Jenny My Love by Yōsui Inoue

NHK Hall, March 7, 1982Little Tokyo in Los Angeles has a rich history, and last year, one of its oldest businesses, Mitsuru Sushi & Grill, closed permanently following the retirement of its owner.

I had gotten to know the owner and his family pretty well over the years. Mitsuru may not have been the fanciest or trendiest eatery in Little Tokyo, but to me, it was the most peaceful — and perhaps the most authentic. The walls were decorated with old monochrome photographs of the neighborhood, Japanese movie posters, and vintage Asahi and Suntory beer advertisements. It felt like a place where time had slowed down.

Back in its heyday, Mitsuru operated as both a sit-down diner and a convenience store. In its later years, it had been reduced mostly to the restaurant side, though it still had a sushi bar. During its final weeks of business, I decided to pay it one last visit during one of my usual trips to the record store.

As a goodbye gift, I thanked the owner personally and gave him one of my own records: Sneaker Dancer by Yosui Inoue (井上陽水). He was so grateful for the gift that I ended up taking home ten bottles of sake and two shot glass collections in return. I guess he was a big Inoue fan — or maybe he was just touched by the gesture.

At that point, I had only just begun digging deep into Inoue’s discography, but Sneaker Dancer immediately stood out to me. Part of that was because half of the songs were arranged by legendary guitarist Masayoshi Takanaka, which was already enough to catch my attention. But the song that truly sold me on the album was “Jenny My Love” 「ジェニー My Love」.

Maybe it’s because I’m a hopeless romantic, but I’m a sucker for some good old-fashioned brokenhearted blues. There’s something funny, and strangely moving, about hearing the phrase “singing in the rain” delivered not with the cheerful, happy-go-lucky spirit of Gene Kelly, but as a loud, dramatic cry for help. With Inoue crying in the rain over a sad, one-sided love for Jenny, whoever Jenny may be.

For me is Takanaka’s emotional guitar solo is the glue that holds this song together, cutting right through the track and pairs beautifully with Inoue’s bluesy wailing, giving the song a sense of longing that feels deeply personal. 

In my personal opinion this song sounds best when performed live. My favorite being the version sung at NHK Hall on March 7, 1982. This version features singer-songwriter Kōji Tamaki (玉置浩二) , who would become well known as frontman of the rock band Anzen Chitai.