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Animation and music by Shunsuke Saito.

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Popular Science recently put its entire 137-year archive online. Here are a few summaries of some of the older, more captivating stories about Japan from the collection.

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“Can We Blast Japan from Below?” (January 1944) is an article by an eminent geologist who proposes bombing Japan’s volcanoes as a strategy for winning the war.

Given Japan’s seismic instability and the explosive nature of volcanoes, dropping bombs into volcanic craters might, in the words of the author, “cause such a vomiting of lava and ash as to hasten the day of unconditional surrender.”

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“Japanese Home Life” (May 1893) examines daily domestic routines, including the telling of ghost stories around the fireplace at night. The article includes a spooky tale about shape-shifting badgers.

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The January 1971 issue includes a short article about a “Wankel/electric hybrid concept car from Japan,” an environmentally-friendly urban transport vehicle that resembles a helicopter cockpit.

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“Upside-down Skyscrapers Proposed in Japan” (January 1929) describes a proposal to build an 80-floor subterranean building that descends 1,100 feet below ground. The envisioned structure — dreamed up by architects seeking earthquake-proof designs after the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923 — would include electric lights, telephones and high-speed elevators, and would cost an estimated $11 million to complete.

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“Nasty Job This — Cleaning Customers’ Ears” (October 1917) takes a brief look at what used to be a common service provided by Japanese barbers.

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“Odd Rules Hamper Our Cars Abroad” (October 1930) examines some of the peculiar difficulties that American automakers faced when trying to sell cars abroad. In Japan, for example, the law used to forbid private citizens from owning maroon-colored cars — this color was reserved for the royal family. Yellow cabs also proved to be unpopular because, according to the article, the color is associated with mourning. Japanese laws also required tail-light switches to be located at the rear of the vehicle, and special mudflaps had to be attached whenever it began to rain (to prevent pedestrians from being splashed). Taxis also had to be outfitted with two horns — an electric horn and and a bulb horn — and it was customary for each taxi driver to employ an assistant whose primary duty was to operate the auxiliary horn as they sped through the streets.

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“Strange Medicines” (October 1887) discusses the spread of Western medicine through Japan. The author explores the back streets of Osaka in search of traditional medicine and explains, among other things, the old-school trade of kuroyaki (charred animals).

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“Japan’s Greeting to the New Year,” (May 1921) briefly describes a Japanese New Year practice where children put on fantastic masks made of paper.

According to the article, the symbolic masks often represent traditional figures and “have a special meaning, other than just being grotesque.”

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“Animal and Plant Lore” (July 1891) examines the use of human saliva in various forms of folk medicine from around the world. The article presents a Japanese folk remedy for curing the numbness in the lower extremities that inevitably occurs when sitting too long with legs folded in the traditional formal style. To restore feeling in your legs, you should wet a piece of straw with saliva, stick it to your forehead, and chant “shibire kyo e agare” — lit. “numbness, go up to Kyo (Kyoto).”

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The February 1964 issue includes a long and wordy advertisement for a $1.98 booklet that teaches the secret art of Yubiwaza, an easy-to-master self-defense technique that turns one’s finger into a powerful weapon.

According to the ad, Yubiwaza is an “effective means of defense against hoodlums, bullies, wise guys and juvenile delinquents who respect neither lives nor property.”

[More: Popular Science articles on Japan]

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A severed samurai head buried in central Tokyo has struck fear and awe in the hearts of locals for over 1,000 years.

The head that refused to die

The head — supposedly buried in the Otemachi district — belongs to Taira no Masakado, a rebellious warrior who led an insurgency against the central government in the 10th century. At the height of his power, Masakado proclaimed himself emperor — an act that aroused the wrath of the government and ended in his decapitation. The samurai failed to become ruler of Japan, but his severed head has remained a persistent source of trouble for over 1,000 years.

Here is a brief history of the head.

903 – 940 AD: Taira no Masakado was born and raised in eastern Japan. After leading a minor rebellion and assuming control of eight provinces in northern Kanto, Masakado declared himself the new emperor of Japan. The established emperor, based in Kyoto, responded by putting a bounty on his head. Two months later, Masakado was killed in battle. His decapitated head was transported to Kyoto and put on public display as a warning to other would-be rebels.

Masakado’s head on display in Kyoto

Strangely, Masakado’s head did not decompose. Three months later, it still looked fresh and alive, though the eyes had grown more fierce and the mouth had twisted into a horrifying grimace. One night, the head began to glow, and it lifted into the air and flew off in the direction of Taira no Masakado’s hometown.

The head grew weary on the long flight home, and it came to rest in the village of Shibasaki (present-day Otemachi, Tokyo). The villagers picked up the head, cleaned it, and buried it in a mound at Kanda Myojin shrine.

950: Ten years after the head was laid to rest, the burial mound began to glow and shake violently, and the ghost of a bedraggled samurai started to make regular appearances in the neighborhood. The frightened locals offered special prayers that seemed to put the spirit to rest.

1200~: At the beginning of the 13th century, a temple belonging to the powerful Tendai Buddhist sect was built adjacent to Kanda Myojin shrine. This apparently upset the spirit of Masakado, and the people in the area were stricken by plague and natural calamities as a consequence.

1307: Nearly a century later, a priest from an Amida Buddhist sect — which took a more liberal, accessible approach to Buddhism than the Tendai sect — built an invocation hall here and tended the shrine of Masakado, thus easing the spirit’s anger.

Over time, Taira no Masakado came to be regarded as a deity in east Japan

1616: Kanda Myojin shrine, which had elevated Masakado to deity status, was moved to a new site to make room for the mansions of the feudal lords stationed in Edo. The burial mound and headstone were left behind in the garden of one of the mansions.

1869: After the fall of the feudal system, the Meiji government constructed their Finance Ministry building next to the burial site. The mound and headstone were left untouched.

1874: The government issued a formal declaration condemning Masakado as having been an “enemy of the emperor.” His deity status at Kanda Myojin shrine was revoked.

1923: The Great Kanto Earthquake and the ensuing fires all but destroyed the mound and stone monument. The Finance Ministry building burned to the ground. Before rebuilding, the ministry excavated the grave site in search of the skull, but found nothing. They decided to erect a temporary building on the premises.

1926: Building over the burial site turned out to be a terrible decision. Finance minister Seiji Hayami died suddenly of illness, and 13 other ministry officials met similar fates over the next two years. Many workers became ill or were injured in mysterious accidents on the premises. People believed that Taira no Masakado had cursed the new building.

1928: The ministry removed part of the structure covering the burial site and began holding annual purification rituals. At first there was great enthusiasm for the rituals, but interest faded over the years.

Masakado’s head takes to the skies

1940: A fire sparked by lightning burned down the Finance Ministry building and several other government offices in the Otemachi district. The day was remembered as being exactly 1,000 years after the death of Taira no Masakado. The old earthquake-damaged stone monument was rebuilt, and the site was rededicated to the samurai rebel. The Finance Ministry moved, and the land around the burial site became the property of the Tokyo municipal government.

1945: After World War II, US occupation forces seized control of the property and began to clear the land to create a parking lot. Progress was hindered by a series of suspicious accidents. In one accident, a worker died next to the grave when the bulldozer he was driving flipped over. After local officials explained the significance of the burial site to the US forces, they decided to leave part of the parking lot unfinished.

1961: Control of the property was handed back to Japan, and the parking lot was removed. Purification rituals were conducted, and the burial site was once more dedicated to Taira no Masakado. But when new buildings were constructed next to the burial mound, workers again fell ill. A figure with disheveled hair reportedly began to appear in photographs taken in the area. In an attempt to calm the spirit, representatives from local businesses started to pray at the burial site on the 1st and 15th of each month.

The final resting place of Masakado’s head – Google Street View // Google Maps

1984: In response to public pressure following the broadcast of an NHK television drama based on the life of Taira no Masakado, his deity status at Kanda Myojin shrine was reinstated.

1987: A string of freak accidents and injuries occurred during the filming of Teito Monogatari (“Tokyo: The Last Megalopolis”), a historical fantasy whose villain seeks to destroy Tokyo by awakening Masakado’s spirit (watch the movie trailer). To prevent accidents on the set, it is now common practice for TV and movie producers to pay their respects at the burial site before bringing Taira no Masakado to the screen.

In the more than 1,000 years since Masakado’s head fell from the sky, Tokyo has grown into the world’s largest metropolis and the area around the burial site has become the financial center of Japan. But to this day, local business people remain wary of the power of the head in their midst, and the surrounding companies take great pains to keep Masakado’s vengeful spirit in check. Supposedly, no office worker in the vicinity wants to sit with their back toward the burial site, and nobody wants to face it directly.

[Note: This is the latest in a series of weekly posts on Japanese urban legends. Check back next week for more.]

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Here is a collection of posters by the father of Japanese graphic design, Yusaku Kamekura.

Sofu Teshigahara, One Man Show, 1954 [+]

Nikon, 1954 [+]

Gropius and Bauhaus Exhibition, 1954 [+]

Nikon Mikron Binoculars, 1955 [+]

Graphic ‘55 Exhibition, 1955 [+]

Fuji Photo Contest, 1955 [+]

Atomic Energy for Peaceful Industry, 1956 [+]

Nikon SP, 1957 [+]

Terror and Sorrow! Cancer! 1959 [+]

“Design” Magazine Cover, 1959 [+]

Nikkorex 35, 1960 [+]

Nikkor Lens, 1960 [+]

Poster for 18th Olympic Games, 1961 [+]

Rayon and Synthetic Fibres of Japan, 1961 [+]

Rayon and Synthetic Fibres of Japan, 1962 [+]

Election Poster, 1967 [+]

Japan World Exposition, Osaka, 1967 [+]

Office Design Exhibition, 1970 [+]

Nikomat, 1971 [+]

Tokyo International Design Competition for Lighting Fixtures, 1973 [+]

The 8th Annual Tokyo International Lighting Design Competition, 1977 [+]

The 9th Annual Tokyo International Lighting Design Competition, 1979 [+]

The 10th Tokyo International Lighting Design Competition, 1983 [+]

Hiroshima Appeals, 1983 [+]

[From "The Works of Yusaku Kamekura," Rikuyosha, 1983]

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An eerie Kleenex commercial featuring a baby red demon sparked a host of rumors and fears after airing on Japanese TV in the mid-1980s. (Watch at your own risk.)

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After the ad ran, rumors began to circulate about the unfortunate fate of everyone involved. Keiko Matsuzaka, the actress in the commercial, was rumored to have become pregnant with a demon child. Others claim she was institutionalized after suffering a mental breakdown. The young actor who played the red demon is said to have died suddenly under mysterious circumstances. And one by one, the entire production staff either fell ill or suffered unfortunate accidents.

The song in the commercial also gained notoriety. Some viewers thought the lyrics sounded like a German curse, and there were claims that the sound of the music varied according to the time of day. Whenever the commercial aired late at night, the singer’s angelic voice would transform into the raspy voice of an old woman, bringing misfortune to all who heard it.

Needless to say, there is no truth to these claims. The producers simply wanted a dreamy fairy tale look for the commercial, and they chose the song “It’s A Fine Day” (recorded by Jane) for its cheerful message. The commercial failed to get the desired response.

[Note: This is the latest in a series of weekly posts on Japanese urban legends. Check back next week for more.]

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A glowing “walk signal” man takes a leisurely stroll through Tokyo at night.

[Link: Tokyo/Glow via Tokyomango]

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Here is a time-lapse video showing the past year of construction of the massive Tokyo Sky Tree broadcasting tower, which reached a height of 300 meters (984 ft) this month. When completed in December 2011, the tower will stand 634 meters (2,080 ft) tall, making it the tallest structure in Tokyo.

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An animated short about post-apocalyptic ant people, directed by Ryō Hirano.

+ Future Man

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On a recent visit to Japan, alien landscape photographer Martin Rietze captured some spectacular images of Sakurajima volcano in Kagoshima prefecture.

Multiple lightning flashes caused by fast moving fine ash

Lava bombs hitting the flank

Strombolian eruption with lightning

Detail with multiple lightning flashes

Lava brightens the ash cloud

Ash eruption causing lightning

Violent eruption

The photos were taken between December 24, 2009 and January 10, 2010.

[Link: Martin Rietze]

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In the Meiji period (1868-1912), Japan ended centuries of isolation and entered a period of rapid modernization after opening its doors to the world. The ensuing social and technological changes inspired a number of interesting urban legends.

- Phantom trains

Railroads played a key role in the modernization of Japan. After the first trains started running in 1872, railroads quickly expanded across the country. But as the number of trains increased, so did the frequency of phantom train sightings.

Most often seen by train conductors working late at night, these phantom trains — which looked and sounded like ordinary trains — tended to emerge suddenly from the darkness ahead. Shocked by the sight of an oncoming locomotive, conductors typically reacted by grinding their train to halt. Phantom trains usually vanished just before a collision occurred.

These phantom trains, whose sightings have been documented by scholars such as ethnologist Kunio Yanagita and folklorist Kizen Sasaki, were often thought to be the work of shape-shifting animals such as the kitsune (fox), tanuki (raccoon dog) and mujina (badger), because the carcasses of these animals would often be found near where sightings took place.

According to one old Tokyo tale, a phantom train used to appear frequently on the Jōban line. One night, while passing through Tokyo’s Katsushika ward, a conductor spotted the notorious phantom train barreling toward him. Convinced it was nothing more than an illusion, he kept charging ahead without applying the brakes. At the moment of impact, there was a loud shriek as the phantom train disappeared into thin air.

The next morning, a number of mangled badger carcasses were found scattered near the tracks where the sighting occurred. The nearby residents surmised that the badgers had banded together and shape-shifted into a menacing-looking train in revenge for being displaced from their homes. A burial mound was constructed for the badgers at Kenshōji temple in Kameari.

Mujina-dzuka (badger mound) monument at Kenshōji temple in Tokyo

A stone monument marking the spot of the badger burial mound can still be seen at the temple today.

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- Electric power lines insulated with the blood of virgins

Like the railroads, electricity played a vital role in the modernization of Japan during the Meiji period. The spread of electricity brought overhead power lines to cities and towns across the country. These new additions to the landscape were regarded with suspicion by many, and they became the subject of various rumors.

Coal tar was used as insulation for electric wires in the early days. Somehow, rumors began to circulate that the thick dark insulating substance was derived from the blood of innocent young women. At the height of the rumors, many virgins were afraid to go outside, fearing they would have their blood stolen for use on the wires. Those who were courageous enough to venture outdoors would sometimes disguise themselves as older, married women by wearing simple kimonos, blackening their teeth, painting their eyebrows, and doing their hair in the marumage style (rounded knot on top of the head).

Marumage hairstyle for married women

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- Cholera-carrying electric power lines

In addition to instilling fear in young women, power lines were also thought to transmit the dreaded cholera, which claimed hundreds of thousands of lives in Japan during the Meiji period. According to the word on the street, a person could contract cholera simply by walking under overhead power lines. If circumstances forced you to pass beneath a power line, you could protect yourself by holding an open folding fan over your head.

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- Chocolate made from cow blood

The Meiji period also saw the birth of the chocolate industry. Although Japan’s first taste of chocolate came in the 18th century via Dutch traders at Nagasaki, it was not until 1878 that Fugetsudo, a sweets manufacturer, produced the first Japanese chocolate. The novel taste was a hit, and other manufacturers quickly followed suit. Despite the early success, however, the exotic sweet had its doubters. Sales suffered a setback at the end of the century after rumors circulated that chocolate was made from coagulated cow blood.

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- Saigō star

In 1877, in the aftermath of the Satsuma Rebellion — an armed revolt of ex-samurai against the Meiji government — a rumor spread that fallen samurai leader Takamori Saigō could be seen in the night sky.

Saigō star (woodblock print by Kunimasa Umedo)

In September of that year, Earth reached its closest point to Mars (about 56 million kilometers), causing it to shine big and bright at night. Not realizing the strange red light was Mars, many regarded the star as an ill omen for Saigō’s enemies. Rumors claimed that Saigō could be seen in full military dress in the star when viewed through a telescope. Woodblock prints depicting the so-called Saigō star were popular at the time.

[Note: This is the latest in a series of weekly posts on Japanese urban legends. Check back next week for more.]

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