its use of ma – the interval between the notes, the silence that is used as negative spacing or for dramatic effect. Instead of rising crescendos, shorter or longer ma are employed to effect the artist’s intentions; and instead of flourished finales, the music just comes to a stop. I recall my own first experience attending a concert of a famous koto player, and leaving in disappointment, thinking that it wasn’t oriental in the graceful or ornamental or exotic way I had imagined; it was just oriental in a weird, foreign way. And even though kagura doesn’t use koto or shamisen or biwa – stringed instruments that play a part in Noh and Kabuki – it does use ma. Therefore, the uninitiated needs to find accessibility in the music by listening for the johakyu, the three parts to the composition: exposition, development, and resolution; they correspond to the slow beginning, the varied middle, and the very fast conclusion – with the conclusion slowing down just before coming to an abrupt end.

But if the music of kagura is hard to appreciate, the dancing is anything but. Kagura dancers take center stage when they arrive from behind the curtains. Their fancy wardrobe is what first draws your attention. Made of silk embroidered with gold and silver thread, in appearance it is similar to the finest of kimono; in construction though, it has cuts and folds that allow arms and legs their full range of motion. On their feet the dancers wear white, split-toed tabi that modestly cover both feet and ankles, and which simultaneously allow them to glide, step-by-step, through their motions without lifting their feet off the stage. In both hands – which are always outstretched – the dancers hold props that help to carry the story. When performing a fighting song they may carry swords, halberds, maces, or bows and arrows. When performing sacred songs they resort to paper folding fans, which they use to graceful effect; or to gohei, which are the Shinto wands that have red, green and white zigzag streamers attached; or to suzu, which are composed of a dozen or more jingle bells, arranged in vertical columns, in tree-like fashion, around a short handle. When suzu are used, they are shaken with small motions as the dancers move through their steps, creating a meditative sound like the rustling of leaves.

The kanji characters for kagura literally mean “seat of the gods,” a nod to the Shinto myth at its roots. The first telling of the story is in the Kojiki (“Records of Ancient Matters”) written down in the year 712. As the story is told, the sun goddess Amaterasu-ōmikami hid herself in a cave and sealed its entrance shut, plunging the world into darkness. She remained there until one day when the goddess of revelry, Ame-no-uzume, performed a dance with such hilarious and promiscuous antics that it put the other gods into a silly state of mind. With this merriment going on outside the cave, Amaterasu’s curiosity overcame her and she opened the door, thus allowing her divine light to be restored to the world.

Kagura is an invocation to the gods, a call to seat themselves among us. Classical kagura has its roots in this tale and is performed with a reverence befitting its sacred origins. But over time – starting in the early seventeenth century – the antics of Ame-no-uzume were reenacted by commoners, and the folk tradition of Iwami-kagura began, a tradition that reenacts the Shinto myths of the Kojiki. Today, there are 33 of these stories, which are performed by troupes in the Iwami region of Shimane and Hiroshima.