I've been a fan of Japanese popular music for 40 years, and have managed to collect a lot of material during that time. So I decided I wanted to talk about Showa Era music with like-minded fans. My particular era is the 70s and 80s (thus the "kayo kyoku"). The plus part includes a number of songs and artists from the last 30 years and also the early kayo. So, let's talk about New Music, aidoru, City Pop and enka.
Credits
I would like to give credit where credit is due. Videos are from YouTube and other sources such as NicoNico while Oricon rankings and other information are translated from the Japanese Wikipedia unless noted.
As I noted in my previous article, due to Wednesday the 29th being Showa Day in Japan (and thus the official start to Golden Week), NHK's "Uta Con"（うたコン）devoted a good chunk of its broadcast tonight to some of the Showa Erakayo kyoku which I was plenty grateful about. After all, this is what we're all here for when it comes to this blog.
I recollect that I may have done something in the past to commemorate Showa Day via an Author's Picks but I decided to still go ahead with another try at a list. Initially, I'd thought about bringing over some of a list of most popular Showa Erakaraoke songs but when I realized that most of those songs originated in the years 1985 to 1987, I jettisoned that idea for being a little too centralized, time-wise. Then, after some more thought, I blurted out "Oh, what the heck!". I'll just let my memories pick out one song that immediately comes to mind when I think of a certain decade or period within Showa (1926-1989) and let the chips fall where they may.
The list below only consists of five songs...yes, very inadequate (I've left out City Pop and Group Sounds, for instance) but take this as an opportunity for folks to chime in with their representative kayo choices. Anyways, anything that would seem adequate would probably force me to make a new blog. Plus, Labels would throw a major tantrum at me. Still, allow me to mention the Blue Comets'"Blue Chateau"（ブルー・シャトウ）from 1967 and Miki Matsubara's（松原みき）"Mayonaka no Door"（真夜中のドアー）from 1979.
I've shone the spotlight on several composers who had written melodies for Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎) in my articles on the Preeminent Enka Singer, but one whom I don't think I've ever really talked about was Toshiyo Kamata (鎌多俊与).
Kamata was born Toshio Kamata (釜田俊雄) on 16th November 1913 in Sado, Niigata, and passed away in 1995. He was graduate of Musashino Academia Musicae, and he was a originally a ryukoka singer during the prewar era but shifted career tracks and became just a composer at King Records. There, he would spawn several hits for the contract singers. He's probably best known for Michiya Mihashi's (三橋美智也)Aishu Ressha (哀愁列車).
To my surprise, Kamata only composed 11 songs for Hachi, which is on the low end. Indeed, I feel like I barely see his name, but I believe he's most recognised for Izakaya (居酒屋), Charumera Jinsei (チャルメラ人生), and Ore wa Nora Inu (俺は野良犬).Ruten Garasu (流転がらす) is also a personal favourite of mine.
Let's talk about his prewar singer days. There is barely any easily accessible information on him, even less so on his early career. But what I do know is that he debuted under King Records in 1936 under the stage name Hachiro Konoe (近衛八郎). As Konoe, he was known for gunka and gunkoku kayo (military songs, wartime songs), like Otoko nara (男なら), sung with Isao Hayashi (林伊佐緒) and Shizuo Higuchi (樋口静雄), and Aa, Waga Senyu (あゝ我が戦友). However, Konoe seemed to have a rocky time during the war(s), having been sent to the frontlines in late 1937 when the Second Sino-Japanese War erupted. He returned safely in mid-1940 and continued his singing career for a bit. I'm not too sure what happened after, but a publication in 1947 suggested that he may have been shipped off to the frontlines again, and his whereabouts up to that point were unknown. Thankfully, as we see from his long tenure as a composer at postwar King, he was fine - lucky man!
He's so cute (*艸)
Even though there is little on Kamata, there are some pictures of him, mostly from his Konoe days. And, by golly, that puppy dog face had me instantly star-struck! I'd be lying if I said that that didn't spur me to look into his prewar works. I don't like gunka, so I searched high and low for anything not of that sort. I was able to dredge out a whopping three songs. What a lovely variety.
Among the three, I went with Hanami Dochu (Sakura-viewing Travels).
Renowned composer Nosho Omura (大村能章) crafted a melody with a strong traditional Japanese flavour, filled with what sounds like the ko-zutsumi drums accompanied by the shamisen. Kazuharu Matsuki's (松木一晴) - I'm not sure about how the name is pronounced - lyrics present the joyous atmosphere of spring and the rowdy festivities that come with admiring the sakura in full bloom. Indeed, Omura’s tune is upbeat and celebratory, but it somehow also has a certain elegance to it despite the raucous sound.
Despite the popularity of his aforementioned representative hits, I actually didn't know how Konoe sounded, so Hanami Dochu served as my introduction to the voice of one of the men whose names I saw so often. True to his debut introduction in a 1936 magazine, he had a booming baritone that rattled my insides. A wild contrast to that golden retriever-like appearance. However, it was more his delivery that had me raising my eyebrows. What made it hard for me to swallow initially was the fact that he sounded so unlike several classically-trained pop singers from the 30s when singing traditional Japanese-sounding ryukoka. They just sounded “normal.” Why did I think Konoe sounded so “weird”?
During a discussion some time ago, my prof had brought up a niche genre that surfaced for a short time during the nascent years of the Showa era. This was about when the push to modernise (Westernise) and “improve” the condition of local music (among other things) by imbuing it with Western elements was still strong. For the life of me, I cannot remember what this genre was called, but it was essentially singing traditional music like min’yo utilising Western classical singing methods. While the combination seems hard to reconcile, it vaguely sounded like current-day enka but with a stronger opera-like quality to my ears. It also reminded me of the great tenor Yoshie Fujiwara (藤原義江) when he were to sing ryukoka back in the late 20s.
Then it dawned on me: Konoe singing Hanami Dochu felt somewhat like this, as though he wasn't compromising his classical foundations even though he's tackling a traditional-sounding pop song. Then again, maybe Konoe just had a highly idiosyncratic vocal style. Whatever it is, I still think he sounds rather odd, but I was eventually able to somewhat appreciate the warbling I was hearing. It's kinda endearing. Sort of.
I'm not sure when this song was released, but going by the record number and label, it was probably sometime in early 1936. A little tidbit on SP record technicalities, I reckon you might have noticed in the video that the record label is that of Polydor Records and not King. Well, that's because this record seemed to have been made when King Records was still under a joint initiative with Polydor Records, which lasted from 1931 to 1936. Hence, the record label has Polydor on it instead of King, but recorded by Konoe, who was affiliated with King. Apparently, you can tell by the record numbers: If it was released between 1931 and early 1936, and it had a “K” leading a set of numbers, it’s King; if it’s just numbers, it’s Polydor. (I'm by no means an expert on the record medium itself, I only just learned this recently and thought I'd share the knowledge of deciphering cryptic record numbers from one company.)
As per tradition, I had come up with a nickname for Kamata/Konoe. For a while, I jokingly called him "Hachi 2", but I felt terrible - for both Kamata and my Hachi. In the end, I settled on Toshi-san.
(*艸) From 78MUSIC
Oh geez, it's as if you merged the adorableness of Bin Uehara (上原敏) and Akira Matsudaira (松平晃), and plastered it on to Kasuga. Had I liked his voice more, it'd be over for me.
From the album "Matsudaira Akira Eien no Utagoe" (2021)
I’d previously mentioned the Japanese record industry’s initial aversion to cover songs some time back. Allow me to introduce one of those exceptions: Koya wo Yuku. This was one I discovered while doing a bit of research on Akira Matsudaira’s (松平晃)Koya Mono in relation to Hachiro Kasuga’s (春日八郎) Bokyo Kayo for a class paper late last year. At the point of doing the paper, I'd only just developed a taste for Matsudaira’s songs of adventure and wandering in the vast Manchurian plains. That being the case, I was only most aware of his notable ones, i.e. basically, those easily found in his compilations on Spotify. The tunes that sparked the Koya Mono craze in the mid-1930s, “Isoge Horo Basha” (急げ幌馬車) and "Yuhi wa Ochite" (夕日は落ちて), were undoubtedly ever-present in the Kayo Prince's* compilations. But there were a few others which were less commercially successful, like "Koya wo Yuku".
"Koya wo Yuku" (Traversing the Plains (?)) was a duet Akira-san recorded with Mamechiyo (豆千代), and was released in late 1934. Mamechiyo, who debuted in 1933, was one of Columbia Records' uguisu geisha who hailed from Gifu prefecture. From my understanding of kayokyoku researcher Gyoji Osada's "Showa Kayokyoku" (2017), venerable composer Yoshi Eguchi (江口夜詩), a fellow Gifu native, was set on turning the geisha-turned-pop-singer into a star by giving her music lessons and conjuring up some songs for her. Without much success, she was paired with Matsudaira in hopes of scoring a hit. What came from this was "Koya wo Yuku". Matsudaira was in the limelight thanks to "Isoge Horo Basha" (also a Eguchi Melody), and that tune also made Koya Mono into the musical flavour of this period, making the likelihood of success for "Koya wo Yuku" high. While it didn't perform badly, it didn't perform great either. Mamechiyo recalled later that a likely reason was stiff competition from the great Taro Shoji (東海林太郎), who was also renowned for his Koya Mono (derived from Prof. Yoshinori Osakabe's "Showa Kayo Shi" (2024)). Luckily for Mamechiyo, she finally made a breakthrough about a year later in late 1935 with “Yuhi wa Ochite”, another duet with Akira-san.
Having set the context of "Koya wo Yuku", let's take a look at the song itself. As with most Koya Mono, Suiro Nishioka's (西岡水朗) center on two migrants from Japan, wandering the Manchurian plains hoping to carve out a new life in this new land. Even though this is a duet, I'm not entirely sure if our travelers are a couple because there is mention of solo journeys (hitori tabi). Or, maybe (this just came to me while writing), they were travelling alone until they crossed paths, found that they are kindred spirits, and then started their journey together... I don't know. The relationship of the two characters aren't as clear cut (to me) as in "Yuhi wa Ochite".
That aside, what stood out the most to me was Eguchi sensei's melody. My initial impression of Koya Mono was that they were, more often than not, made using the minor scale. Instead, "Koya wo Yuku", for the most part, was made using the major scale and sounded rather cheerful, perhaps expressing the excitement and hope the couple feels. Yet, right after some stanzas, the melody briefly switches to the minor scale, as if reflecting our protagonists' weariness and pangs of homesickness after a period of being on the road far from home. The music quickly reverts back to its original cheery mood, however, as if their optimism in finding happiness in this new land overrides whatever pessimism they may hold. "Koya wo Yuku" is an interesting piece, for sure. I wonder if it would have been more successful had it been released at a different time.
The above video has Mamechiyo performing "Koya wo Yuku" and "Yuhi wo Ochite" almost 40 years after the songs were released in 1970 on the popular natsumelo program "Natsukashi no Utagoe" (なつかしの歌声). Sadly, she had to go solo because Akira-san passed on a decade earlier. Regrettably, Akira-san does not have any television program footage because of his early passing. He would've been such a joy to watch, I'm sure :').
(Seems like the video version is region locked, so I'm hoping Spotify can do the trick.)
Despite the lukewarm reception "Koya wo Yuku" received, it was covered by a pair of singers I least expected to cover it: jazz daddy dandy Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴) and blues diva Noriko Awaya (淡谷のり子). Chancing upon this in Mr. Nakano's compilation "Nakano Tadaharu onko chishin" (中野忠晴 音故知新) had me doing a double take because I knew both these artists primarily for jazz and jazzu songu (covers of Western songs that are not necessarily jazz). While singers were made to sing what’s trending, my impression was that the both Nakano and Awaya were hard-headed enough to resist singing stuff that didn’t really fit their image, i.e. Koya Mono. Hence my surprise to see both their names attached to one. In fact, it was so out of (my) left field that I didn't even recognise it to be the Matsudaira-Mamechiyo duet at first.
Contributing to my ignorance, besides the fact that my brain was baked golden brown by several projects, was its arrangement. For one, it was significantly faster in tempo than the original. Then, despite similar instruments used, like the accordion and banjo, I perceived the Nakano-Awaya version to be more Western-sounding. It turns out that the Nakano-Awaya rendition was originally supposed to be just a dance music piece arranged and performed by French instrumental band Alexander Dance Orchestra (Orchestre de Dance Alexander). However, for one reason or another, it was never released, so vocals were added to it later so as to get some usage out of it. The manner of recording was unlike the usual method done at the time: The record containing the Orchestra's performance was played in the recording studio, and Nakano and Awaya simply sang to it. This accounts for why the music sounds weaker than the usual big band recording and why Nakano and Awaya sounded much clearer. This version would be released on February 1936. I wondered why Akira-san and Mamechiyo didn't reprise their roles for this recording, but it may as well actually be because of the ADO's Western-tinged arrangement making it more jazzu songu-like and, thus, more fitting for Mr. Nakano and Awaya. Nevertheless, for a music industry system that used to have an aversion to cover songs, this instance was certainly an oddity.
I actually quite like the Nakano-Awaya rendition for its lighthearted atmosphere. But it’s also partially because this is one of the rare instances I get to hear Nakano's baritone-tenor in almost-HD and my ears like that... ... I feel an intense glare coming from the Matsudaira photo I have displayed on my desk as I am writing this. (’°-°)
*This nickname was the brain child of Prof. Osakabe. I used to find that hilarious because of its juxtaposition to my friend Ms. C's comments about Akira-san being an adorable yet ditzy creature and I was still at that stage of clowning on the singer. But I now unironically call Akira-san my Kayo Prince, so joke's on me.
I failed to mention this yesterday but April 29th is part of the Golden Week holiday season in Japan and it's currently known as Showa Day. It had been celebrated as Emperor Hirohito's(the Showa era emperor) birthday until his death in early 1989 and then it was known as Greenery Day until 2007, when it was given its current name (Greenery Day is now May 4th).
Since there has been some nostalgic attraction for the culture of the Showa era (1926-1989), that's how I've usually seen Showa Day...not so much for the veneration of the late emperor but for what the times and trappings were like for ordinary people in Japan. Apparently, there is a Showa era museum in Aichi Prefecture as you can see above via MEGULOG's video. My particular examples of Showa era culture that regularly pop up in my memories are the old public phones of different sizes and colours, and the old-style kissaten as you can view in Mikki Café & Life below. Personally, my Showa era café will always be Café Renoir, the long-running franchise.
But of course, this being a kayo kyoku blog, I wanted to give my own contribution to Showa Day in terms of culture by providing some of the old songs. I'd wondered if I could find some sort of Top 5 list regarding memorable kayo kyoku but really couldn't find anything, so I've decided to come up with my own list of six songs representing each decade from the 1930s to the 1980s (sorry, couldn't remember anything from the 1920s). There wasn't any great research or all-night brain wracking for these songs...they just popped into my head and together they can perhaps show how music changed during the Showa era. So, without further ado...
Now I didn't forget that March 3rd is Dolls' Day or Girls' Day in Japan but I hadn't been too sure that I could find a song that would befit the Shinto religious holiday. For reference, you can take a look at the above video by GTV Japan to get a primer on Hina Matsuri.
Well, I'm typing this in the last hour before March 3rd becomes March 4th so I'm rushing a bit here. But I was able to find a song that was released all the way back in February 1936. "Ureshii Hina Matsuri" (Happy Dolls' Day) was written by lyricist Hachiro Sato（サトウハチロー）sometime around the time he had given his own daughter a hina matsuri set as a gift and its translation at "Lyrics Translate" pretty much establishes the joy of celebrating the observed holiday. Koyo Kawamura（河村光陽）contributed the melody.
Of course, being a children's song, "Ureshii Hina Matsuri" has been covered by many singers over the decades. For example, the above video has the Hibari Children Chorus（ひばり児童合唱団）performing the song. Their version can be found on the October 2015 compilation album "Uta de Oboeru Nihon no Shiki to Wa no Gyoji ~ Doyou, Shouka, Warabe Uta"（歌でおぼえる日本の四季と和の行事 童謡・唱歌・わらべうた...Children's Songs and Nursery Songs ~ Japanese Seasons and Events Remembered Through Music）. Below we have seiyuu and singer Megumi Hayashibara（林原めぐみ）performing her take on her 2007 album"Hayashibara Megumi: Tanoshii Doyou"（林原めぐみ たのしいどうよう...Fun Children's Songs）.
One year ago today, the World Health Organization declared the pandemic that has still been affecting our lives but perhaps there is a fair bit of hope peeking through today with a variety of vaccines that didn't even exist in early 2020 gradually being put into arms. As I remember it, it was a tense time going into spring with me having to wake up early to avoid lineups for the supermarket while shelves were often devoid of bread, toilet paper, sanitizers and tissues.
Ten years ago today, the Tohoku earthquake and tsunami struck the Pacific coast of Japan devastating towns and cities in the northern part of the nation while shaking and scaring folks like myself and millions of other residents in the Tokyo area. Although I've heard that there are may be as many as tens of thousands still displaced in Miyagi Prefecture and other vicinities, the past decade has seen recovery coming back to the Tohoku.
I was wondering what to do on March 11th for "Kayo Kyoku Plus". I didn't want to come across as overly pompous about the anniversary but neither did I want to ignore the fact that there was this major national disaster back in 2011. Therefore, I decided to search for some kayo that commemorated and celebrated the Tohoku area in some way. There was one folk song that I'd been looking at, but I then thought that the lyrics were a tad too ironic for today's article, so I will cover that one a little later on since I still think that it can have a place on the blog.
However earlier today, I did find this song that possesses a history and was created by two famous kayo writers, lyricist Yaso Saijo（西條八十）and composer Yuuji Koseki（古関裕而）titled "Miss Sendai". Originally recorded by 21-year-old Akiko Futaba（二葉あき子）for release locally in July 1936 and then nationally later that August, "Miss Sendai" provides a glimpse of the emotions and the scenery of the city of Sendai, the capital of Miyagi Prefecture, through the four seasons.
It is indeed a jaunty kayo, and the song was categorized as a shin-minyo（新民謡...new minyo）according to the J-Wiki article on "Miss Sendai". From what I know of minyo as traditional Japanese music for events such as festivals, I was rather curious about what shin-minyo was all about, and I discovered via the genre's own J-Wiki page that such songs were often requested to be made by local governments and businesses to tout their regions in the names of local patriotism and tourism to the entirety of Japan. So, basically speaking, the song was a three-minute campaign for a particular geographical area done to music.
"Miss Sendai" became a hit for Futaba in Sendai and the rest of the prefecture but then less than half a year later, her "Otome Juu-kyuu"（乙女十九...Young Girl at 19）was released in January 1937, and it was basically a slightly sped-up version of "Miss Sendai" with new lyrics by Saijo. This then became Futaba's first major nationwide hit.
Nippon Columbia was the record company behind "Miss Sendai" and it would also be responsible for a second release of the kayo by a different artist several years later. The company apparently did like their imaginative promotion strategies and so in the late 1930s, they came up with the idea of a Miss Columbia to sing songs, and they had Misao Matsubara（松原操）take on the new name.
Some years after World War II, Nippon Columbia for a similar campaign beginning in the early 1950s with a female singer who would go by the moniker, Columbia Rose...a bit of a cheeky take on the notorious Tokyo Rose. The first Columbia Rose was a native of Gunma Prefecture, Matsue Matsumoto（松本マツ江）, and she released numerous singles and made five appearances on NHK's Kohaku Utagassen throughout the decade up to the early 1960s. But then, once Matsumoto left the name, a second Columbia Rose was selected in the form of Noriko Mune（宗紀子）from Tokyo.
Columbia Rose II also released her singles which included a cover version of "Miss Sendai" in 1962. Her version also has that natsumero feeling to it but I think her vocals are also slightly more relaxed. Mune did have her sole appearance on the Kohaku in 1964, and in 1975, she moved to Los Angeles for a time. However, she became good friends with Matsumoto and even appeared frequently on stage together. Mune passed away last year in August at the age of 78 in Kanagawa Prefecture.
For the record, a third Columbia Rose, Mina Nomura（野村美菜）, made her debut in 2004.
Not sure if it's this particular recording but Chiyoko Shimakura's（島倉千代子）version of "Miss Sendai" sounds quite a bit older than its July 1974 release. The tempo is even more languid than the one for the Futaba original and J-Wiki states that Shimakura utilized some of the enka kobushi technique in her delivery of the lyrics. Since this version was the first version that I'd heard, I did wonder whether this would be considered to be an enka tune.
Out of all the showa era composers I've come across, Masao Koga (古賀政男) definitely takes the cake for the one who'd produced the gravest of scores, with songs like "Kage wo Shitai te" (影を慕いて) and "Kanashii Sake" (悲しい酒) being prime examples. So, OBVIOUSLY I am following that vein and writing about this fantastic work of art, "Uchi no Nyobo nya Hige ga aru" (My Wife Has a Mustache).
My figurative socks were knocked off my feet when I saw this bizarro title in the Father of Kayokyoku's list of notable works on the J-Wiki when doing research for the first part of his KKP bio. Considering the juxtaposition between song name and the creator, if I were to have heard "Uchi no Nyobo nya Hige ga aru" with zero prior knowledge, I wouldn't have guessed that Koga had composed it. I suppose it goes to show that even the most depressing of fellows can come up with something so silly, even if it was for the sake of a comedy movie.
In both forms of "Uchi no Nyobo nya Hige ga aru", originally from 1936, comedian Kyouji Sugi (杉狂児) plays the hapless soul married to a woman with the disposition of a surly bear and possibly the mustache of Magnum P.I. across her upper lip, played by the geisha singer Yakko Michi (美ち奴). The guy is heavily bothered by the presence of her whiskers and yet understandably shrinks into a stammering piece of tofu when honey dearest sharply confronts him. And in the song, the carefree and jolly music that accompanies Sugi's happy-sounding rant about his daily predicament seems to show that everything's A-OK in the household and completely masks how terrified he is.
As for Sadashi Hoshino's (星野貞志) words, I'd come up with a theory a while back regarding the mustache: The woman in question having facial hair could also imply that she's "The Man" of the house, considering how meek her husband is. I mean, she could have a 'stache that rivals Salvador Dali's too, for all I know. It does make the ditty more profound, but then again, I don't think one needs that much brainpower for comic relief.
Though not as renowned as Koga's other works, this pre-war comic number still gets its time in the limelight on TV shows occasionally and has been covered by other artistes, including the current muse of yours truly, Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎). There had been no version of this song I'd wanted to listen to but his for obvious reasons, and because he looked to be one of the last few fellows I'd think of when it comes to stammering away like a tofu. And yet he more or less did in his 1974 rendition of his "Koga Masao wo Utau" (古賀政男を歌う) album. By golly, it's one of the best things ever. Well, he doesn't quake in the same manner as Sugi when yelled at, rather, he sounds more like he's quietly mumbling under his breath with his head down in an effort to avoid eye contact. Still aMAzing nonetheless. As for the one behind the terror of a wife here, it's speculated to be the kayo-rokyoku singer Yuriko Futaba (二葉百合子). Interestingly, though Hachi had released 3 versions of the Koga cover album throughout the 1970s, only the '74 take has "Uchi...".
Took me more than a year to finally get around to it, but here's a tribute to the great composer with his trademark square glasses and neat mustache, Masao Koga (古賀政男), via a Creator article.
This'll be my first entry under this label - I'd always wanted try my hand at a Creator article ever since J-Canuck started it this sort of write-ups, and I wanted to do one on a composer whose works I could more or less pinpoint easily, so who better than this legendary Showa era songwriter? All the more I thought he was a good and fitting candidate as I got the opportunity to visit his museum in Tokyo in 2016. However, I knew that this would be a big undertaking, considering Koga's title of Father of Kayokyoku and the fact that there are numerous famous pieces of music under his name. One article wouldn't suffice - it might, but it would be an extremely lengthy one. As such, I had to wait until I had the time and the will (the most important) to consolidate what I know about him into a couple of articles, and so, I thought now would be good since my schedule is pretty free, and "Uta Kon" paid their annual tribute to him this week, and his 113th birthday is coming up.
As mentioned, Koga had an extensive discography, so I'll try my best to put down what he was known for, as well as some interesting ones I'd come across. In this first part, I will include Koga's bio and his early works from when he began his composing duties in the 1930's to the post war period in the late 1940's. Sorry if something you're looking for doesn't show up - it might in part 2 though.
The picture on the right shows Koga when he entered Meiji.
Alright, let's begin with some background information. Koga was born on 18th November 1904 and his real name 古賀正夫 was the same as his stage name, with only a slight change in the third kanji character. He hailed from a village by the name of Taguchi Mura, now known as Ohkawa city, in Fukuoka. After the death of his father, Koga moved to Korea where his brother worked and spent most of his adolescence there. In that period of time, he got acquainted with the taishogoto, or the Nagoya harp, as well as the instrument he was often associated with, the mandolin.
In 1923, Koga returned to Japan and attended Meiji University, where he joined the school's mandolin club (明治大学マンドリン倶楽部). However, a few years later in 1928, it seemed like he hit quite a rough patch as he actually planned to kill himself at an onsen town in Miyagi. Fortunately, after being inspired by watching the sun setting in Zao, he decided to release his frustrations in a less morbid way by creating his first piece of music, "Kage wo Shitai te" (影を慕いて) - I can now see why this song is so depressing.
Sato's version.
In 1929, he would play "Kage wo Shitai te" at one of the mandolin club's performances and caught the attention of a popular singer at the time, Chiyako Sato (佐藤千夜子). As a result, she recorded the song a year later in 1931 with Koga, then using his real name, on the mandolin and guitar. It did not sell very well, but this marked the start of Koga's path as a composer. Once he graduated from Meiji in 1931, Koga went to Nippon Colombia Records, which from what I've been seeing was the record company back then, in hopes of being a regular employee under the company's literary section due to not having confidence in his songwriting abilities. But he got signed on as a contract composer instead. From there on out, by collaborating with prolific lyricists and the early showa era's shining stars, multiple hits that are still being remembered today were spawned.
At the moment, I am able to pick out two of Koga's distinctive songwriting styles, the first of which is what I call the quintessential Koga Melody where you can hear the eerie notes of the mandolin clearly in the midst of a brooding score. The other was a bit difficult for me to pick out and it's not really guaranteed that having these traits in the music means they were made by the man himself, but when Koga creates jolly tunes they seem to have a very festive, exuberant, and light quality, and I tend to hear crashing cymbals in the background from time to time. With that being said, I shall go on to talk about the songs that brought him fame and status.
One of Koga's frequent collaborators was the classically trained Ichiro Fujiyama (藤山一郎), who had encountered the new composer when he was still in music school (Tokyo Music School). "Oka wo Koete" (丘を越えて), "Sake wa Namida ka Tameiki ka" (酒は涙か溜息か), and "Aoi Sebiro de" (青い背広で) are just some of the Koga-composed works from Mr. Fujiyama's (it's my nickname for him) discography, but I think their most successful hit was "Tokyo Rhapsody" (東京ラプソディ) from 1936. As I had mentioned not too long ago, this optimistic tune about the wonders of Tokyo is quite the ear worm. If I'm not mistaken, Koga came up with the melody to "Tokyo Rhapsody" with the idea of exploring the metropolis by car, where one drives around and gets to take in the sights and sounds of the different parts of the city. Perhaps those in the car are new to the bustling city, which would explain the excitement conveyed. Fujiyama had also recorded his version of "Kage wo Shitai te" in 1932 which then became successful and probably became the de facto version of it.
Another artiste whom I always see having mustachioed composer's name pop up when the title flashes on screen is Noboru Kirishima (霧島昇), who was quite the contrast to the almost constantly grinning Mr. Fujiyama. Kirishima's Koga-collaborations included "Reijin no Uta" (麗人の歌) and "Shin Tsuma Kagami (?)" (新妻鏡), which was a duet with Akiko Futaba (二葉あき子), but they seemed to be most well-known for "Dare ka Furusato wo Omowazu" (誰か故郷を想わざる). Koga had written this bokyo tune from 1940 with the equally renowned Saijo Yaso (西條八十) after he returned from a cross-cultural sharing program of sorts in the US. It's got a rather jaunty melody to it to accompany the premises of a fellow far away from home fondly reminiscing the good times spent in his village hometown. Not surprisingly, it was very well received by soldiers at war at the time who could relate. Koga had drawn inspiration for "Dare ka Furusato wo Omowazu" from his time at his own hometown in Fukuoka.
Going a bit on a tangent to give you some trivia I uncovered not too long ago since I have mentioned Yaso: The Lyricist Award at the Japan Record Awards were known as the Yaso Saijo Award at one period of time. I found it nice that they named that award after the songwriter - it was a good way to honor him. On another note, Koga and Ryoichi Hattori (服部良一) were the ones who started the Japan Composer's Association (日本作曲家協会).
Alright, moving on. The two contributions Koga made for Mr. Fujiyama and Kirishima that I shared were showcased his livelier side, so the next few tunes will bring the spotlight on to the melancholic side, which he was probably most noted for.
Koga's own life experience played another role in the making of "Jinsei no Namikimichi" (人生の並木路), sung by actor and jazz singer Dick Mine (ディック・ミネ) in 1937. Early in the article, I mentioned about Koga's move to Korea after his father had passed on - well, the songwriter had translated the suffering and pain he felt at that time to a melody for this bleak song about a pair of siblings having to support each other away from home. The reason for the siblings' departure from home didn't seem to be specified in Sonosuke Sato's (佐藤惣之助) lyrics, but it does remind me of the Studio Ghibli film "Grave of the Fireflies".
Up next is a piece that, to me, is the definition of Masao Koga: "Jinsei Gekijo" (人生劇場). While the original take was recorded by Shigeo Kusunoki (楠木繁夫) in 1938, whose version I have put up, it was made popular by Hideo Murata (村田英雄) in 1959. This was where I got to know Koga's typical unnerving musical styling - especially in Murata's version where the use of the mandolin is obvious.
Although actor and movie director Toshiro Omi's (近江俊郎) hit "Yu no Machi no Elegy" (湯の町エレジー) is more about pining for love lost at an onsen town, I can't help but wonder if the wistfulness in the music from this 1948 hit was influenced by that incident Koga went through two decades ago. The melody of "Yu no Machi no Elegy" also focuses on the acoustic guitar rather than the mandolin, and that brings to mind similarly melancholic compositions from Toru Funamura (船村徹) years later. Y'know, I never really liked this song for the longest time, but with the number of times I have been listening to it over and over again recently on my own accord and while writing this section, I'm quite glad to say that it has grown on me... unfortunately that means "Izu no yama yama..." will be stuck in my head for the weeks to come.
Now that I've covered the more depressing works from early in Koga's career, I would like to end off this first segment of my tribute to the great songwriter on a silly note with "Uchi no Nyobo nya Hige ga aru" (うちの女房にゃ髭がある). Yep, Koga created comical stuff too, even for something titled "My Wife Has a Mustache". This aMAzing song was the theme song to the movie of the same name starring Kyouji Sugi (杉狂児) that featured a timid salary man who is ruled by his wife. It's a happy-go-lucky tune that amusingly undermines the guy's fear of his wife - he's clearly bothered by her facial hair (probably grown after they got hitched and he's got no where to run), but is beyond terrified of telling her and facing the consequences, as you can hear from Sugi's stammering when the wife, played by Geisha singer Yakko Michi (美ち奴), confronts him. Man, I would love to hear Hachiro Kasuga's (春日八郎) version of this. Speaking of Michi, Koga had also created a successful song for her called "Ah, Sore nanoni" (あゝそれなのに) for the same movie.
Sudden epiphany from 16/11/17: Although I find that it might be unlikely that "Uchi no Nyobo nya Hige ga aru" might have a deeper meaning as it was meant for a comedy, I just realised that what if the wife having a mustache is another figurative way for saying that she runs the house? It could be a twist on the saying "The one who wears the pants in the household", just that instead of pants it's having a mustache. I mean, madame here could may as well have a solid handlebar too while wearing the pants (mustache).
Okay, that's all for this half. I hope you've enjoyed this so far and would look forward to Part 2.
P.S. I would love to have a T-shirt with that caricature of him in this photo.
Whenever a song were to be firmly wedged into my brain, I realise, more often than not, the song in question would be a pre or post war song. Could be a new discovery or an old favourite, be as it may, the moment I listen/hum along to/think of a ryukoka, it would linger in my head for days. I believe that's what J-Canuck calls an ear worm. I'm not sure why music from that era sticks to me like industrial strength super glue. Probably it's because they're simple and catchy, which explains why a good number of them are still popular over seventy years down the road.
This brings us to what I shall be sharing today: My list of some of my favourite ryukoka at this point in time that were spawned during the 1930s and 1940s. I had initially planned on including stuff from the 50's as well but decided against it after some thought. The reason being, if I did so, the list would inevitably comprise of Hachi, Michi, Muchi and Minami. Now, as much as I like them, I feel that I've been talking about them a lot, and adding the four here would then make the list rather predictable and therefore... boring. That being said, there is one fellow here that, I feel, won't be much of a surprise either.
In this article, I've narrowed my picks down to one song per singer for simplicity's sake, and I'll also be highlighting the lines from each entry that always comes to mind. For the latter, it's not necessarily because I fully understand what the words mean, but mostly because I like how it sounds when sung - strange, but it is what it is.
Well, anyway, let's get to it, shall we? The songs aren't listed in any particular order.
Ichiro Fujiyama -- Tokyo Rhapsody (1936)
Tanoshii miyako koi no miyako (楽しい都 恋の都) Yume no paradise yo hana no Tokyo (夢の楽園よ 花の東京)
Tanoshii miyako indeed, Mr Fujiyama.
Oh boy, the chorus has been on repeat in my brain for the past few weeks. Out of all the tracks on this list, "Tokyo Rhapsody" (東京ラプソディ) is the most recent addition to my ryukoka favourites. Although I've been a fan of Ichiro Fujiyama's (藤山一郎) other evergreen classic, "Aoi Sanmyaku" (青い山脈) for a much longer period of time, I couldn't get enough of the faster pace and exuberance portrayed in "Tokyo Rhapsody". The video above has the newer version as well as the original. I really enjoy the new take of it for the cool and funky arrangement - just makes the song ten times catchier!
Hana wo ukabe te nagareru mizu no (花をうかべて 流れる水の) Asu no yukue wa shirane domo (明日のゆくえは 知らねども)
"Soshu Yakyoku" (蘇州夜曲) is a tune that has been covered dozens upon dozens of times in Japanese and Mandarin. I've put down the very first recorded take of it here by Noboru Kirishimaand Hamako Watanabe (霧島昇・渡辺はま子), but frankly, I'll always be happy to hear this song sung by just about anybody. While it's definitely the softest entry here, I do enjoy it for its beautiful melody - especially so in ASKA's atmospheric and languid version, which I listen to most - and romantic set of lyrics.
Dick Mine -- Tabi Sugata San'nin Otoko (1939)
Mita ka kiita ka ano tanka (見たか 聞いたか あの啖呵)
Wouldn't be list of pre and immediate post war ryukoka without something from the matatabi (股旅) label. Apparently, that's the proper term used to call songs featuring those wandering ronin. Coming back to the topic, there are a couple of matatabi enka from the late 30's that I'm always listening to - actually, I believe they're the ones that solidified my love for matatabi enka/ryukoka - but the one I tend to pick first is Dick Mine's (ディック・ミネ) "Tabi Sugata San'nin Otoko" (旅姿三人男). It's jaunty music is mainly what draws me to it... but I think that's about it because some of the lyrics still have me scratching my head and trying to figure out how they relate to each other.
Y'know when I mentioned that there's going to be a predictable artiste featured here? Yup, it's good ol' Batayan. There are also many works by Yoshio Tabata (田端義夫) that I favour but as with the aforementioned self-imposed rule, I can only choose one. So, I chose "Genkai Blues" (玄海ブルース). It was between this or the other matatabi tune I implied earlier, "Otone Tsukiyo" (大利根月夜), and the former was picked as I tend to find myself singing/humming this slightly bluesy madorosu entry more often.
Katsutaro Kouta & Issei Mishima -- Tokyo Ondo (1933)
Haa hana wa Ueno yo (ハア 花は上野よ) Choito yanagi wa Ginza (チョイト 柳は銀座) Tsuki wa Sumida no tsuki wa Sumida no yakatabune (月は隅田の 月は隅田の屋形船)
Here we have another entry dedicated to Tokyo, but this one has a Japanese flavour to it rather than Western. The festive bon odori melody and the constant "yoi yoi yoi" of "Tokyo Ondo" (東京音頭) is really quite hypnotic and catchy, latching on to me the moment I heard it at Kiyoshi Hikawa's (氷川きよし) event in Ikebukuro. As with "Soshu Yakyoku", I've put down the original version of "Tokyo Ondo" here by Katsutaro Kouta and Issei Mishima (小唄勝太郎・三島一聲). However, I normally listen to Hikawa's abridged version with it's updated score and five verses instead of the insanely long ten stanzas in the original - I'm fond of the song, yes, but there's only that much of a bon odori song I can take in one sitting before I call it quits.
Haruo Oka -- Akogare no Hawaii Koro (1948)
Hare ta sora soyogu kaze (晴れた空 そよぐ風) Minato defune no dora no ne tanoshi (港出船の ドラの音愉し) Wakare tape wo egao dekireba (別れテープを 笑顔で切れば) Nozomi hatenai haruka na shioji (希望はてない 遥かな潮路) Ah ah ah akogare no Hawaii koro (あゝ 憧れのハワイ航路)
Coming to the end of the article (thanks for sticking around), the last ryukoka that has been a perennial favourite of mine is Haruo Oka's (岡晴夫) "Akogare no Hawaii Koro" (憧れのハワイ航路). Ah, that was a time when I thought the mannerisms of the likes of Oka when performing were utterly amusing - honestly, I still find it quite funny now.
As you've probably noticed, I've highlighted the entire first stanza of "Akogare no Hawaii Koro" instead of simply a line or two. My reason for this is that firstly, I have it so firmly implanted into my brain that it doesn't take much for me to utter out the whole thing; secondly, this one stanza from the optimistic lyrics, combined with the jolly melody, gave me my first taste of what music was like in post-war Japan when I was still happily listening to just Chage and Aska. It was weird at first, but it was hard not to like it after a few listens.
That's the end of this article. I hope you enjoyed listening to these ancient classics. I might do one on my favourite songs from the 50's and/or 60's sometime, but we'll see how it goes... When I do, I promise I will be objective in my choices and the article won't just be filled with Hachi's works.
A few months ago, I got into a correspondence with a commenter on the blog about the latechanson singerMegumi Satsu（ 薩 めぐみ）which resulted in kindly receiving a lot of samples of her work. My friend was also kind enough to send me an album titled "Sombre Dimanche" or as it is called in Japanese "Kurai Nichiyobi" (Gloomy Sunday). The CD consists of different takes by Japanese artists on this song which was first published in 1933 by Hungarian pianist and composer Rezső Seress. There are some great rock versions, an operatic version and a couple of spoken-word covers by the aforementioned Satsu and Mari Natsuki（夏木マリ）.
There is an article on Wikipedia about this song which has also garnered an unfortunate urban myth (and I emphasize, it is a myth) and secondary title as "The Hungarian Suicide Song". Seress had originally written the ballad to illustrate the horrors of war but later on the poet László Jávor added his own lyrics to the song in which the protagonist wanted to kill himself after his lover had died. Its reputation spread worldwide in 1941 after the legendary Billie Holiday released her version.
However some years before that, there was a Japanese version by the late Noriko Awaya（淡谷のり子）, the Queen of Blues, titled as "Kurai Nichiyobi" which came out in 1936. Personally, there was probably no one better suited to sing this than Awaya since according to her biography, she went through some tough times as a young girl, and as someone who used to see her only on variety specials spitting a lot of venom on various topics, I thought she had kept a lot of bitterness throughout the decades.
(Sorry but the video has been taken down.)
I also came across "Kurai Nichiyobi" as performed by blues singer Eiichi Arai（新井英一）and was struck by the rasping power of his voice. Born in 1950 in Fukuoka as a Korean-Japanese citizen, his love for the blues was born while he was working as a teenager on an American base in Iwakuni City, Yamaguchi Prefecture. In 1995, he won a Japan Music Award for his debut album"Chon-ha e no Michi~48-ban"（清河への道～48番...The 48 Verses of the Road to Chong-ha）.
Once again personally speaking, I don't find "Kurai Nichiyobi" particularly depressing at all; just beautifully sad.
Before watching this week's installment of "Kayo Concert", I was feeling a mix of excitement, anticipation, and dread. Last night's episode featured one of the most prominent figures in enka, Masao Koga (古賀政男). Just like Toru Funamura (船村徹), the legendary guitarist had composed a great many enka or more specifically ryukoka hits in his lifetime, so I was hyped to see him being featured again. However, I knew that Koga had the tendency to create dreary and severe-sounding melodies, and after sitting through 43 minutes of that last year and being bored out of my wits, I was quite worried about how I might take it this time round, even with more melancholic enka experience. The lineup of songs did not make it seem anymore promising as I only knew one well: "Jinsei Gekijo" (already profiled). Despite that, I kept an open mind about it.
Thankfully, I managed to pull through the entire show without zoning out, and it helped that the guests all had to chops to pull off these ancient ryukoka. None of the songs sung were released after 1960, and the oldest one of all was "Kage wo Shitai te" (影を慕いて) that was originally by Ichiro Fujiyama (藤山一郎), which was released in 1932! But I may save that for another day. Instead, I'll be talking about another tune from Fujiyama's repertoire - the popular singer collaborated with Koga on a number of occasions - "Otoko no Junjo", which came out during a more reasonable 1936.
Anyway, unlike "Kage wo Shitai te" which was probably the hardest for me to listen to as it was really slow and wistful, "Otoko no Junjo" was a lot easier on the ears. It was only a little faster than the former, but its music sounded more joyful and had a hint of folk in it and unlike what I expected to hear from Koga - it had some elegant strings to a waltzing pace rather than the typical, haunting "Koga sound" made by the acoustic guitar. Writing the lyrics to "Otoko no Junjo" was SonosukeSato (佐藤惣之助), who had also worked with Koga many times - a good two-thirds of Sato's notable works (including the aforementioned "Jinsei Gekijo") were collaborations with this composer. I'm not entirely clear as to what Sato's lyrics are about, but I have an inkling that it may be one of those bokyo songs where our main man here is looking forward to (doesn't really seem like pining as of yet) returning to his hometown after working in the city for a while.
Tabata's guitar version.
There isn't much information regarding "Otoko no Junjo", but from what I've been seeing on YouTube and the J-Wiki, I'm assuming that it wasn't one of Fujiyama's most recognizable hits as it was never sung during any of his 12 appearances on the Kohaku, but known well enough for a number of other enka singers to cover it, like another showa era oldie, Yoshio Tabata (田端義夫). Batayan's cover was released in the album "Koga Melody wo Utau Otoko no Junjo" (古賀メロディーを唄う～男の純情) from 1999.
Koga and Fujiyama. Koga
doesn't look as regal without his
moustache.
yagurumagiku361.blog.fc2.com/blog-entry-75
Y'know, I clearly remember reassuring Mom (who was perturbed by me listening to stuff from the 50's) some time ago that I would stop at songs that are from after the1940's, and yet here I am enjoying and doing a write-up on a song from the mid 1930's. Well, but that was said before I bothered to even look at these ryukoka stars.
Y'know....all those 17 years I was living in Ichikawa-shi, Chiba-ken, and I really never got all that into Japanese baseball. Then again, I was mostly just a casual fan of Major League Baseball over here (currently living in a city where the local team has been out of the playoff picture for over 20 years hasn't helped my attitude) in any case. Mind you, there was that one time when the 2005 Chiba Lotte Marines under Bobby Valentine (yup, the same one who got run out of Boston after that one horrible season in 2012 with the Red Sox) beat the Hanshin Tigers for the Japan Series championship which had a lot of my neighbours crowing with glee well into the night of October 17.
Speaking of the Hanshin Tigers, which have been compared to the Bosox against Tokyo's Yomiuri Giants' equivalent of the New York Yankees, they've managed to win the championship once in 1985 and then get to the finals in 2003 and the aforementioned series with the Marines in 2005. So, they haven't exactly been a dynastic threat (then again, there really hasn't been a dynasty in Japanese baseball since the Seibu Lions in the early 90s) but the Tigers can boast that they have the most rabidly loyal fans in the country and the most well-known team song in J-Baseball history. Heck, even I know about "Rokko Oroshi"(The Downward Wind of Mt. Rokko).
Written by Sonosuke Sato（佐藤惣之助）and composed by Yuuji Koseki (古関裕而...who would also create the theme for the world's most famous giant caterpillar, Mothra, many years later) in 1936, it was first presented at a rallying party held at the Koshien Hotel in late March of that year for the just-established team of the then-Osaka Tigers. The first singer was Tadaharu Nakano （中野忠晴）who sang a mix of jazz and popular songs in the Showa Era. Officially, it is known as "The Osaka Tigers Song" and then "The Hanshin Tigers Song", but "Rokko Oroshi" is the name that has stuck all these decades. Mt. Rokko is actually the name for a chain of mountains in neighbourhing Hyogo Prefecture, and quoting from the Wikipedia article here, "In Japan, wind which blows down from a mountain is known to be cold and harsh, hence the song symbolizes the Tiger's (sic) brave challenge under hardship". The article also has the official English translation of the song.
The Hanshin Tigers may not have had a championship (and therefore not have gotten the opportunity to throw Colonel Sanders statues into the Dotombori Canal) for almost 30 years, but whenever that song comes out on the television in the early months, I think even non-Tigers fans can be warmed by the fact that spring and baseball season is just around the corner.
I heard this for the first time in a long while on NHK's"Kayo Concert" tonight. Never knew the original singer or the title, for that matter, until the performance a few hours ago, but I had heard it many times on the stereo when I was a youngster and then on a number of kayo kyoku shows.
"Tokyo Rhapsody" was sung by Ichiro Fujiyama（藤山一郎）who was born Takeo Masunaga（増永丈夫）in Tokyo in 1911. It was written by Yutaka Kadota（門田ゆたか）and composed by Masao Koga（古賀政男）. According to J-Wiki, Koga had the seed for this song as he was driving in a new Ford Coupe along Tokyo's Meiji Jingu Gaien in the early summer. He decided that he wanted to come up with a song talking about the new modern Tokyo, and "Tokyo Rhapsody" would have that sound of jaunty industriousness. And lyricist Kadota made sure to have shout outs to neighbourhoods like Shinjuku, Asakusa and Kanda, as Fujiyama waxed in tribute to "....the capital of happiness, the capital of love, the dream paradise...". Yep, quite the florid tribute, all right.
A lot of the old songs that my father often played on the RCA Victor had the same sort of marching tone that "Tokyo Rhapsody" has. And considering those exhorting lyrics and the time that the song had been created, the feeling that it was probably heard as a patriotic anthem isn't lost on me. One of the YouTube commenters half-jokingly mentioned that it's the type of song that would be played at the annual school Sports Day festivities as the kids marched onto the field.
"Tokyo Rhapsody" was released in June 1936 and sold 350,000 records. It was also used as the theme for the movie of the same title, a movie that Fujiyama himself had also starred in. For those who have an especially eagle eye and are Kohaku Utagassen historians, Fujiyama later became, after his retirement from singing in 1954, a familiar face at the very end of the specials as he was the orchestra conductor as "Hotaru no Hikari"（蛍の光）was being played.
