When Western Artists Suddenly Start Singing in Japanese

 

You might know that Japanese pop culture shows up in anime, fashion, or tech—but did you ever notice it in Western pop songs?

From iconic chants like “Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto” to full Japanese choruses by Queen, Japanese words have quietly (and sometimes loudly) made their way into English-language music. Sometimes it’s a nod of respect, other times just for the vibe—but either way, it’s always a little surprising.

Here’s a lighthearted look at some memorable songs where Japanese sneaks into the lyrics—sometimes clearly, sometimes in disguise.

John Lennon – “Aisumasen” (1973)

Japanese phrase: あいすいません (aisuimasen) — “I’m sorry”

The title of this heartfelt ballad is a stylized version of the Japanese word “sumimasen” (すみません), which can mean “I’m sorry” or “excuse me.” Lennon sings “Aisumasen” as a sincere, if slightly playful, apology—likely influenced by his deepening relationship with Yoko Ono and exposure to Japanese language.
It’s an old-fashioned or joking variant of the standard phrase, adding both warmth and character to the song’s emotional core.

Queen – “Teo Torriatte” (1976)

Japanese lyrics with translation:

手をとりあって (te o toriatte) — Let us hold hands
このまま行こう (kono mama ikou) — Let’s go on like this
愛する人よ (aisuru hito yo) — My beloved
静かな宵に (shizukana yoi ni) — On a quiet evening
光を灯し (hikari o tomoshi) — Lighting a light
愛しき教えを抱き (itoshiki oshie o idaki) — Embracing beloved teachings

Unlike many songs that merely sprinkle in foreign words, Queen includes two full choruses in Japanese. Freddie Mercury’s careful and respectful pronunciation made this a moving tribute to Japanese fans. The title “Teo Torriatte” itself is a phonetic spelling of 「手をとりあって」.
His Japanese is so sincere and clear that even native Japanese listeners often find it moving.

David Bowie – “It’s No Game (Part 1)” (1980)

Japanese narration by Michi Hirota

The song opens with an intense Japanese monologue performed by actress Michi Hirota. Bowie’s English verses respond sharply, creating a bilingual tension that evokes theatrical conflict. This fusion reflects Bowie’s interest in Japanese avant-garde art and experimental storytelling.

Styx – “Mr. Roboto” (1983)

Japanese phrases:

·         どうもありがとう (dōmo arigatō) — Thank you very much

·         また会う日まで (mata au hi made) — Until we meet again

·         秘密を知りたい (himitsu o shiritai) — I want to know the secret

The repeated chant “Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto” became iconic. Set in a dystopian future, the song explores identity, secrecy, and machines—tapping into 1980s fascination with robotics and Japan’s tech boom.

Gwen Stefani – “Harajuku Girls” (2004)

Japanese words used:

·         愛してる (aishiteru) — I love you

·         美少女 (bishōjo) — Beautiful girl

·         かわいい (kawaii) — Cute

Stefani sings about Tokyo’s youth fashion district with phrases like “kawaii” and “bishōjo.” While the song helped introduce Harajuku culture to Western audiences, it also sparked discussions about cultural representation and appropriation.

Madonna – “Sorry” (2005)

Japanese phrase: ごめんなさい (gomen nasai) — I’m sorry

Madonna includes “gomen nasai” in a sequence of apologies in various languages, adding an international flavor to this global dance anthem.

Avril Lavigne – “Hello Kitty” (2014)

Japanese phrases:

·         みんな最高 (minna saikō) — Everyone’s awesome

·         ありがとう (arigatō) — Thank you

·         かわいい (kawaii) — Cute

In this neon-colored pop track, Avril shouts phrases like “Minna saikō!” and “Arigatō!” The song, full of visual and verbal references to Japanese pop culture, drew mixed reactions—some saw it as fun, others as tone-deaf.

Bad Bunny – “Yonaguni” (2021)

Japanese lines at the end of the song:

今日はセックスしたい (kyō wa seksu shitai) — Today I want to have sex
でもあなたとだけ (demo anata to dake) — But only with you
どこにいますか？ (doko ni imasu ka?) — Where are you?
どこにいますか？ (doko ni imasu ka?) — Where are you?

Puerto Rican rapper Bad Bunny surprised listeners by ending his Spanish-language hit Yonaguni with a short verse in Japanese.

The title refers to Yonaguni Island, a remote island in Okinawa that sits at the westernmost edge of Japan. The Japanese lines themselves are unusually direct and candid, expressing a raw sense of longing. 

Japanese as Sound: Why It Works in Pop Music

Whether heartfelt or quirky, Japanese phrases in Western pop songs tend to stick in the mind. They reflect moments of curiosity, admiration, or simply stylistic flair.

Across the decades, the image of Japan in Western music has subtly shifted.

In the 1970s, it often appeared through the lens of counterculture—tied to avant-garde art and personal connections, as seen in artists like John Lennon or David Bowie.

By the 1980s, Japan had become synonymous with cutting-edge technology and economic power, shaping the futuristic tone of songs like Mr. Roboto.

In the 2000s and beyond, the focus shifted again toward colorful, exportable pop culture, from Harajuku fashion to kawaii aesthetics.

A Language That Keeps Changing Meaning

And yet, despite these changes, one thing remained consistent: Japan was often portrayed as something slightly distant—familiar, yet not quite “here.” A place existing as much in imagination as in reality.

In that sense, Japanese in these songs works not only as language, but also as atmosphere—carrying mood, distance, and a hint of the unknown.

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Carp in the Sky — Koinobori and the Symbolism of Strength, Growth, and Success

Spring in Tokyo.

Look up, and you might notice something unusual—giant fish-shaped windsocks swimming through the sky.

In the photo, taken at the foot of Tokyo Tower, colorful fish flutter together in the wind, as if they were alive.

Why are there fish in the sky? What exactly are they?

They are called koinobori—carp(koi) streamers displayed in Japan on May 5th.

This day is known as Children’s Day, a national holiday today. Originally, however, it comes from an older seasonal festival called Tango no Sekku, introduced from China. 

It was once associated with warding off evil, but in Japan it gradually became a day to celebrate children—especially boys—and to wish for their growth and future success.

“Suidobashi and Surugadai,” from One Hundred Famous Views of Edo (1857), by Utagawa Hiroshige, depicting koinobori flying in the sky

Why Carp? — From Legend to Living Art

But why carp?

The answer lies in an old Chinese legend. In a story known as the “carp climbing the waterfall,” a carp that successfully swims upstream and reaches the top of a fierce waterfall transforms into a dragon. This tale is the origin of the expression tōryūmon (the “Dragon Gate”), symbolizing overcoming hardship and achieving great success.

At the same time, carp have long been admired in Japan for their beauty. Ornamental koi—carefully bred for their vivid colors and patterns—are treasured as living works of art, often kept in garden ponds.

This combination of strength and beauty makes the carp an especially powerful symbol, embodying both resilience and grace.

Samurai Ideals and the Story of Kintaro

This idea of rising in the world first resonated strongly among the samurai class in Japan. On Tango no Sekku, families would display armor and banners, expressing hopes for strength and achievement.

In this image, the artwork shows a carp attempting to climb a waterfall alongside a young boy. The boy is Kintaro, a well-known figure from Japanese folklore. Gifted with extraordinary strength from childhood, he is often depicted as a wild child raised in the mountains, even wrestling bears.

As he grows older, Kintaro becomes a samurai known as Sakata Kintoki. The pairing of the climbing carp and Kintaro visually represents ideals such as strength, growth, and the leap toward success.

From Samurai Banners to Family Symbols

During the Edo period, these values spread from the samurai class to common people, and koinobori gradually took on a form closer to what we see today.

Modern koinobori are typically arranged to represent a family. A large black carp symbolizes the father, a red carp represents the mother, and smaller carp stand for the children. Above them, colorful streamers called fukinagashi are attached, believed to ward off evil spirits. At the top of the pole, a spinning wind wheel is often added, symbolizing energy rising into the sky. Today, the meaning has broadened—from wishing for boys’ success to celebrating the happiness of the entire family.

Koinobori Today — A Symbol Still in Motion

These symbolic images are not limited to private homes. Across Japan, large-scale displays of koinobori can be seen during the season. Hundreds of carp streamers stretched across rivers or displayed at major landmarks have become a beloved sign of spring.

Carp also appear in modern culture. One well-known example is the professional baseball team Hiroshima Toyo Carp, whose name reflects the same image of perseverance and strength. Fans are often seen waving koinobori flags in the stands as part of their support.

Koinobori swimming through the sky are more than simple decorations.

They represent the hope that children will face challenges, grow strong, and one day rise to great heights. Looking up at them drifting across the Tokyo sky, one might find a quiet reflection of hope for the future.

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What Is the “Highest” Mountain in Central Tokyo? — A Journey Through Tokyo’s Miniature Summits —

Let’s begin with a cold, hard geographical fact: there are no real “mountains” in central Tokyo.

This area spreads across lowlands extending from Tokyo Bay, gradually rising toward the western uplands. While skyscrapers dominate the skyline, there are no mountain ranges here in the geological sense.

That said, it wouldn’t be entirely accurate to say that Tokyo has no mountains. If we broaden our view to the Tokyo Metropolis as a whole, the picture changes completely.

For example, Mount Kumotori (2,017 m) is the highest peak in Tokyo, located on the border with Yamanashi Prefecture in a truly mountainous region.
Meanwhile, Mount Takao (599 m), in Hachioji, has long been known as a site of Buddhist and ascetic training. Thanks to its easy access from central Tokyo, it is now one of the most visited hiking destinations in the world.

—But those are not the mountains we’re looking for today.

Our focus is strictly on “mountains” in central Tokyo.

What we’re about to explore are modest elevations quietly “rising” (if that’s the right word) amid the asphalt jungle of the city.
In other words, this is the stage for Tokyo’s version of ultra-minimal mountaineering.

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The Natural Champion: Mount Atago

Our first contender stands in Minato Ward, near Toranomon, surrounded by high-rise buildings: Mount Atago.

Its elevation is 25.7 meters.

Despite its modest height, this is a genuine natural hill—the highest natural hill within Tokyo’s 23 wards.

“At the summit stands Atago Shrine, founded in the Edo period. Leading up to it is a steep staircase known as the ‘Stairs of Success’—86 steps at an angle of about 40 degrees. According to legend, a samurai once rode his horse up these steps on a shogun’s order and was rewarded with a promotion. Today, the site is popular among businesspeople—perhaps not coincidentally, given its location.

During the Edo period, it was known as a scenic vantage point overlooking the city. Its relative height also made it an ideal location for early radio transmission, and Japan’s first NHK broadcasting station was established here—another reminder of how prominent the hill once felt. Today, the site is home to the NHK Broadcasting Museum.”

Mount Atago’ by Utagawa Kunisada—an ukiyo-e glimpse of the hill in the Edo period.

The climb is steeper than it looks and requires a bit of determination.

That said—there is also an elevator.

That kind of practicality may be the defining feature of a mountain in the middle of a modern city.

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The Artificial Challenger: Mount Hakone

However, Mount Atago has an unexpected rival.

In Toyama Park in Shinjuku, tucked within a residential area and surrounded by apartment complexes, stands Mount Hakone. It blends so naturally into everyday life that you might almost miss it.

Its elevation is 44.6 meters.
By the numbers alone, it could easily claim the title of “highest in central Tokyo.”

—But there’s one small complication.

It’s man-made.

This hill was constructed in the Edo period as part of a daimyo garden, built using soil excavated from ponds. The garden itself once recreated famous landscapes from across Japan on a grand scale. While little of it remains today, the hill endures—quietly holding its place as the highest point in central Tokyo.

A visit reveals a peaceful park filled with seasonal flowers. When I visited in April, azaleas were in full bloom.

And most importantly—the climb takes about five minutes.

If you’re interested, you can even obtain a “summit certificate” from the nearby office. Few hikes offer such a quick sense of accomplishment.

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Another Kind of “Height”: The Origins of Their Names

Looking up at skyscrapers—including Toranomon Hills—from the ‘summit’ of Mount Atago.

Interestingly, these two hills share something else in common.

Both have borrowed their names.

Mount Atago takes its name from Mount Atago in Kyoto, a sacred mountain long associated with fire prevention. In the Edo period, Atago Shrine was established here in its honor, and the hill adopted the same name.

Mount Hakone follows a similar pattern. Its name comes from Hakone Mountains, a rugged volcanic region that has long stood as a natural barrier between eastern and western Japan. The phrase “to cross Hakone” once implied a difficult journey—an obstacle for travelers in earlier times.

During the Edo period, a feudal lord recreated famous landscapes from across the country in a garden on this site. One of those was “Hakone,” and over time, the name came to refer to the hill itself.

In both cases, the “original” exists elsewhere.

Of course, this reflects the admiration and imagination of people in Edo—living in lowlands, yet dreaming of distant landscapes, shaped by faith, culture, and a sense of play.

And yet, when you look at them side by side, you might wonder—

Perhaps calling them “mountains” comes with just a hint of insecurity.

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Conclusion: A Matter of Meters, A Matter of Pride

So, which is the highest mountain in central Tokyo?

That question has sparked a quietly intense rivalry between Mount Atago and Mount Hakone—fought over a difference of just a few dozen meters, yet with surprising pride.

If you favor nature, choose Mount Atago.
If you favor numbers, choose Mount Hakone.

The choice is yours.

And if you decide to take on this “climb,” you won’t need heavy hiking boots.
A pair of sneakers—and a small sense of humor—will be more than enough.

After all, the summit is closer than you think.

Fun fact: At the top of the hill, inside the NHK Broadcasting Museum, there’s a hidden photo spot—the recreated ‘Atagoyama Studio,’ where you can step onto a  news set and play the anchor.

Peonies Out of Season — The Curious Logic of Hanafuda

In my previous column, I introduced wisteria (fuji) and briefly touched on hanafuda, the traditional Japanese card game that represents each month with seasonal imagery.

This time, I’d like to return to hanafuda once again.

The Next Star After Cherry Blossoms — Fuji (Wisteria) in April

The deck, which took its current form in the 19th century during the Edo period, beautifully captures the changing seasons.
But if you look closely, you may notice a subtle “mismatch” between the flowers depicted on the cards and the seasons as we experience them today.

This time, we’ll focus on the peony (botan), now in full bloom, and explore this curious discrepancy.

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Wisteria in April, Peonies That Come “Too Early”

In hanafuda, peonies appear as the card for June.

They are depicted together with butterflies—an established motif known as “peony and butterfly.”
This pairing originated in Chinese art, where it symbolized beauty, prosperity, and elegance, and was later adopted and widely appreciated in Japan.
By the Edo period, it had become a familiar artistic theme, appearing in various forms of visual culture.
For example, the ukiyo-e artist Katsushika Hokusai also created works based on this motif.

Meanwhile, April in hanafuda is represented by “wisteria and the cuckoo.”

On the cards, these flowers belong to different months—April and June.
In reality, however, wisteria and peonies reach their peak at almost the same time.

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How the Hanafuda Calendar Actually Works

To understand this, we need a bit of background.

Hanafuda was designed based on the traditional lunar calendar used during the Edo period.
This calendar differs from today’s Gregorian calendar, often by about a month, depending on the year.

For example, the “fourth month” in the lunar calendar roughly corresponds to mid-May today.

At the same time, modern climate change has caused many flowers to bloom earlier than they did in the past.
These two shifts—calendar difference and earlier blooming—tend to cancel each other out.

As a result, many of the pairings still feel natural today:

• Plum blossoms for February
• Cherry blossoms for March
• Wisteria for April

All seem to align reasonably well with modern Tokyo’s seasonal sense.

And yet, a few details still feel slightly off—especially  botan, the peony.

June in hanafuda corresponds roughly to July today.
But peonies actually bloom in April to May.

Even accounting for climate differences, the gap is too large.
They bloom alongside wisteria—and even earlier than the irises (May cards)—making their placement clearly inconsistent.

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Why Is the Peony Assigned to June?

A small "botanical" mystery—one that, quite fittingly, centers on botan, the peony.

There is no single definitive answer, but many explanations point to the cultural status of the peony.

Originally introduced from China around the 8th century, peonies

were valued both for medicinal use and as ornamental plants.
Their large, luxurious blooms earned them the title “king of flowers,” and they became closely associated with courtly elegance.

Chinese artistic traditions also played a role.
In classical Chinese painting, peonies are often paired with lions in the motif known as “Karajishi Botan” (lion and peony).
It is, in a sense, a pairing of “king and king”—symbolizing power, prestige, and abundance.

Seen in this light, the peony is not just a seasonal flower.
It represents status, symbolism, and an idealized image of the season.

In the lunar calendar, January to March is considered spring, and April to June is summer.
And often, the end of a season is marked by placing the most prestigious element at its conclusion.

From this perspective, the peony may have been positioned as the final, crowning symbol of summer.

In other words, hanafuda does not simply reflect when flowers bloom—it expresses a more abstract idea of seasonality, shaped by meaning and cultural value.

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A Place to Experience This “Mismatch”

— Nishiarai Daishi

So, can this “April wisteria, June peony” mismatch be experienced in real life?

In fact, there is a place in Tokyo where you can see both at once: Nishiarai Daishi, located in Adachi Ward.

Formally known as Sōji-ji Temple, it is a historic Buddhist temple associated with Kūkai, one of Japan’s most important religious figures.
It is well known for prayers for protection from misfortune and attracts many visitors throughout the year.

Within its grounds, a magnificent wisteria trellis—said to be around 700 years old—hangs overhead, its purple blossoms cascading down like a curtain.

At the same time, the temple is also famous for its peonies.

Thousands of large, vividly colored blooms fill the garden, each flower opening with a weighty yet dignified presence.

The contrast is striking:

the delicate, flowing beauty of wisteria and the bold, grounded presence of peonies.

Even the sight of peonies floating in water basins or ponds adds to the experience.

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The “Other Season” Inside Hanafuda

At Nishiarai Daishi, wisteria and peonies—separated on hanafuda cards—bloom side by side, as if nothing were unusual.

Hanafuda reflects not just nature, but the way people in Japan have long imagined and valued the seasons.

The slight shift of one or two months may be more than a simple discrepancy.
It may be a way of extending a fleeting moment—stretching the beauty of spring and early summer just a little longer.

Perhaps these cards do not depict reality, but an ideal.

And in places like Nishiarai Daishi, where wisteria and peonies bloom together,
we are given a glimpse of that “other season”—one that exists somewhere between nature and imagination.

Related articles:

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The Next Star After Cherry Blossoms — Fuji (Wisteria) in April

In my February and March columns, I explored Japan’s seasonal flower culture through plum blossoms and cherry blossoms.

And along the way, I realized something.

It connects to a traditional Japanese card game I introduced before: Hanafuda.

What is Hanafuda?　A Unique Japanese Souvenir for Nintendo Fans

Unlike Western playing cards, Hanafuda has no numbers. Each month is represented purely through imagery, creating a visually rich and uniquely Japanese game.
In this system, February is symbolized by plum blossoms, and

March by cherry blossoms.

So naturally, we shouldn’t stop there.

April has its own flower as well.

Fuji—wisteria.

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April features fuji (wisteria) paired with a cuckoo—a classic combination 

When the cherry blossoms fall, many people feel a quiet sense of loss.
But that moment is not an ending—it’s a transition.

In late April, a new presence quietly takes over the city.
Long clusters of purple flowers begin to cascade down from above, forming what can only be described as a “curtain of violet.”

This is Fuji.

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Fuji — Elegance and Symbolism

Fuji is a climbing plant, growing by extending strong, twisting vines.
For over a thousand years in Japan, it has been cultivated on wooden and bamboo trellises—known as fuji-dana (wisteria trellises)—allowing its blossoms to hang down in long, graceful clusters.

Some of these flower clusters can exceed one meter in length.
Each small bloom resembles a butterfly, and together they sway gently in the breeze, creating a scene that is both delicate and striking.

In classical Japanese literature, wisteria often symbolizes a graceful and refined woman.
Its pale purple color—fuji-iro—became a named color in its own right and was widely used in traditional clothing.

The color purple itself carries deeper meaning.
In ancient Japan, it was reserved for people of high rank, making it a symbol of nobility and elegance. Wisteria naturally came to embody these associations.

There is also a more modern cultural reference.
If you’ve seen Demon Slayer, you may recall that wisteria appears as a flower that repels demons.
This detail is not purely fictional—wisteria has long been believed in Japan to have protective, almost magical properties.

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Where to See Fuji in Tokyo — Kameido Tenjin Shrine

There are several places in Tokyo where you can enjoy Fuji, but one of the most famous is Kameido Tenjin Shrine, which I also introduced earlier as a plum blossom spot.

In fact, while it is well known for plum blossoms, it has an even longer history as a celebrated wisteria viewing site.

During peak season, the shrine also offers evening illuminations.
As night falls, soft lighting transforms the wisteria into something entirely different.

The hanging clusters seem to float in the darkness, suspended in midair.
Compared to the vibrant beauty of the daytime, the nighttime atmosphere is quiet, almost dreamlike—a completely different experience in the same place.

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 A “Purple Waterfall” from Above

As soon as you step into the shrine grounds, you are surrounded by cascading Fuji.
With over 50 plants in bloom, the flowers spill down from the trellises like a waterfall of purple.

Walking beneath them, enveloped in their gentle fragrance, feels almost like stepping into another world.

One of the most iconic photo spots here features the arched red bridge within the shrine grounds.

With wisteria in the foreground and the towering Tokyo Skytree in the background,
you can capture both traditional and modern Tokyo in a single frame.

The shrine’s pond adds another layer of beauty.
The wisteria trellises surrounding it are reflected on the calm surface of the water, creating a mirror-like scene—sometimes called “Sakasa fuji (upside-down wisteria).”

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Fuji Beyond the Shrine

Wisteria can be found not only in parks, but also in more everyday settings.
Because it can be cultivated, you may notice it hanging from the eaves of shops and private homes.

Just steps away from Kameido Tenjin Shrine stands the long-established confectionery shop Funabashiya, where a beautiful wisteria trellis welcomes visitors.

The shop is best known for its kuzumochi, loved for its uniquely soft texture and refined, delicate sweetness—an experience that pairs perfectly with the quiet elegance of the season.

And if you look closely at local shopping arcades or small izakaya, you might spot another subtle shift.

The decorations that featured cherry blossoms just weeks earlier are carefully replaced with wisteria.

Even though it lasts only a short time, people take the effort to change these displays to match the season.

That quiet attention to detail—and the people who notice and appreciate it—are part of what gives Tokyo its sense of seasonal rhythm.

When you begin to see these small changes, the city starts to feel more layered, more alive.

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Spring Is Not Over Yet

Azaleas in bloom with the five-storied pagoda of Ueno Park .

Just like in Hanafuda, the sequence continues—plum, cherry, and then wisteria.

April is also the season for many other flowers: azaleas, peonies, and rhododendrons all begin to bloom, each adding its own color to the city.

Many people think of cherry blossoms as the highlight of spring in Japan.
But in truth, they are only one part of a longer story.

Spring in Tokyo doesn’t end with falling petals.

If you happen to visit Japan during this season,
don’t stop at cherry blossoms—look for the violet curtain that comes next.

Related articles:

Before the Cherry Blossoms: Discovering Japan’s Plum Season

It’s Sakura Season—But It’s Not Just About the Famous Spots in Tokyo

Edo: The Former Name of Tokyo and Its Cultural Legacy

After the Blossoms: Small Concerns from Tokyo’s Top Sakura Spots

 

After the Peak at Chidorigafuchi

As Tokyo’s cherry blossom season draws to a close, I visited one of the city’s most iconic spots on April 8: Chidorigafuchi.

I had missed the peak bloom, but some blossoms still clung to the branches. Petals drifted through the air like snow—a scene known in Japanese as sakura fubuki, or “cherry blossom snowstorm.” It was a quiet reminder that the season had come to an end in Tokyo. A little sad, yet undeniably beautiful.

That said, I wasn’t there just to take in the afterglow. This year’s sakura season came with a piece of news that caught my attention.

A cherry tree at this famous spot had collapsed.

本日（４月２日）明け方、千鳥ヶ淵緑道脇にあるさくら（ソメイヨシノ）１本が倒木し、緑道の一部を閉鎖させていただいております。

皆様にはご不便をおかけしますが、緑道などの安全管理を徹底してまいりますので、安心してお花見をお楽しみください。… pic.twitter.com/gYynFD34Mp

— 千代田区 (@chiyoda_city) April 2, 2026

It reportedly fell in the early morning of April 2, right around peak bloom. Strong winds and rain the night before are believed to have been the direct cause. Fortunately, because it happened early in the day, no one was injured.

At the site, keep-out tape blocked off the area. A snapped trunk, uplifted ground at the base, and even a bent guardrail spoke to the force of the collapse.

The trees at Chidorigafuchi stretch out over the moat, creating that signature view—but that very beauty also puts strain on them. Looking around, I noticed many trees supported by braces or heavily pruned, suggesting their age.

The Hidden Reality Behind Sakura Trees

This year, similar incidents were reported across Japan. Fully blooming cherry trees collapsing—almost as if it had been coordinated.

One reason often cited is the aging of Somei Yoshino, the most common cherry variety. Planted en masse across Japan after World War II, many of these trees are now reaching the end of their lifespan.

Because Somei Yoshino are clones propagated from a single original tree, their growth—and aging—tends to follow a similar timeline. Some have even described them, a bit dramatically, as “time bombs” that might fail all at once. Of course, not every tree is dangerous, but the underlying structure is hard to ignore.

As ornamental trees, Somei Yoshino are also relatively vulnerable to disease and pests. Once aging leads to internal decay or hollowing, a tree may appear healthy on the outside while losing structural strength. And once that happens, restoring it to its former condition is extremely difficult.

Across Japan, there are increasing reports of old cherry-lined streets being cut down due to irreversible decay, or replaced with more disease-resistant varieties.

Sakura—currently under treatment

In response, the role of tree specialists—often called arborists—has become more important. They assess aging, internal damage, pests, and disease to manage the risk of collapse. With so many people gathering under these trees each spring, ensuring their safety has become an urgent task.

When Crowds Become the Issue: Meguro River

Cherry blossoms draw crowds. And because they do, certain challenges naturally come with that popularity.

One example this year could be seen at another of Tokyo’s famous spots, Meguro River.

Stretching about four kilometers and lined with roughly 800 Somei Yoshino trees, the river creates a tunnel of blossoms that nearly covers the narrow waterway. Combined with nighttime illuminations and the trendy atmosphere of the surrounding area, it attracts an overwhelming number of visitors each year.

At Meguro River, the typical way to enjoy the blossoms is to walk along the riverside. In reality, you move with the crowd—slowly flowing forward with everyone else. There’s little room to stop. If anything, you have to keep moving just to catch glimpses of the blossoms.

To be honest, I haven’t visited Meguro River in the past few years—the crowds have simply become too overwhelming.

This year, a new measure was introduced at Hinode Bridge. Banners were installed along the railings, effectively blocking the view. The pink signs read: “No stopping.”

桜の名所・目黒川に目隠し横断幕　事故防止に区設置、「残念」の声もhttps://t.co/eQJC1jCS4i

雑踏事故を防ぐため目隠し用の横断幕が掲げられました。
ピンク色の横断幕に大きく「滞留禁止」などと書かれており、通りかかった人からは「写真に写りこむのが残念」という声も上がっています。

— 朝日新聞デジタル速報席 (@asahicom) March 27, 2026

The goal was to prevent people from crowding the bridge to take photos, which had caused congestion and safety concerns. Staff were also present, guiding visitors and asking for cooperation.

Ironically, this bridge had been one of the best vantage points—an ideal spot to see the blossoms stretching over the water. The decision to partially block the view has sparked mixed reactions: some say it ruins the scenery, while others see it as a necessary step for safety and crowd control.

A Small Postscript to Sakura Season

For many years, cherry blossoms have drawn people in with their quiet grandeur. Yet this year, at two of Tokyo’s most famous spots, it felt as though small signs of strain—subtle but real—had begun to show beneath the beauty.

A small footnote to this year’s sakura season.

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