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.
1930s film quality will be in like 1p and I'll still be like, "This is the most adorable thing I've ever seen." From 松平晃、ミス・コロムビアらが参加した、コロムビア芸 術団の慰問風景を収めた貴重映像！(YouTube)
I have to admit that Akira Matsudaira (松平晃) has grown on me considerably, which was the last thing I was expecting considering my initial cold reception of him. I wasn't a fan of his voice because it had a quality that, to my ears, made it sound dull on cursory listens for the longest time. But that ironically became what I like about it, and I now find it endearing. I don't really enjoy songs in the minor key very much, and his major hits were mainly in minor. But I came to realise that his softer and more forlorn tone complemented the darker sort of melodies, and slowly began to uncover his jolly tunes that were mostly hidden. I thought he always looked bored/mildly annoyed, or had the dopiest of smiles. But I now find that awkwardness cute in a warped way, especially after seeing how adorkable he seemed to have been.
I compare Akira-san to his Columbia Records senior Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴) A LOT. It's mostly because when I see one I would inevitably see the other, and lately I've just been seeing a lot of things where they were literally placed next to each other. This made me realise that they were like different sides of a coin, their works surprisingly complementing each other during my listening time. Mr. Nakano pulls of bright, cheery, and confident, but when it comes to the foreboding or sentimental, I'd say that Akira-san has him beat. His softer vocals were able to convey loneliness and, at times, a sort of naïve sweetness that can be heart-meltingly... adorable. A case in point is "Koi wa Hana yori mada Akai" (Love is still Redder than Flowers).
"Koi wa Hana yori mada Akai" was composed by Yuji Koseki (古関裕而) and written by Kikutaro Takahashi (高橋菊太郎), a power combo if I've ever seen one, from 1937. The rosy waltz-inspired tune with its tender strings aptly expresses the ups and downs of being in love. Akira-san's subdued delivery makes it feel as though we are hearing the inner thoughts of a shy protagonist who is very much head-over-heels for his beloved. He's certainly on cloud nine when bringing her flowers and when taking her out on a date, but becomes extra gloomy when he is unable to see her. In a way, one could also interpret the narrative in the perspective of the protagonist nostalgically looking back at the memories he had of, say, his first love.
Waltz-inspired melodies are more of a slow-burn for me, but the way Akira-san handled the tune really knocked it out of the park. He just conveys "shy protagonist" so well, and I don't really think any other singer from that era (1930s) can pull that off that convincingly. The closest I could think of was Bin Uehara (上原敏), but Bin-san just sounded sad and forlorn for the most part.
That photo was taken almost exactly a month ago after I went with some ryukoka enthusiasts to a record event organised by the one and only prof. Yoshinori Osakabe (刑部芳則), who's one half of my favourite podcast "Osakabe-Takehei Showa no Utagoe" (刑部たけ平昭和の歌声). I'd brought various photos/photo cards of my fellows in anticipation of scoring an oshikatsu hit on the event's program based on the prof's personal favourites. I even brought Akira-san's photo just in case because he'd been featured on the podcast. Little did I know he'd be the only one among my collection to show up. Turns out my taste is the complete opposite of the prof's save for my budding interest in Akira-san. After events like these, my tradition is to have dessert and take a snapshot of the photo/photo card I brought. Even though Akira-san wasn't yet of that caliber, prof. Osakabe did introduce his song and I brought his photo, so I got my tea and cake-tart at a cafe after the show and... *click*.
Matsudaira seems extremely popular among a wide-range of ryukoka fans, the professor included, and I couldn't understand what it was about him that made him so for the longest time. But hearing his song on a gramophone for the first time at this event and picking up the aforementioned nuances and gentleness in his voice allowed me understand why. I get it now.
They're all wearing bow-ties.
A few months ago, I joked that Matsudaira was the "Ichiro Fujiyama we have at home" (if you get the meme). A few months later, Matsudaira is the one I have at home. On my shelf. And in my photo card holder. They say irony is a dish best served cold, but this one feels like a bouquet of red flowers presented by a brightly grinning Akira-san.
I've noticed that J-Canuck has been putting out some "Gosanke Imagined" articles featuring potential trios/quartets in the Japanese music world that should/could have been but never were. Naturally, I wanted to hop on that train and bring out some of my imagined Gosanke (御三家) too. The first I will put up is what I'll call the Senzen Polydor Sanba Garasu, or the Prewar Three Ravens of Polydor Records.
Our 3 fellows are Taro Shoji (東海林太郎), Bin Uehara (上原敏), and Yoshio Tabata (田端義夫). This was just as much a fan-picked trio (considering Bin san and Batayan) as it most probably was an actual trio, albeit one not formally named. As the title suggests, they were major stars from Polydor Records, particularly in the late 1930s. I went with calling them ravens since it seemed like the common term used when referring to a trio of male stars back in the early Showa era, like the Sengo Sanba Garasu (戦後三羽烏). As an aside, Polydor was one of the big 5 record companies in the prewar era, along with Victor, Columbia, Teichiku, and King. I think that can help one see the scale of our trio's presence in the pre-WWII music scene.
Shoji was the oldest and first to debut in 1933. This was followed by Uehara, who was 10 years his junior and debuted in 1936. Tabata, the youngest and 11 years Uehara's junior, debuted in 1938. Besides hailing from the same company and reaching stardom in record time, they shared a couple of other commonalities. For one, they all weren't music school graduates and thus not classically trained, the latter being a desired trait among pop singers at the time. Two, their biggest hits from the 1930s were mostly matatabi mono, or songs that featured samurai, ronin, or yakuza. This all the more cemented Polydor Records as the company that prided itself with more Japan-themed songs among its competitors, who leaned a little more towards the Western sound. It was for these reasons that my song selection will feature a matatabi mono from each of our 3 gentlemen. Each of these songs features a different real life yakuza figure who often appear in rokyoku and other traditional Japanese narrative arts.
Taro Shoji -- Akagi no Komori Uta (赤城の子守唄) (1934)
This was Shoji's first smash hit from 1934 and it featured Asataro Itawari (板割浅太郎), a yakuza who took his nephew under his wing after killing his uncle out of duty to his boss, the big wig Chuji Kunisada (国定忠治). Big yikes. Apparently, Shoji himself wasn't familiar with the story often told by the likes of rokyoku stars at the time of recording.
Bin Uehara -- Tsuma Koi Dochu (妻恋道中) (1937)
Ah, yes, dear Bin san. "Tsuma Koi Dochu" was his first hit from 1937. The character featured here was Kira no Nikichi (吉良の仁吉), who went on a mission to kill someone at the orders of his master. The catch was that this someone happened to be his wife's brother. But, duty above compassion, and so Kira leaves his wife to fulfill his mission. Fun fact, it wasn't known if the real Kira was even married, so the narrative that included his wife was simply for drama's sake.
Yoshio Tabata -- Otone Tsukiyo (大利根月夜) (1939)
Osu!
Batayan's foray into matatabi mono probably began with this massive hit, "Otone Tsukiyo" from 1939, which featured the hapless Miki Hirate (平手造酒). I talked about the talented swordsman-turned-yakuza in my article on Haruo Minami's (三波春夫)"Otone Mujou" (大利根無情) some time back, so I won't dwell too much on it. But the grander, more dignified air that Batayan tune exudes seems to highlight Hirate's past glory before his spiral into degeneracy. Most matatabi mono that about real yakuza figures up to this point in the Showa era usually centered around the above mentioned Kunisada, Kira, as well as Shimizu no Jirocho (清水次郎長) and Mori no Ishimatsu (森の石松). But "Otone Tsukiyo" likely set a precedent of having Hirate's tragedy be conveyed in popular song.
To round things off, here's some extra trivia about our trio:
1. Tabata debuted while still a teenager (he was 19 at the time), which was still somewhat of an anomaly for singers at the time. As you may have noticed in the photos above, he also shaved his head when he debuted and I'm not sure why (yet). But it's Batayan, so I'm not surprised by his hijinks anymore. Perhaps he simply wanted to mark the start of a new journey?
2. Shoji and Uehara were both from Akita Prefecture, were both university graduates, and were both white-collared salarymen before they entered the world of music. That's in addition to the aforementioned musical similarities. Let's not forget that they looked vaguely alike, especially with those round glasses. But I heard that Mr. Taro (yes, I'm calling him that from now on) was the joker who loved his Dad jokes while Bin san was the more serious one.
As usual, Kiyomaro Kikuchi's "Showa Enka no Rekishi" was my info source.
By now, those close to me are keenly aware of the term "Asakusa Bois" and are all too familiar with the subsequent raving reactions from me that follow this term. For the general audience, "Asakusa Bois" is my abridged and colloquial nickname for the ryukoka band Tokyo Taishu Kayo Gakudan (東京大衆歌謡楽団). Most of my good friends at school have had the opportunity to see the early-Showa-era-inspired band in action on the occasion when I invite them for a free showing in the Tokyo area. One such occasion was two Sundays ago. A friend (let's call him Lad A), had been wanting to see the Asakusa Bois he's heard so much of from yours truly, so, together with another fellow (Lad B), we planned to meet at Kameido to see them, with me arriving first at 1pm for the first showing and them for the second.
A rainy forecast put a snag in the plans when the Gakudan decided to hold their performance indoors at the Kameido Umeyashiki, turning a free-to-watch-for-all into a free-to-watch-for-the-few-who-got-their-hands-on-the-waiting-tickets. The lads and I did not have the tickets, not even for the third and last surprise performance. Mentally defeated after hours of waiting and a lacklustre week, I was ready to throw in the towel. Lad B (much credit to him) was not having it, insisting we ask if we could slide into the venue despite having no tickets... it was that or pretend we were a bunch of impertinent grandchildren looking for their grandmother. Perhaps it was because it was already 5pm, dark and rainy and we were the last poor souls in line, we were allowed entry with no fuss along with a few other ticketless oldies.
And so, we three hapless folks somehow managed to see the Asakusa Bois, with Lad A impressed and Lad B with temporary hearing issues. We three hapless folks from different lands somehow ended up on foreign grounds with varying goals and personal hardships. Not wholly unlike our three disparate characters in "Namida no Sannin Tabi", if I do say so myself.
"Namida no Sannin Tabi" was the first instance of a trio in old Japanese music I've come across, I think. Originally sung by geisha Otomaru (音丸), the stage-fright-struck Noboru Kirishima (霧島昇), and the crooner Akiko Futaba (二葉あき子) in 1937, I was introduced to this tune by none other than the Asakusa Bois with their penchant for showcasing hidden gems of the early Showa era. As with many of the numbers they introduce, what drew me to "Namida no Sannin Tabi" was its rather intense bouncy beat amplified by Ryuzaburo's (龍三郎) bass, bearing similarity to determined footsteps filled with purpose. Keishiro's (圭四郎) plucky banjo was reminiscent of the shamisen. Then Kotaro's (孝太郎) resounding vocals becoming the voice of each character really caught my attention, spurring me to explore further and discover the original.
The original take
Yoshi Eguchi (江口夜詩) turned out to be the one behind this forlorn melody. Complementing this is Yaso Saijo's (西条八十) narrative which tells of an encounter between three travellers at the docks one moonlit night waiting for a boat. Realising they're headed towards the same destination, they proceed with self-introductions. Getting the ball rolling is a shamisen-playing singer aptly played by Otomaru, who roams the lands showcasing her craft and trying to forget a past love. Hearing this, Kirishima in the form of a homesick travelling actor speaks up, telling how his pursuit of the roving yakuza lifestyle led him to abandon his family. The last of the boat's passengers is an orphan on an arduous journey with the hope of finding her family, whom Futaba took the role of. In typical later-day enka style, the three find kinship through their shared anguish.
I don't believe the lads and I are in such depressing circumstances and rather than shared anguish, we have shared monke brain. That said, we are, indeed, three characters who converged at this point in our respective journeys. And even though I usually do enka-related stuff on my own, I appreciated watching the band with them.
To explain what this is, it's part of the repertoire list where I record the Gakudan's selection for the performances I catch. I was trying to recall a song from the encore when Lad B decided to help... I mean, he's not wrong. I did say I felt like I was going to have a heart attack when I saw the band members up close after many months.
P.S. Recently, the Asakusa Bois has grown to include three more members in their early and mid-20s. I believe their names are Tomoya, Naruki, and Kanta, but they also go by the stage names Tomigoro, Sairoku, and Shichibei respectively. Very apt to be called "five", "six" and "seven", when the original literally go by "one", "two", "three" and "four". They're nice additions to the Gakudan, with Tomigoro and Sairoku on guitar and Shichibei with the tamborine. Even better, they usually make their entrance with a buyo (traditional Japanese dance) number accompanying the main four.
P.S.S. I just went to see the Asakusa Bois for their Tori no Ichi festival performance near the Otori Shrine and they actually did "Namida no Sannin Tabi"! It's one of my favourites from them but it's relatively uncommon to hear it at their shows, so I was really glad to hear it this time - with the rarer "China Tango", even! At that moment, the pressure of final assignments dissipated.
Look, Bin-san, it's Uehara Bin 2- err- I mean, Ko-san
Looking at the two fellows above, one who didn't make it past 1945 and one who hasn't hit 40 yet, I wonder if I think the former is cute because I think the latter is so, or if I find the latter appealing because I find the former was too. Either way, I ended up having the need to get a bromide of Bin Uehara (上原敏) shortly after I came to adore Kotaro Takashima (高島孝太郎) of Tokyo Tashishu Kayo Gakudan (東京大衆歌謡楽団).
I mean, I'd seen some shots of Bin-san and he did look rather sweet by my standards, albeit of the geeky, accountant-looking sort (well, I mean, I do see Ko-san the same way too), so the bromide is a nice addition to my collection. But, interestingly enough, some of my favourite ryukoka actually do come from him. This is not self-justification of getting a bromide of a singer who far pre-dates Hachi or Haru-san, I promise. Besides, I got some Batayan and Okappal stuff too.
Beginning with "Uramachi Jinsei" (裏町人生), I slowly grew to enjoy Uehara's minyo-hinted ryukoka singing style. Then came "Hatoba Katagi" (波止場気質), and eventually the ronin-based songs he was easily most known for, "Ruten" (流転) and "Tsuma-koi Dochu". I'll be featuring "Tsuma-koi Dochu" here.
I think of the sub-categories of enka/ryukoka that exist, the ronin/wanderer and husband-wife relations themes are definitely my favourites. A number of tunes feature an amalgamation of both, one of them being "Tsuma-koi Dochu". In this 1937 instalment of misery, we join who I think is a samurai who had to leave his beloved wife behind to become a ronin - perhaps he couldn't find employment under any master and had to resort to this dishonourable path cursed with solitude. In Masato Fujita's (藤田まさと) words, he begets his wife to not hold it against him and tries to put on a strong front, but he himself is aching badly on the inside.
Bin-san's gentle vocals shine as he takes each vowel for a rollercoaster ride with Takeo Abe's (阿部武雄) shamisen-filled composition. Overall, it sounds on the moderately upbeat side, which, I guess can be seen as the fellow's strong front. But Uehara's forlorn delivery does seem to convey his lamentations over his fate. Y'know, considering the time the song had been released, I wonder if this could be used in the context of a soldier having to be shipped off to war, being separated from his wife at the orders of the nation.
"Tsumakoi Dochu" is at the 16:05 mark
As with the past songs I had recently written about, it was through Tokyo Taishu Kayo Gakudan that I actually got a full listen of this wandering yakuza tune. Because Bin-san's matatabi enka tend to be of a slower tempo that showcases much of his kobushi skills, it did take me a bit longer to really get into it. It simply took hours upon hours of Ko-san & Brothers, being tickled by "Aho" (I'm monke brain, alright?), and realising how perfect it is to sing it on long cycles through the countryside and across cities. But, I have to say that hearing how each singer handles the words has to be my next greatest enjoyment of "Tsuma-koi Dochu".
The song is at the 4:15 mark
As I mentioned, "Tsuma-koi Dochu" is one of Bin-san's many musical legacies, so much so that even enka greats like Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎) and Haruo Minami (三波春夫) have done their own renditions. Hachi's version retains the original flavour save for his more kayokyoku-esque vocals, not unlike the Gakudan's take. Hachi's cover makes its first appearance in his ronin-themed enka cover album "Kasuga Hachiro Ninkyo wo Utau" (春日八郎仁侠を歌う) from 1970.
Haru-san's one in the video here, on the other hand, is a whole different ball game. Haru-san is no stranger to such tunes and his chirpy vocals are a joy to hear, fluttering over the words. Together with the faster pace and modern arrangements with an electric guitar instead of shamisen, this does give "Tsuma-koi Dochu" a peppy, cheery slant. I believe Minami's version first appeared in 1974 in "Minami Haruo 'Hana no Matatabi Nikki'" (三波春夫“ 花の股旅日記").
Personally, I lean towards Bin-san's original and the Gakudan's modern-yet-old-sounding take.
P.S. Usually, around this time, I would've decided on a song for the year. Oddly enough, this is it. Really came out of the left field. I was expecting a Hachi or Haru-san (original) song or something. Well, welcome to the club Bin-san! (?)
Happy Monday! Perhaps a bit late in the year to do this one since this is titled "Haru no Uta" (Song of Spring) but, hey, it's warm and jaunty...just the thing to start off this final week in July. Besides, there's a bit of a story behind this one that I hadn't been aware about.
The term "heavy rotation" has been internalized within anyone who listens to music often enough, and there's even an AKB48 hit that has that very title. Certainly during my years growing up, I've noticed which songs were getting a ton of airplay on the radio and, for that matter, which music videos were getting their heavy rotation on television.
Well, I found out that almost a century ago, Japan had their own early version of heavy rotation through a radio program called "Kokumin Kayo"（国民歌謡...The People's Kayo） which was on the air between 1936 and 1941. Said program featured a new kayo and played it every night for a week from Monday to Saturday during its 5-minute time from 12:35 am. That was a heck of a time to play a song that wanted to become a hit. I guess folks really liked listening to the radio that late.
Anyways, one such song that did get the Queen Bee treatment was "Haru no Uta" which was written by Gen Uchida*（内田元）and composed by Kunizo Kishi（喜志邦三）. It was first featured on "Kokumin Kayo" from March 1 1937 and was sung by Mitsuko Watanabe（渡辺光子）, a Showa Era singer who had apparently gone by a lot of stage names such as Haruko Wada（和田春子）, Nobuko Kawashima（川島信子）and Ayako Kawase（川瀬綾子）. For "Haru no Uta", though, her official stage name at that time was Mitsuko Tsukimura（月村光子）. It became a huge hit once it went on sale on that old 78 rpm later in July, and it was certainly a skip-worthy song to celebrate the coming of the green season.
To be honest, I'd encountered the cover version of "Haru no Uta" first via Sayuri Ishikawa's（石川さゆり）1974 2nd album"Omoide/Aoi Sanmyaku"（おもいで・青い山脈...Memories/The Blue Mountains） during her early aidoru phase. I had simply assumed that "Haru no Uta" was a song that was originally created for Ishikawa since my impression was that the then-teenaged singer was singing all these very cutesy kayo. Her take on the 1937 original was also in that vein with the marimba and mariachi trumpets playing away, a combination back then that I usually associated with comical or kiddy tunes.
*「元」can be pronounced as Gen, Moto or a number of other ways as a given name. If anyone can confirm the lyricist's name, that would be greatly appreciated.
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.
As I mentioned yesterday, I'm supposed to be having a talk on "Tokyo House Party" this coming Saturday night about kayo kyoku in the last years of the Showa Era, particularly the Bubble Era. However, thinking about what I'm to prattle on about on the 27th, I keep pondering that I will likely have to explain what kayo kyoku is first.
When I first started "Kayo Kyoku Plus" in January 2012, my feeling was that kayo kyoku consisted of songs created during the Showa Era (December 25 1926 - January 7 1989), and I think that still holds true, generally speaking. But over the years, I've come to realize that there is that category of song within the world of kayo kyoku that can't be placed within enka or Mood Kayo (the previous two rose in the postwar years) or jazz for that matter. Perhaps I can call such tunes jun-kayo or pure Japanese pop songs. And especially in the years before World War II, even though instruments in jazz were used to record these particular numbers, maybe the jun-kayo back then were more akin to the sweet music that was played against jazz. According to one book on the history of jazz that I've read a couple of times, sweet music was more the type of orchestral stuff that was played at those polite afternoon tea parties or classy soirees since jazz at that time was often treated as the devil's music.
I think when it comes to jun-kayo, I will be more than happy to introduce one of the most famous examples and that would be "Ue wo Muite Arukou" (上を向いて歩こう) from 1961. However, although I don't own this particular 45" myself, I can also say that this ballad "Wakare no Blues"(Breakup Blues) from 1937 applies. I certainly wouldn't ever call it an enka and if the original singer, the late chanson pioneer Noriko Awaya（淡谷のり子）, were to ever hear me from the other realm use that genre term to describe it as such, she would probably hex me harder than Wanda Maximoff into the 22nd century (Awaya was definitely no fan of enka).
A song of longing and loss in romance, the lyrics by Ko Fujiura（藤浦洸）tell of a woman looking out over a harbour as the sailors get moving onto their ships and their ships get moving onto their next destination overseas. One of those sailors used to be her paramour. From what I've read on the making of "Wakare no Blues" in J-Wiki, the setting that was the model for the song was the Bund Hotel in Yokohama although I'm not sure whether the rooms actually had a good view of Yokohama Bay. Initially from reading Fujiura's lyric of "...an American harbour light...", I'd wondered whether the setting was San Francisco, but perhaps the American part was a name attached to that certain wharf.
The music was created by Ryoichi Hattori（服部良一）, the man who launched generations of music makers, and although "Wakare no Blues" isn't the first kayo with a title that has "Blues" in it (that honour belongs to "Sweet Home Blues" recorded in 1935 by Helen Yukiko Honda), the song is seen to be the first one that helped popularize Japanese blues. However, according to "Hattori Ryoichi no Ongaku Tengoku"（服部良一の音楽天国...Ryoichi Hattori's Music Heaven） via J-Wiki, even though "Wakare no Blues" has that bluesy mood, it doesn't utilize any of the blues chords. Instead, it is more influenced by chanson and kayo stylings, so it doesn't resemble anything that would be heard in American blues. Perhaps it can be said though that Hattori was indeed the pioneer for those Japanese blues kayo that has gone on through the decades with songs such as Mina Aoe's（青江三奈）"Isezakicho Blues"（伊勢崎町ブルース）.
Another interesting thing about "Wakare no Blues" is that there had been some consternation among Awaya, Hattori and the others involved in the production about how it would be sung. Awaya had been known as one of those truly talented sopranos but the desire was that "Wakare no Blues" ought to be sung lower. In the end, the singer decided to spend a night smoking up a storm (she'd never smoked cigarettes before then) and then heading into the recording without a wink of sleep to get that certain gravitas-laden voice. Talk about suffering for one's art.
"Wakare no Blues" was covered by some more of the greats over the decades such as Naomi Chiaki（ちあきなおみ）and Hibari Misora（美空ひばり）.
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.
First off, I have to remark on the passing of David Bowie which just hit me like a bolt of lightning when I woke up this morning. It was the top news on NHK's main broadcast, and the shock was further enhanced since it was just a few days ago that his latest and final album was released along with another photo of a beaming Bowie. I had absolutely no idea that he had even been sick.
Obviously, he had a connection with Japan through his co-starring role in "Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence" with Ryuichi Sakamoto（坂本龍一）, but personally for me, his album "Scary Monsters and Super Creeps" was, in a way, the soundtrack of our Toronto Japanese Language School graduating class to Japan in the summer of 1981. One of my classmates brought his Walkman along on the plane so some of us got to hear not only the title track but also one of his classic songs, "Ashes to Ashes".
The man's music, his various personae, sense of style, and just his raw looks simply had him stand out like no other singer.
I tried looking through Kenji Sawada's（沢田研二）article on J-Wiki and although I could not find anything on the matter, I've always wondered whether the singer had been inspired by Bowie in his own changes in looks through the 70s into the 80s. When I saw him for the first time on the 1981 Kohaku Utagassen all glammed up to do "STRIPPER", along with my jaw dropping, the brainwave that sliced through my most likely lone brain cell was "Bowie?"
Sawada appeared on the NHK New Year's Eve special for the 12th time in 1984, and compared to some of his past appearances, he was slightly less outrageous in fashion but no less bizarre when he performed an old chestnut that had been first introduced all the way back in 1924. As his official 43rd single, he crooned "Amapola" in the form of a pink dandyish figure supposedly on his last legs. It was quite another shift in performing direction on the Kohaku for good ol' Julie after glam rock and New Wave, but the capper was seeing fake blood gush out of him like a failing geyser right at the end of the song. Not quite sure if the execution quite worked but I have a feeling that the NHK switchboard lit up like an Xmas tree. Still, he would appear on the show 5 more times after that.
His version of "Amapola" peaked at No. 26 after its release in September 1984. The Japanese lyrics were provided by Reiko Yukawa（湯川れい子）.
"Amapola" (My Sweet Little Poppy) was originally composed by Joseph Lacalle as an instrumental piece, but after he passed away in 1937, American lyricist Albert Gamse (who also gave words to "Hail To The Chief") provided lyrics for the ballad.
Chanson and ryukoka singer Noriko Awaya（淡谷のり子）in the same year sang "Amapola" as one of her own releases. Her version definitely has a bit more Spanish spark although she doesn't actually start singing until about halfway through the song.
