 1959. Since then, the mandolin-related items have been held by Sugita and the guitar-related items have been held by Kawai separately. After Sugita died in 1986 and Kawai the following year, the items have been managed by their families.

3) Jiro Nakano interacted with Takei, Sugita, and Kawai, and he is familiar with the “Takei Music Collection”, so he often asked for names of a specific song or book, and several times wanted to see something again. Also, President Ito also told me that the family of the deceased has no interest in mandolin or guitar music at all, and since there is no benefit to them to continue holding the items we should try to do something about it. However, due to it being someone else’s private property, there was no clear policy on how it should be handled. Over time other books had become intermingled necessitating work to separate them.

4) As announced in the previous issue, we have asked the library of the Kunitachi College of Music to preserve on microfilm mandolin-related materials. For this purpose, originals are needed and materials that are only available in the “Takei Music Collection” will have to be borrowed, so I decided to meet with Murao Sugita’s son, Makoto, and his aunt, Kiyoko Kawai, regarding the disposition of the “Takei Music Collection”. On August 19th (Sunday) of this year, at the Sugita house I met with the two aforementioned persons along with Shigeru Okada, secretary of the “Orchestra Symphonica Tokyo”, who was familiar with the Sugita family, and Tetsuro Kudo, a mandolin historian who had long been interested in looking at the “Takei Music Collection”.

5) As a result of long discussions with both Sugita and Kawai, the “Takei Music Collection” will, with the conditions of “strict management, for the benefit of the mandolin world, with measures taken to permanently preserve it for the future”, be donated to myself, Ichige.

Therefore, on August 28 Masami Yamamoto, a supporting member of “Yamamoto Music Corner” brought the guitar-related items, and on September 2 Shigeru Okada, mentioned above, brought the mandolin-related items to my home, which is the executive office of the Japan Mandolin Union.

6) From now, the “Takei Music Collection” will be handled in accordance with the aforementioned purposes, and our hope is the guitar-related items will be moved to the library of the Kunitachi College of Music as soon as possible, preserved on microfilm and made available to the public.

For mandolin-related items, we will try to make them available to those who wish to use them, but In any case, because they are old and published in the second half of the last century or the first half of this century, they have already turned a brown color and even if you make a copy, the surrounding area will be black and some of them will even tear if you touch them. For this reason I carefully selected and copied the ones that I thought would used for mandolin performance, and then will gradually list in this bulletin the ones that I finished preparing. I would like to distribute it to members as long as it does not conflict with copyright and publishing rights.

The originals from the finished work will be transferred to the library, where it will be maintained in perpetuity for future use on microfilm.



「武井音楽文庫」とは、わが国のマンドリン音楽の基礎を築かれた一人・武井守成氏(1890-1949) が生前に収集されたマンドリンとギター関係の楽譜・教則本・雑誌・図書類のことです。これには武井氏が作られた「武井音楽文庫目録正本」がついておりまして、それによると圧倒的にギター関係のものが多く、約2,500点ほど記載されており、それに対してマンドリン関係のものは約800点ほどでありますが、それ以外に目録に登載されていないマンドリン関係のものが前記の両者の数を合わせたぐらい現存しております。

「武井音楽文庫」は195911月に、杉田村雄氏(元JMU 副会長)と同氏の義弟・河合博氏(弁護士・ギター愛好家)が共同で村武井守成氏の未亡人から譲り受けられ、それ以来マンドリン関係は杉田家に、ギター関係は河合家に分けられて保管され、1986年に杉田氏が、その翌年に河合氏が亡くなられてからは、それぞれのご遺族によって管理されておりました。


この度、前号でお知らせしたように、マンドリン関係の資料を国立音楽大学図書館にお願いしてマイクロフィルムに撮って保管して頂くことになり、そのために現物を必要とし、「武井音楽文庫」だけに残っている資料を拝借しなければならなくなり、杉田村雄氏のご長男・誠氏とその叔母さんに当たる河合清子さんにお会いすることになったことから、「武井音楽文庫」の処分についてご相談を受けることになりました。そしてさる819 日(日)に杉田家で、前記のご両人と私とが、杉田家の事情に詳しい「オルケストラ・シンフォニカ東京」の幹事・岡田茂氏と、かねてから「武井音楽文庫」の見学を熱望しておられたマンドリン史研究家・工藤哲郎氏に立ち会って頂いて相談をいたしました。


そして去る828 日にギター関係のものを賛助会員「山本ミュージック・コーナー」の山本雅三氏に、またマンドリン関係のものは92 日に前記の岡田茂氏にお願いして、日本マンドリン連盟本部の事務局になっている私の自宅に運んで頂きました。




Memories of the “Takei Music Library”

Naoko Adachi

After the earthquake in 1923, a house was rebuilt on high ground in Hongo (north-central Tokyo), and on the grounds of the house a concert hall called “Seiyo Gakudo” was built, completed in 1926. I heard that it was named after my grandfather who died in the same year. I was born in that house in the Showa era.

Before the earthquake, my father had a huge collection of sheet music, but it was all destroyed in the earthquake. The new collection of sheet music was in the upstairs “study” of our new house. This room was a large, southwest-facing corner room, and on my father’s large, leather-top desk there was always a Westminster box.

The north wall had a large custom-made cupboard, which held sheet music from ceiling to floor, with heavy velvet curtains hanging down. The shelves were made for sheet music and the sliding shelves were full from top to bottom.

On the weekly “practice day”, my father would wear a fluffy gown of some sort over his trousers and stand in front of the shelves, baton in one hand, flipping through the music. There were many various ruled music papers.

From the window of the room you could see the Matsuzakaya in Ueno and the many ad balloons in the air. In one corner, there was a semi-grand piano placed loosely at an angle, and sometimes my mother would play it or I would practice on it. The house had an upright in the ensemble hall and three pianos in the lower parlor.

The “Seiyo Gakudo” was an independent building, but it could be accessed from inside the house through the music instrument room. Members were able to enter the the music hall directly through the stone pavement on the left from the gate.

Was it my father’s haphazard life – including his music – and the bank failures at the time, among other things, that led us to move out of this house? I was too young to understand the situation. We moved to a place called Sakaemachi-dori in Nakano Ward, about 15 minutes by bus from Nakano station. This house was very modest compared to the house in Hongo, but there were still 3-4 maids and a houseboy. We had the rare scenery of a field and a grove of dead trees in front of the gate, and I remember that I enjoyed it as a child. Both my father and mother were brave, and I can now keenly recall their earnestness.

The sheet music was kept in the parlor by the entrance, under the window. Of course, there was no special shelf for it.

Around 1943, as the war raged, my father carried it into a large storage room in the basement of the house. It was brought in by The lid of this cellar was a big, heavy iron sliding door. In it was a Lacote guitar, my guitar, and of course a chest of drawers and a futon. Looking down the rim from the yard, I could see the air vent window. My father worked hard with a shovel to bring in the dirt and fill in the window himself. My father was always thin, but with the food situation at that time and his work at the Ministry of the Imperial Household being very difficult, he was working very hard and becoming increasingly thinner.

The house was engulfed in fire during the Great Tokyo Air Raid on May 25, 1945. We evacuated my grandmother, my mother and my sister, who was carrying a baby, to the air-raid ditch in the yard, and my father stood outside the ditch with me. That night, from a different direction than the usual formation, looking up at the dark sky, a lot of B-29s were coming. Suddenly it turned red, there was a thud, and those red dots started falling towards us. My father immediately said, “Not today!” and in a rush, he evacuated my grandmother, my sister and my mother through the fire that erupted. The house had not yet burned up, and we were beating the fire in the hallway and on the walls with fire taps tied to bamboo poles, but my father said, “It’s no use. Let’s get out of here!” and ran after my mother and the others through the fire.

My father was more accurate than I thought he would be, and he was good at reading the direction of the wind, even in a normal fire. Anyway, Nakano was still on the outskirts of the city, so there was a rice field a short distance away. That’s where the family met, and the next morning they returned to the burned house.

The house was totally burnt down, but the tableware shelves in the yard and other items were safe. For a while my grandmother and sister stayed in a neighbor’s house, and we lived in the ditch for a while. My father probably walked to the Imperial Household Ministry from there.

It was probably two days later that our former driver came to visit and my father wanted to open the cellar. He was worried about the white smoke rising from the iron door of the basement. I wondered if it had been burnt, or even worse if we open it fire may break out, or if we leave it everything will be steamed. We had so many doubts, but in the end we decided to open it. We drew water from the well and poured it over the area where the ashes of the house were buried high, and a tremendous amount of steam rose. I fetched water again and repeated the process. After pouring water to a certain extent, I used the remaining shovel to clear the ashes. It was a lot of work, and my father, with his gaiters around his neck, did it while he was really dizzy.  They waited for us to fetch water in a borrowed bucket, and as soon as they opened the iron door, they poured water on it all at once. White smoke was definitely rising, but when I went down the stairs, it seemed to be the bedding at the top of the stairs that was smoldering. Even though there was still smoke, without stopping my father went down inside for a while, then he crawled out with a few sheets of music in his hands crying “It’s here! It’s here!” with a rapturous face, made thinner even more by the smoke and ashes. With his face breaking out in a smile he was overjoyed. My sister and I can still picture our father’s smile. 

The current browning of the music sheet is probably due to the “smoldering” from that time. My guitar, which was in a wooden octagon-like case, broke apart inside and out. It was surprising that the leather case Lacote was completely safe.

We had evacuated our belongings to near the residence of Murao Sugita, who was a member of the OST. The entire family moved to a farmhouse. Sugita’s house was about 10 minutes from the Keio Line Seiseki-Sakuragaoka Station, and then another 10 minute walk to the farmhouse. The village was on a ridge of a chestnut forest, and although the food situation was bad, this was an interesting place where chestnuts were used as an alternative to rice. The song “Silkworm” was written during our stay here. At that time, there was a commotion about Wang Jingwei’s asylum, and my father rushed to the Ministry of the Interior in the middle of the night.

This is when we lost the war. I once went to my father’s office in the burnt-out Imperial Household Ministry. I think I went there to get a vaccination for typhus or something. There was a large marble staircase at the main entrance of the Ministry, and just beyond the staircase was my father’s office. The room was covered with a red carpet, the washroom was white tile, and with my father in front of a sprawling desk it all seemed large to me. All of this looked like a grand palace to my eyes, coming from Minamitama.

I don’t think it was possible to carry sheet music to the evacuated area. I wonder if it might have been at the Ministry, the house of Mr. Kanefuji of the OST, or a church in Taito Ward which had been used for practice. My father lived away from the music for a while. (To be continued in the next issue)



大正12 年の震災の後、本郷の高台に家を建て直し、その敷地内に「正蓉楽堂」という合奏場が出来たのは、大正15 年でした。その命名は、同じ年に亡くなった祖父であったと聞いています。私は昭和になって、その家で生まれました。




その部屋の窓からは上野の松坂展が前方に見え、たくさんのアドバルーンが上がっているのも見えました。一隅には、斜めにゆったりとセミグランドピアノが置かれており、時々は母が弾き、私達も練習しました。この家には合奏場にアップライト、下の応接間に同じく、3 台のピアノがありました。


この家を引き払うことになったのは、やはり父の無計画な生活•••••音楽を含めて•••••と当時の銀行の倒産その他もろもろのことが重なってのことであったかと思われます。私は幼くて事情は判別出来ませんでした。引っ越し先は中野区、中野駅からバスで15 分ほどの栄町通りという処でした。この家は本郷の邸に比べればまことにささやかなものでしたが、それでもまだ女中さんも34 名はおり、書生もおりました。門の前に畑や枯れ木立のある風景が珍しく、子供には楽しかったという記憶があります。父も母も、よく思い切ったものと、今になればその心がしみじみ思われます。


昭和18 年頃、戦争が激しくなってからは、この家の広い納戸の下にあった地下室に、父が自分で運び入れました。この地下室の蓋は鉄の重い大きな引戸でした。この中に、ラコートのギターも、私のギターも人れ、勿論箪笥や布団も入れてありました。庭から縁の下を見ると、空気抜きの窓が見えました。父はスコップで一生懸命に土を運び、その窓を自分で埋めたのです。父はもともと細身でしたが、当時の食料事情もあり、宮内省での仕事も苦労が多かったようで、益々細くなった身体をようように動かして懸命に作業をしておりました。

その家が火に包まれたのは、昭和20 5 25 日の東京大空襲でした。庭先の防空濠に祖母や母、乳飲み子を抱えていた姉を避難させ、父は私と一緒に濠の外に立っていました。その夜はいつもと違う編隊の向きで、見上げる暗い空一杯に、ごうごうと沢山のB29が向かってきました。それがパッと赤くなると同時に、ザーッと音がしてその赤い点々が下をむき、そのまま私達の上に降ってきたのです。父は直ぐに「今日は駄目だ」と言い、ザンという音と同時に火を噴き出した中を祖母や姉や母を避難させました。まだ家は燃え上がってはおらず、竹竿に結んだ火叩きで廊下や塀についた火を叩いたりしておりましたが、父は「もう駄目だ、逃げよう」と、母達のあとを追って火の中を走りました。



もと運転手だった人が来てくれた翌々日でしたか、父は地室をあけたがりました。地下至の鉄扉の隙間から、白い煙が上がっているのが気になっていたのです。焼けてしまったのか、イヤもしかして………開けると同時にさっと火が上がるのではないか、でもこのまま蒸し焼きになってしまうのも残念である………と、随分迷ったようでしたが、やはり開けようということになりました。井戸から水を汲んでは、家の灰が埋高いあたりにかけると、ものすごい水蒸気が上がります。また水を汲んで………を繰り返しました。ある程度かけたところで、今度は残っていたスコップでその灰をどけるのですが、これがまた大変な作業で、ゲートルを巻いた父は、本当にフラフラになりながらやったのでした。そして………やっと鉄扉をこじあける………姉も私も母も、ともかく総動員で隣近所から借り集めたバケツに水を汲んで待ち構え、開けると同時に一斉に水を掛けるという大騒ぎでした。白い煙はたしかに上がってはいましたが、階段を降りると、どうやらそれは一番上にあった布団がくすぶっていたようでした。まだ煙りがあるからと止めるのもきかず、父は中に降りて行って暫く………這い上がってきた父の手に数枚の楽譜が……… 「アッタ・アッタ・」その父の狂喜したあの顔………細い顔が、益々細くなったのが、灰と煙で汚れて………その顔をいっぱいにほころばせて、父はただただ大喜びでした。姉も私も、その父の笑顔が今でもありありと思い浮かべられるのでございます。


OST のメンバーであられた杉田村雄氏のお住まいの近くに、荷物を疎開してありました。その農家を頼って、一家は移動しました。京王線の聖跡桜ケ斤駅から10 分ほどの処に杉田氏のお宅があり、そこから更に10 分ほど歩いた奥の方の農家でした。栗林の丘を背にしたその集落では、食料事情も悪かったのですが、栗を御飯代わりにするような不思議な村でもありました。ここにおります間に生まれた曲に「蚕」というのがあります。その頃、汪精衛の亡命騒ぎがあり、父が夜中に宮内省に駆けつける騒ぎがあったりもしました。



Memories of the “Takei Music Library” (continued from previous issue)

Naoko Adachi

From our temporary evacuation home in Minamitama we moved to to Hazawa-cho, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo, where my sister had married. With the kindness of my parents, I was given a place on the second floor of a large house that had survived the fire. The radio station played a lot of U.S. military jazz, and it was uncomfortable with a minimum amount of food available. From there, my father went to the government office and I went back to school and started studying in a cramped, temporary school building.

We moved to Kamakura in 1946. The house was located in Komachi, Kamakura, about 5 minutes from the train station towards Hachimangu Shrine, on the right near Namerikawa. Nabeshima and my father worked in the same office, so we were allowed to live in the villa at the Nabeshima family home. We lived in the main house, there was another family in the detached house, and in another area was another family. We took in my grandmother, who had been left with relatives since the war, and with my father, my mother, and me, plus an old maid, there were a total of five people living there. My father always sat in an 8 tatami room on the second floor. There was a large tatami-matted veranda on the south side separated from the rest of the house by a sliding door, like a small room. Music sheets and so on were piled there. It was a bright place, but it was in the corner of the hallway. The house was long gone, and the shutters were squeaky and unkempt. At the time, the world was still bleak. Households were under increasing pressure due to the new yen and other factors, and we had to make a living my selling burned items, but this was the case with the people around us so I wasn’t too concerned about it. My father had resigned from the Imperial Household Ministry and was working for a company called Toyo Brewing Company in Fujisawa. Originally, my grandfather was associated with the company, and he could commute to the company by just one line of the Enoden.

At the time, Kamakura had more of a cultural scent than Tokyo. The town didn’t burn down, and I think there were activities of the cultural people living in Kamakura, but there were also music concerts and dance parties were held frequently. In the midst of my poverty, my father watched over me with warmth and attention. The amateur choir I was invited to join was called the Music Box Choir, and we had a great time practicing every week. My father was asked to conduct the choir as well, and he composed a song for the choir with lyrics by Sakuzo Takada called “Three Autumnal Themes”. This was played on NHK radio, and later at my father’s funeral, the choir lined up in the garden to sing this as a send-off.

I guess it was a bad time, my sister had been hospitalized, and immediately after my marriage I had the same illness and received medical care at home, which was very difficult for my parents. My father, the eldest brother, also took care of many younger siblings. In those days, my father found solace only in examining the Takei Music Library and composing music. He was passionate in exchanging letters with Jiro Nakano, Sawaguchi of Armonia, other people through music, and exchanging music scores. It was my father’s only comfort. I spent many dark days recuperating, watching his deep breaths and his emaciated body from my hospital bed.

The room was bright and cozy, with windows on three sides. My father was composing, sitting cross-legged on the tatami mats, the sound of the wind blowing, with the Lacote in hand. From the front of his shirt, with his ribs peeking out, humming to himself he plucked the guitar. I think it is difficult for solo pieces when you are asked, “Well, what do you think?” I had no idea how to answer with my father’s poor playing skills. It was hard to name the song. It is hard to put a name to the song, and I spent a lot of time looking through my diary and thinking about it.

The typhoon hit in 1949, the year my father died. I think it was the first big typhoon after the war.

I was lying ill in the upstairs room and my father was downstairs asleep. In the middle of the night, the wind and rain intensified, loosening the shutters and the wind blew stronger and stronger, causing the rain to leak heavily. I could hear the rain pouring down on the Takei Music Library, which was located at the corner of the wide veranda. I finally went downstairs to call my father. When I told him that it was leaking, he finally got up and came upstairs. Then he began to carry the sheet music upstairs to the safety of the sitting room. With his feeble body, he carried it little by little. All I could do was stare. My father, exhausted, said in a thin voice, “…it’s all right…it’s all right…it’s all right…” and tried to stop carrying it. I said, “We took a lot of trouble to save it from the war…” and he began to carry it again, but this time he did so at a sluggish pace. Somehow he moved everything into the room. My father’s body was already quite weak at that time, now that I think about it, and it was all he could do. The night ended with a pile of sheet music in the middle of the sitting room.

I think it was during the Kamakura period that my father began to organize the Takei Music Library and make a general inventory of its contents. We didn’t have a word processor yet, so my father got a second-hand English typewriter and typed carefully with it. The sound of my father’s typing echoed upstairs all day long. Most of the song titles and headings were in foreign languages, Italian I think, with handwritten horizontal letters on the cover written in a clear and concise manner. To make a correction or substitute a new section there was no copy equipment so he could only “click, click, click…”. In those days he was also making handwritten scores. He started by drawing staves with ink on Kent paper, and it was not uncommon for the ruler to get dirty when drawing lines. Drawing one page of staves took a lot of effort.

It was on December 14, 1949 that my father passed away. About four days earlier, my father had gone to ensemble practice, and on his way home he felt sick on the Yokosuka Line. After that it may have been a misdiagnosis, but he had surgery at a nearby hospital where he was admitted to the emergency room. His heart was weak and he died. I was still in bed, but my husband came running and visited the hospital. My father ’s hands were already starting to get cold. During the last moments of his life, he kept complaining to the nurse, “I don’t want to die now…”.

After my father’s death the Takei Music Library was organized by Goro Matsutani, Niranobu Shima, and Sakae Kanefuji, who were the directors of OST at the time. At the time, I was still lying down in the next room, but anyway, I decided to move everything out and I was left with the Lacote and a book of handwritten guitar songs at my bedside. The instruments, music stands and everything was given to OST at the time, leaving nothing of the Takei Music Library in our house.

Thanks to the generous treatment of the bereaved families of the Sugita and Kawai families, who were the current owners of the property, the Takei Music Library, which my father protected, has found the perfect place for future music lovers. I was informed that this project will be useful one day. We would like to express our gratitude to the many people who have been involved in this project for their warm efforts. Thank you very much. In 1990, the 100th anniversary of my father’s birth, this is such a wonderful and gratifying story.(Conclusion.)




昭和21年、鎌倉に移りました。鎌倉市小町のその家は、駅から八幡宮の方へ5 分ほどで右に折れたところで、滑川のそばでした。鍋島本家の鍋島さんと父が、職場でご一緒だった関係で、その別邸に住まわせていただくことになったのです。私どもの住むのはその母屋の部分で、離れには他の家族がおり、そのまた向うには他の家族が住むというような状態でした。戦災以来親類に預けていた祖母を引き取って、父と母、私の4人に、年取った女中が一人ついてきて計5人が住みはじめました。父がいつも座っていたのは、二階の八帖の座敷でした。この部屋には南側に畳敷きの広縁があり、その一隅がちょっと広くなっていて、襖で仕切られ、小部屋のようになっていました。譜面などはそこに積まれていました。明るい場所でしたが、つまりは軒先というか、廊下の隅でありました。この家はもう随分といたんでおり、雨戸もスキスキで、手入れのしようもないほどになっておりました。









父の死後、当時のOSTの理事であられた松谷五郎、島 韮信、兼藤栄氏らの手によって、武井文庫の整理が始められました。当時、まだ私は、その隣室で伏せっていた状態でしたが、ともかく、すべてを運び出すということになり、私の枕もとには、ラコートと、手書きのギター曲集一冊が残されたのでした。父の購入した楽器と譜面台など、すべてを当時のOSTに差し上げるということで、我が家の中から武井文庫は消えたのでした。


Categories: Japan


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