Parasitology International 64 (2015) xxi
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Kazuyuki Tanabe: Malariology and music Richard Culleton Malaria Unit, Institute of Tropical Medicine, Nagasaki, Japan
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Available online 22 November 2014
Very soon after I first arrived in Osaka at the beginning of a post-doctoral fellowship with Professor Kazuyuki Tanabe, he took me to an Okinawan bar way down in the heart of the city. There, he explained that his wife Hiroko had persuaded him that he needed a hobby, as she was concerned that he spent all his free time reading papers about malaria. His solution was to take up the sanshin; a traditional Okinawan three stringed instrument, which is best described to those unfamiliar with it as a sort of slim, fretless snake-skin banjo. The sight of the instrument does little to instil confidence in the beholder that any sounds emanating from it will transcend the rudimentary. The bar was small, and populated almost exclusively by a clientele of bleary-eyed ex-patriot Okinawan workers of various ages. There was a very strong community spirit, everyone knew each other, and everyone knew Kazu. I was treated as somewhat of a curiosity, and plied with more awamori (a type of Okinawan sake) than I had any reasonable right to be able to handle, whilst Kazu was obviously well-known, liked and respected. Before long, he was handed a sanshin, and began to play along with the tune that was currently being piped through the bar's sound-system. He displayed quite a musical talent, but the most striking thing about his performance was his absolute concentration and seriousness whilst playing. Upon finishing, he handed back the instrument and his face relaxed back into the endearing expression of contentment that he would often display following a particularly satisfying lab meeting. The appreciation and especially the performance of music were important to Kazu. I remember discussing with him that night, although the details are blurred by both time and awamori, that the part of the brain that deals
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with logical scientific thinking may be different to that that controls the appreciation of music, and by playing an instrument, one may switch the focus of the brain and allow it to recharge (it seemed more profound at the time…). I first met Kazu when I began exploring the possibility of joining his laboratory at Osaka Institute of Technology as a post-doctoral fellow. He guided me through the application process, and I joined his lab in late 2005, arriving in Osaka – a huge, noisy, raucous and shambolic city in the south of Japan – fresh faced, naïve and terrified. His kindness and patience eventually made me feel as at home in Osaka as I had in Edinburgh. Looking back now, I am amazed by the effort he went to on my behalf in order to make me feel welcome; organising so many things from my accommodation to visits to Okinawan bars. Academically, working in his lab was always interesting. Kazu was an excellent and enthusiastic scientist, interested in everything, and always looking for opportunities to make significant advancements in his field. His passion was, of course, malariology, and he was very driven, incredibly so, given the advanced state of his career, to push the boundaries of his research. It is telling that he produced so many first author papers during the last few years of his life, a time when many scientists have reached the “administration” period of their careers. In that regard, he was an inspiration to the younger generation of parasitologists in Japan, and one that led by example. He will be remembered fondly, and greatly missed, by the malaria community worldwide.