Traditional Japanese music—unlike Western music—does not attach great importance to vertical sound units—chords, harmony, or coordination of pitch intervals, melody, or rhythm between parts. In fact, the Japanese do not like several parts to be perfectly harmonious; singing or reciting absolutely in tune with the accompanying instruments is considered childish or immature, and performers may refuse to do it. Nor are the sung parts synchronized with the instrumental parts. Thus there are natural divergences between parts in pitch and time, creating delicate "spaces" which cannot be described by tempered pitch intervals or metronomic regularity, and which Japanese listeners particularly enjoy.

Ma: A space or pause

Ma, or silence, is actually a unit consisting of a single sound and its lingering "after-sound," considered an introduction to the next sound. In order to make the next sound vivid, the ma must create tension. Zeami wrote in Kakyô:

There are times when an audience says of an actor, "He's best when he is doing nothing." ... The time "when he is doing nothing" is the spaces between these physical aspects of his acting. The actor's strict care and concentration are the elements that make these stillnesses or pauses interesting. He must be careful not ever to lose his intensity ... at such times as the moment after the end of his dance, song, dialogue, gesture, etc. The feeling of concentrated intensity in the depths of the actor's heart is sensed by the audience, and thus the silent pauses are made interesting. (Nakamura 1971:51)

An example of the importance of ma is found in the nô drama Izutu 'The Wooden Well-Curb' (Japanese Classical Translation Committee 1985:104). After performing a dance in a slow tempo (zyo no mai) the principal actor (site)—playing a woman who is dressed as a man, her husband, Narihira—approaches an old well, pushes aside the susuki grass (Japanese pampas grass) that covers it, and then peers down into it. The woman gazes at her reflection in the water; since she is wearing Narihira's robe and headgear, the reflection looks like his living image. As the site looks down into the well, the utai chorus stops singing, and there is a moment of perfect silence. This moment, ma, focuses the audience's attention on the stage and conveys a sense of eternity. Then, the woman, staring at the surface of the water, murmurs to herself, "How dear is the face I see!" This single phrase—prepared for by the ma—is crucial to the success, or failure, of the scene.

Another example is the part called ran byôsi in Dôzyôzi 'Dôzyô Temple'. The drummer playing the ko tuzumi holds a ma for several seconds, then breathes out with a shout—"ya"—and then returns to beating the drum. This long ma is not merely a pause: it represents a complete life, and the audience listens to it in a state of tension.

A good example of ma from kabuki is hyôsigi (wooden clappers). Their sound, "tyo-o-n," is also tense, creating an expectation of the next sound, and this tension remains even after the lingering sounds diminish.

In each beat of the wooden clappers or the hand drum, ma—the space created before and after the beat itself—produces beauty as well as tension. But if the ma is not sufficiently intense, the beats would be sluggish and vague rather than vivid. The ma is highly expressive, and to appreciate it—indeed, to appreciate traditional Japanese music—the listeners must strain their ears for a single sound.

[p.553] (Shimosako)