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Music Festivals in Abandoned Quarries, Pianos in Closed Schools, and Film Concerts for Hideki Saijo — People Bringing Sound into ‘Unused Boxes’

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Sound resonates in an abandoned quarry surrounded by 60-meter-high rock walls. A Steinway piano echoes in the gymnasium of a closed school in Onomichi. Hideki Saijo, projected on a screen, returns to the stage in Hiroshima.

In Hiroshima Prefecture, a movement is gradually but surely taking shape to bring sound into spaces that were not originally designed for music. Abandoned quarries, old elementary schools, and venues for film concerts. There are people who are introducing music into “boxes” that have completed their original purpose. What they are rebooting is not just the locations themselves.

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The Rock Walls as Resonators — Music Festival at the Abandoned Quarry in Kure City

The abandoned quarry in Kurahashi Town, Kure City, was once a site for extracting granite known as “Giin Stone,” which was used for the outer walls of the National Diet Building. After the quarrying ended, what remained was a nearly vertical rock wall about 60 meters high and silence.

Some people realized that these rock walls could function as natural resonators. The music festival, now in its fourth year, is an attempt to envision the landscape itself as a “hall.” The stage is set at the foot of the rock wall, and the audience spreads along the slope. Even with reduced PA output, the sound naturally reverberates off the rocks. “We didn’t design the acoustics, yet there’s about a 2-second echo,” says a staff member. This is close to the ideal values sought in concert hall design.

What’s noteworthy is the structure supporting this music festival. The operational costs are primarily funded through crowdfunding, with about 3 million yen raised last year against a target of 2.5 million yen. Approximately 40% of the supporters were participants from outside Kurahashi Town. Local volunteers handle most of the operations, including venue setup, parking guidance, and food service. Members of the fishing cooperative manage the parking, while former quarry workers take charge of safety management. Those who once worked in this place continue to engage with it in a different form.

There are aspects that become obscured when we simplify things with the term “revitalization.” What is happening here is a process of rewriting the relationship between place and people. A space that was once for extracting stone is becoming a place that receives sound. This transformation is made possible by the serendipity of the terrain and the presence of people who find it intriguing.

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The Presence of a Steinway in a Gymnasium — Onomichi’s Former Kubo Elementary School

At the former Kubo Elementary School in Onomichi City, which closed in 2018, piano concerts are being held in its gymnasium.

Bringing a Steinway concert grand piano into the gymnasium — just this one sentence conjures a somewhat unusual scene. The full concert model of Steinway is about 2.7 meters long and weighs around 480 kilograms. It is an instrument that is typically placed on the stage of a concert hall. Yet, it is set on the floor of a gymnasium where the lines of the basketball court still remain.

The performance featured a pianist from Russia, with a program designed to take advantage of the high ceiling of the gymnasium. The sound rises to the exposed wooden beams of the ceiling, diffusing and descending. There is a slightly rough resonance that differs from that of a concert hall. This “roughness” makes the music feel more vivid. One attendee remarked, “There was more tension than in a concert hall.” Just a wall away is the schoolyard. The sound of the wind outside seeps into the gaps of the piano’s soft notes. Sounds that do not emerge in a completely controlled space were present there.

The operational costs for the event were about 1 million yen, with transportation and tuning of the piano taking up a significant portion. Funding comes from ticket sales and sponsorships from local businesses. Tickets are priced between 3,000 to 5,000 yen, and the number of seats is limited to about 150 to 200 due to the size of the gymnasium. From a profitability standpoint, this is not a structure that allows for much leeway.

Still, the reason this endeavor continues is likely because there is inherent meaning in “continuing to use the space.” A closed school will deteriorate if left unattended. However, if it remains a place where people gather, sound resonates, and air moves, the building becomes a “venue” rather than a “closed school.” By changing its purpose, the time of the place does not come to a halt.

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Returning from the Screen — Hideki Saijo Film Concert

It has been decided that a film concert for Hideki Saijo, who passed away in 2018, will be held for the first time in Hiroshima.

A film concert is an event where past live footage is projected on a large screen, and the sound is played back in concert quality. Although he is no longer with us, the images and sounds remain. This act of returning the record to a form where people gather in a venue to experience it, rather than just personal viewing on CDs or DVDs, can also be seen as one of the acts of “putting sound into a box.”

Hideki Saijo was from Hiroshima City. His hit songs, including “YOUNG MAN (Y.M.C.A.),” are known across generations. However, a film concert in Hiroshima had not been realized until now. Following the announcement of this event, tickets have already sold out. The quick response from local fans indicates that this project has been long awaited.

Here, I want to pause and consider the significance of “listening in one’s hometown.” Even if the same footage and sound source are played in a venue in Tokyo or one in Hiroshima, the context for the audience changes. The audience consists of people who share memories of growing up in the same city. The voice from the screen overlaps with the memories of those in the audience. The place gives context to the sound.

A portion of the event’s proceeds is expected to be allocated to music education support for local children. The music of the past will become funding for the music of the future. Here, too, there is a cycle.

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Where the Three Examples Overlap — It’s Not the ‘Box’ That Changes, but the Relationships That Change

The abandoned quarry, the gymnasium of a closed school, and the venue for the film concert. When we line up these three examples, a common structure emerges.

None of them are “spaces designed specifically for music.” The quarry was a place for extracting stone, the gymnasium was a place for children to run around, and the venue for the film concert was not originally even a live venue. Intentionally inserting music into spaces not created for it, the physical structure of the place does not change. What changes is the relationship between people and that place.

The rock wall remains a rock wall while becoming a resonator. The gymnasium remains a gymnasium while becoming a concert hall. The screen remains a screen while becoming a stage. By not renovating the “box” but changing what goes inside, the meaning of the place is rewritten.

Another commonality is that none of these are self-evidently “sustainable.” The 3 million yen from crowdfunding and the 1 million yen from ticket sales do not guarantee that the same amounts will be raised next year. The volunteer structure also needs to be reorganized each time. Rather than being a systematized structure, it is currently at a stage where it operates on the will to “do it once more” each time.

That is why these endeavors are worth documenting. They capture the period before a system is established, when human hands are still at work. They document the process of trial and error before a system is completed. This itself becomes a document showing how local culture is born.

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Who Does This Benefit?

Finally, I want to pose one question.

Who does these endeavors benefit? They can be discussed in broad terms like “regional revitalization,” “tourism resources,” and “cultural promotion.” However, I want to look at it a bit more concretely.

The music festival at the abandoned quarry makes those who once worked there feel that “this place still has meaning.” The piano concert in the closed school tells graduates, who no longer have their alma mater, that “the building is still alive.” The film concert for Hideki Saijo creates a space where people can listen to the voice of someone they can no longer meet, alongside others who share the same memories.

What those bringing sound into unused boxes are preserving is not the place itself, but the thread that still connects people and place.

As long as sound resonates, that thread vibrates.