Bin Uehara — Harusame Zoushi (春雨草紙)

Bin-san may look the most plain out of my six fellows, but for some reason, I find him the most adorable. 

From the 1937 Polydor Records
archives. National Diet Library.

I'm no expert in prewar Japan record censorship, but I got a record censorship 101 through some kayo history books like Hiromu Nagahara's "Tokyo Boogie-Woogie" (no actual relation to the song) and my favourite Osakabe-Takehei Showa no Utagoe podcast. What I got out of them (correct me if I'm wrong) was that, since the 1934 revision of the Publication Law, records became subjected to censorship. Songs could be flagged as morally degenerate and a danger to public order with the silliest of reasons, but record companies and musicians could weasel their way around the censors with relative ease. Of course, the surveillance intensified from 1937 when the 2nd Sino-Japanese War began, and it only got worse when the Pacific War kicked in, but record censorship seemed to be nowhere near as harsh as that applied to literature. I usually find myself laughing and/or tilting my head in disbelief at the rationales behind some flagged pieces of music. But there is one that, as the kids say, gets me tilted. That song is Bin Uehara's (上原敏) "Harusame Zoushi"*. 

From the Koga Masao Museum of
Music's Spring exhibition (2022)

I first discovered "Harusame Zoushi" at one of the seasonal exhibitions in the Koga Masao Museum of Music a couple years back. This one room in the casa Koga section of the museum would have these special themed showcases that change every few months. On that particular visit, the theme was “Spring”, so stuff from ryukoka to J-pop that featured spring in its title would be on display. It just so happened that on this list of spring songs, there was "Harusame Zoushi", which I thought was a pretty sounding title. After all, it somewhat translates to "Spring shower notebook/journal". This was also around the time I started getting into Bin-san, so I was more than open to recommendations that weren’t gunka, which is actually quite hard since at least a third/half of his discography is gunka.

Upon listening to "Harusame Zoushi", I was quickly taken by Takeo Abe's (阿部武雄) composition with quite a strong traditional Japanese flavour. The smooth notes of koto and the tinkling bells are reminiscent of a light rain falling outside an ancient lodge and coating the plum or Sakura blossoms in a layer of crystals. What I think is the shamisen, or maybe just more aggressive koto playing, providing a harsher, raspy edge to the Abe-Take melody is like when some heavy droplets rain down from trees or the eves of a building. The beautiful melody is generally upbeat; I don't like the rain, but the tune makes the image of a downpour less dreary, hence it being one of my go-to rainy day tunes. Despite Abe-Take’s light and jaunty composition, Jugo Chichibu's (秩父重剛) words are contrastingly melancholic. They revolve around who I think is a ronin/wanderer who reluctantly broke off a romance. Bin-san's forlorn vocals convey the lingering affection our protagonist has for the woman he loves and the loneliness he feels because of the path he's chosen. Considering the title, I wonder if what we’re hearing are journal entries written by our protagonist and the spring rain outside his lodge reminds him of these bittersweet memories. I'd say it's pretty standard matatabi kayo topic, but it doesn't make the song any less enjoyable. 

You must be thinking, "Why was this song banned, then?" Well, Kiyomaro Kikuchi stated in "Showa Enka no Rekishi", the sentimentality of "Harusame Zoushi" was heavily frowned upon by the powers that be. Note that the song was released in 1938, which was soon after the 2nd Sino-Japanese War began and when censorship got tighter as the government/Internal ministry became more sensitive to such songs since they inspired weakness and irresponsible behaviour under the State of Emergency. I mean, fair enough, I guess, since "Harusame Soushi" is about an itinerant character pining for his lost love. And I suppose Bin-san's sad high tone didn't do the song any favour either. But the nail in the coffin was its music. According to Kikuchi's interpretation of the verdict, it not only showcased the weakness of a man, but reminiscent to caressing the body of a woman. Reading that for the first time, I actually vocalized, "WHO would've thought that?" Certainly not me!! It got me thinking: Wouldn't that just reflect the inner mind of the record censor(s) and authorities for thinking that? I'm looking at you, Chikagoro Ogawa (小川近五郎) - the head of the small record censors bureau. Get your mind out of the gutter, geez... I don't know why, but "Harusame Zoushi" getting flagged always gets me worked up.

Wild ban verdicts aside, since there are copies of "Harusame Zoushi" floating about, it can be concluded that it received the sales ban order some time after hitting the shelves unlike "Tarinai Song", another controversial ditty I covered a little while back. Personally, I think "Harusame Zoushi" is a song that matches Bin-san’s vocal quality, so I feel that it could've at least become a middling hit. How regrettable, but it came out during some dark times, so it can't be helped. But with that sort of record censorship being a thing of the past (correct me if I'm wrong), at least it can be fully appreciated for what it is now. 

Y'know, me thinking that Bin-san sounded so sweet and adorable when singing "Harusame Zoushi" would've probably made the censors more firm in their decision to ban it. 

ポリドール月報3月（昭和13）
National Diet Library archives

*I'm not sure if the kanji here meaning "Spring rain" is pronounced as "Shun-u" or the more common "Harusame". Soushi refers to those old booklets with pictures with some word/written story accompaniments. Noelle from 7/3/24: The title of this song could likely be pronounced as “Harusame Zoushi”. J-Canuck had put up a “What’s that title called” bulletin on Twitter and Showa enthusiast Tadaaki Kitakawa suggested that it could be “Harusame” since it’s more natural and there’d been pieces of literature that use this pronunciation, like “Harusame Monogatari” from the early 1800s. I’m inclined to agree. I'd been reading the title as "Harusame...", but I did have doubts as I kept associating it with the glass noodles and the fact that the title is four consecutive kanji, hence me going with "Shun-u" in my first edition of this article.

*Noelle from 8/3/24: I'd Tweeted out the promotional image above for the song and music memorial researcher Yuta Inoue kindly looked it up on the JASRAC site. Turns out it is officially called "Harusame Zoushi". The case is solved!! For those who'd seen this in draft stage and the first edition, you'd know that this article's title transformed many times: Harusame Soushi > Shun-u Soushi > Harusame Soushi > Harusame Zoushi. My goodness, what a learning journey it's been for me for just ONE song's TITLE. At least I know what one of my favourite Bin-san songs is really called. I greatly appreciate the input of those who've helped me figure it out(´人` ).‪‪ Incidentally, Inoue is also the person whom I knew about Bin-san's fan activities through. 

Noboru Kirishima & Ms. Columbia (Misao Matsubara) -- Tabi no Yokaze (旅の夜風)

Hana mo arashi mo fumi koete (Pushing through, in good times and bad)

I have this core memory of watching this one ryukoka medley back when I was just starting to wrap my head around what the genre was. If I got 100 yen for the amount of times I re-watched that, I would probably be able to buy a Mr. Nakano shikishi (autograph) priced at 55,000 yen. Because of that constant repetition, I still vividly remember what the four songs in the medley were almost a decade down the road. There was a jolly Minoru Obata (小畑実) singing "Kantaro Tsukiyo Uta" (勘太郎月夜唄) in his soft lilt, an elderly Dick Mine in a tux with a pair of shades belting out "Tabi Sugata Sannin Otoko" (旅姿三人男) in dramatic fashion, and the ever exuberant Batayan and his trusty guitar with "Otone Tsukiyo" (大利根月夜). These were instant favourites and would continue to be in the years to come. However, there was one song that was markedly different in style to the rest of these heroic-sounding matatabi mono. The man singing it also gave completely different vibes to the aforementioned gentlemen. He was awkward, standing ram-rod straight, and his slight frown behind those glasses gave him a look of mild annoyance; it's as though someone got that last tuna mayo onigiri before he could. This awkward gentleman was Noboru Kirishima (霧島昇) and the song he sang was "Tabi no Yokaze" (A Journey's Night Breeze).

This performance here is probably the exact one I saw from that medley, if not very similar. Because of that impression I had of him, I just saw him a stiff and grey natsumelo singers. I didn't take to "Tabi no Yokaze" either, it being in a minor key and having a comparatively sadder sound despite its jaunty rhythm. Just as aside, I actually prefer songs in the major key, like the earlier mentioned matatabi mono, which are generally more uplifting in sound. Stuff in the minor key like "Tabi no Yokaze" and many enka songs, on the other hand, usually take me some time to get used to. Having said that, the reason why I went from cold to lukewarm to it was because of the constant replays of that medley.

Years later, I would re-encounter "Tabi no Yokaze" and its recognizable accordion-filled intro via the Asakusa Bois, Tokyo Taishu Kayo Gakudan (東京大衆歌謡楽団). I quickly learned from their concert videos and live performances that this tune was not only a staple in their repertoire, but often sung as an introduction. Considering the song's theme of travel, it's rather characteristic of the band that often seemingly appears at random places out of thin air. Just like the medley from my teens, hearing "Tabi no Yokaze" from the Takashima brothers eventually made it go from lukewarm to a comfortable warm. Through that process, I'd find it on loop in my head and I'd be humming bits of it ever so often, especially that oh-so-familiar first line.

The Asakusa Bois were also the reason why Kiri-san became another early Showa kayo figure I warmed up to, alongside his wife Misao Matsubara (松原操), also known as Ms. Columbia. 

The original

On the note of Matsubara, "Tabi no Yokaze" wasn't just a Kirishima song, it was originally a duet Kirishima recorded with her. It was created as such in 1938 by Yaso Saijo (西條八十) and Tadashi Manjome (万城目正) and served as the theme song for the romantic somewhat-tragedy "Aizen Katsura" (愛染かつら), which was based on Matsutaro Kawaguchi's (川口松太郎) serialized novella of the same name. It featured movie stars Ken Uehara (上原謙) and Kinuyo Tanaka (田中絹代). Basically, nurse-turned-musician Katsue (played by Tanaka) first encounters young doctor and heir to the hospital she worked in Kozo at a company organized party. Kozo, smitten by Katsue, introduces her to the Aizen Katsura (Katsura tree of love) at a temple; lovers who touch the tree together will find eternal happiness together, even if not immediately. The two touch the tree, professing their love for each other. Unfortunately, that's where the problems began and a whole wave of misunderstandings and will-they-won't-theys ensue, with Kozo having to battle family tradition and Katsue balancing her duties as a single mother and a nurse. Saijo's lyrics illustrate the feelings and struggles of both characters via Kiri-san and Ms. Columbia. And I believe that the "Tabi" (journey) part of "Tabi no Yokaze" comes from how our star-crossed lovers constantly travelled to different places yet always happened to barely miss meeting each other. 

As the film was a massive sensation, "Tabi no Yokaze," arranged in multiple ways and played throughout the movie, became a smash hit, propelling Kirishima and Matsubara to musical stardom. Since the movie did so well, it spawned two sequels titled "Zoku Aizen Katsura" (続愛染かつら) in 1939 and "Aizen Katsura Kanketsu hen" (愛染かつら完結編) in 1940. Naturally, Kirishima and Matsubara were behind the theme songs as well, "Aizen Yakyoku" (愛染夜曲) and "Aizen Soushi" (愛染草紙) respectively. Both the sequels and their theme songs were just as popular as fans pursued the Katsue-Kozo saga. Since it's been more than 80 years, I think spoilers are acceptable: They FINALLY tied the knot at the Aizen Katsura by the end of the last movie. After two long years, the Katsue-Kozo union everyone wanted came to fruition. But even greater news to the fans was when Kirishima and Matsubara tied the knot as well on 17th December that year.

I actually watched "Aizen Katsura" for myself just last night and, for a movie from that era, I actually thought it was pretty good! But honestly, if the books I'd read didn't spoil me, I would've gone insane because the sequels aren't available (from my knowledge) and the first one ended on a cliffhanger. If you'd like to watch it for yourself, you can do so here. There's English subtitles if you hit the captions button.

(Sorry but the video has been taken down.)

The interview starts at the 1:50 mark.

95 points, huh, Mrs. Kirishima? That's very generous.

On the note of our ryukoka power couple, the Kirishimas were interviewed and asked about how they became an item. It was really cute to see the both of them stare blankly at each other and go, "Who made the first move, again?" However, Kiri-san mentioned that they just naturally drifted closer to each other since they were made to work together almost everyday since "Aizen Katsura." However, Columbia Records vehemently objected to the union. Just like the situation with Katsue and Kozo. I can see why, though. From the company's standpoint, it would be a huge loss if one of their most popular stars retires and become a housewife upon marriage (it was that sort of time... Still kinda is). Nevertheless, the couple still went ahead with it. 

Here is where I would like to introduce a more potential spicy drama on the Kirishima-Matsubara situation from Kiyomaro Kikuchi's "Showa Enka no Rekishi": When "Aizen Yakyoku" was due to be recorded in 1939, Kirishima was in northern China participating in record company-organized morale boosting concert trips (imon katsudo) for the soldiers stationed in those areas. As a result, Columbia's other, more senior star Akira Matsudaira (松平晃), was set as a replacement and slated to record the duet with Ms. Columbia. Kikuchi further stated that "Aizen Yakyoku" would have been pivotal for both Matsudaira and Kirishima in respectively maintaining or solidifying his popularity. So, catching wind of his replacement, Kirishima made up his mind: He was going back to Japan come hell or high water. Cancelling the performance in Qingdao, he rushed back on a military plane at the speed of light and made it just in time for the recording, ensuring Matsudaira wouldn't steal his thunder. We can look at it from this perspective, but from the way I understood Kikuchi's writing, it seemed like it was more than just competition over popularity... It sounded like a jealous Kirishima who refused to let Matsudaira take his place beside Matsubara. Food for thought.

Fan conspiracy theories aside, after Kirishima and Matsubara wed, the latter did retire from show business, and together they had four kids. Kirishima would continue to perform many of their duets either on his own or with other singers on music programs. The couple remained together for the rest of their lives, and when Kiri-san passed away in April of 1984, Matsubara followed just shy of two months from him. Oddly enough, she also left just a few days before Kiri-san's 70th birthday ;-;. Considering the circumstances that led to their union and how not even death could keep them apart, Kiri-san and Matsubara's story could easily rival Katsue and Kozo's! Someone should make a drama out of it. I would 100% watch it. Chips and soda ready - I'll watch it. NHK, please. I'll subscribe to your service.

If the one who took that last tuna mayo onigiri was Ms. Columbia, I'm sure that Kiri-san frown would be turned upside down.

Mateba kuru kuru Aizen Katsura (Just hang on, spring will come)

Yagate me wo fuku haru ga kuru (And the Aizen Katsura will finally blossom)

Tadaharu Nakano -- Rokyoku Blues (浪曲ブルース)/Jazz Rokyoku (ジャズ浪曲)

 Music moves with the times

The times move with music

They follow each other, round and round. What will be in this time? Tango? Blues?

What's that, Mr. Nakano*? You know the answer? Well, c'mon up! The stage is yours. Show us how you combine the 30s' most fashionable genre with the most anachronistic one with the fantastic R. Hatter.

Sometimes, if you want something you
just gotta do it yourself. So, I did.
I'm liking my handmade Nakano bromide.

From my articles in the past year or so, I think I've let on that I like Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴). I mean, he was quite spiffy and I always thought he was pretty cute. "China Tango" and his other tango-inspired works undoubtly made him more attractive. What made him a little more than a mainstay on my ryukoka list, however, was his penchant for humour in his smooth, jazzy tunes either on his own or with his jazz quartet, the Columbia Nakano Rhythm Boys. The song that introduced me to that side of him was "Rokyoku Blues."

"Rokyoku Blues"

According to the official rokyoku association's website, this traditional narrative art with shamisen accompaniment originated from the Meiji era, but may have had its roots hundreds of years ago in older narrative art forms like joruri. Also known as naniwabushi, it was a form of entertainment by the people for the people and its topics often featured stories of heroic chauvinism, loyalty, filial piety, romantic tragedies, etc. Proud Edo-era samurai, forlorn ronin, and morally grey yakuza were common protagonists. In the early Showa era (the mid-1920s to the early 1940s), rokyoku was particularly popular, appearing on records and heard on radio waves. It was even promoted by an increasingly nationalistic government because it showcased "appropriate" values. In this very same period but on the opposite side of the coin, jazz and Western culture were all the rage in a nation also trying to play catch up and overtake its Western compatriots. It was modern, it was stylish, it was what you heard in a fashionable Ginza cafe on the gramophone with your coffee. It was the way forward, not like stuffy rokyoku and its feudalistic themes. Naturally, pop music took note of the popularity of both, creating more traditional Japanese-themed songs in the likes of the matatabi kayo genre, but also experimenting with Western sounds like jazz, blues, tango, etc. Often times, these two starkly contrasting types of music were somewhat removed from each other. But sometimes you had a Tadaharu Nakano and a Ryoichi Hattori (服部良一), pioneers of jazz and blues in early Japanese pop music, to bring them together. Many fascinating combos were created and I think it's fair to say that "Rokyoku Blues" was one of them.

Released in August 1939, "Rokyoku Blues" kicks off in dramatic fashion with blaring trumpets and Nakano's booming baritone. His introductory recitation is reminiscent of rokyoku's tanka or "spoken dialogue" section. Despite Mr. Nakano being classically-trained, I thought his attempt at a Japanese-like (nihon cho) delivery filled with kobushi and akusei like a rokyoku artist was pretty solid, even if a little stiff. So far so rokyoku. And then the jazz kicks in jaunty Hattori fashion. Mr. Nakano maintains a bit of that akusei and gives us an animated and rather meta run-down of the tropes of naniwabushi stories and characters. Providing the words was Soanshi Mizuno (水野草庵子... I'm not sure how his first name is pronounced), who was actually known for penning many a rokyoku piece, so we know we're getting the real deal, even if silly. I'm no expert in the genre, but here are the references I could catch: 

1. Asataro Itawari (板割浅太郎) and Mt. Akagi from "Kunisada Chuji" (国定忠治), including a straight-up shout-out to its ryukoka counterpart, Taro Shoji's (東海林太郎) "Akagi no Komoriuta" (赤城の子守唄) 

2. The Tone river, probably a reference to Miki Hirate (平手造酒) in "Tenpo no Suikoden" (天保水滸伝) and/or Mohei Komagata (駒形茂兵衛) in "Ippon-gatana Dohyo Iri" (一本刀土俵入り).

3. The one-eyed rogue of Shizuoka, Mori no Ishimatsu (森の石松) in "Ishimatsu Sanju Ishibune" (石松三十石舟). 

All ninkyo mono (samurai-yakuza-themed stuff), but all some of the most well-loved tales. Also, many of the lines from "Rokyoku Blues" seem to have come from the no.3, like a personal favourite, "Baka wa shinanakya naoranai!" (Stupidity is only cured with death.) Not because I watched/heard the original work or anything, but I simply agree with the sentiment. 

On the note of no.1, even though I'm not an aficionado on Hattori Melody by any stretch, references to other songs within a song he made seemed to be a Hattori-ism, especially if the party-loving composer with the widest grin writes the words himself. "Rokyoku Blues" was written by Mizuno, but seeing as to how "Akagi no Komoriuta" was plonked into a stanza, I can't help but feel that Hattori may have had some say in its creation. That's just my flimsy theory, but maybe there is some evidence...

"Jazz Rokyoku"

On a slightly different note, I actually knew "Rokyoku Blues" as "Jazz Rokyoku." That was because a video with the latter title was the one that caught my attention at first. However, I eventually found out that "Jazz Rokyoku" was a slightly different song and that what I'd been listening to the whole time was actually titled "Rokyoku Blues." Probably a minor mistake on the uploader's part, but I don't blame them since the existence of both is a bit of a strange one and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it myself. 

So, "Jazz Rokyoku" was actually released earlier in 1938 with Hattori in charge of both music and lyrics, and it was recorded by Mr. Nakano with the Rhythm Boys. And then somewhere in the next year or so, Nakano recorded "Rokyoku Blues" on his own with the words by Mizuno. The odd thing is that only "Rokyoku Blues" can be found on Nakano's discography on 78Music, while only "Jazz Rokyoku" can be found in the discography list in Hattori's autobiography "Boku no Ongaku Jinsei" (ぼくの音楽人生).  Nevertheless, I guess you could say this is a case of "Same same but different." Both do sound somewhat similar, although "Jazz" has more raucous percussions and a bossa nova groove to it. "Jazz" is also far less heavy on the explicit rokyoku references. Instead, I think it has naniwabushi theme stereotypes, like the joys and romantic tragedies of daily life. The "Baka wa shinanakya naoranai" is still there, though so thank you R. Hatter. Hattori originally writing "Jazz" was why I'm thinking that it was plausible he had some input in the later day "Blues." But, y'know, I could be wrong. Either way, I am personally more a fan of "Blues" because I do love those on-the-nose shout-outs and its smoother arrangement.

As usual, the historical information on the music industry and society were garnered from my understandings of Kiyomaro Kikuchi's "Showa Enka no Rekishi." 

*Because I don't know if Tadaharu Nakano went by any nickname, I've decided to simply call him Mr. Nakano. But I have to clarify that it's different from Ichiro Fujiyama's "Mr. Fujiyama." The latter was derived from his prim-and-proper style, the former from his suaveness. The other option was "Teddy" because my smooth brain thought Tadaharu > Ted > Teddy. But, y'know, sometimes you just can't let intrusive thoughts like that win.

Taro Shoji & Bin Uehara -- Naki Warai no Jinsei (泣き笑ひの人生)

Oh, boy, these past few months have been a doozy. Even though the season has changed to my favourite one, there were just so many events taxing on the mental health both in and out of school that has left me exhausted. But, as it turned out, when your classmates are all grey and your professors can only give the smile of pain (among many other examples around me), I knew I wasn't the only one going through it. On the plus side, I came out of it in one piece and at least autumn break's here for some respite. But in times like this, my encouragement songs have never been more helpful, their encouraging messages is giving me that extra morale boost. One of those songs has been "Naki Warai no Jinsei" (A life of tears and laughter).

 

When I was young, Mom would always rattle off the phrase, "If you fall, pick yourself up," in Mandarin. It was meant to get me, an insolent child who cut up her knees ever so often from running amok, to not cry when being patched up. It worked, and years down the road the mantra still holds up in the context of everyday life events when something doesn't go all that smoothly and you figuratively fall on your face. To pick yourself up no matter how many times you falter is a sentiment that I feel forms the core of enka and the kayo that came before it. Nevertheless, it was a pleasant surprise to hear "Naki Warai no Jinsei" beginning with a phrase that echoed my mother's words: 

Nanatsu koronde yatsu wa okite (Fall seven times, get up eight times)

I believe this originates from the four-character phrase, "Shichiten hakki" (七転八起), literally meaning seven tumbles, eight rises. Uttering those words was the statuesque Taro Shoji (東海林太郎) in his duet with fellow Polydor Records junior Bin Uehara (上原敏). Released in April 1938, "Naki Wari no Jinsei" was penned by Kinya Shimada (島田磬也) and composed by Keio Iida (飯田景応). A collaboration every ryukoka would dream of. But with war already in the offing, singer collabs within the same company were exceedingly common, from duets to chorales. I reckon it's got to do with inspiring national unity for better or for worse... It did make for some dream collaborations like this one, though.

On that note, I actually came across this duet when I was starting to get into Bin-san's stuff and chose him as the subject for one of my senior year papers on media theory. Specifically, I was looking for some of his works that would've possibly inspired optimism and nationalism in its listeners during the late 1930s, i.e. when the Second Sino-Japanese War began and the Pacific War loomed overhead. Long story short, was one of the three songs I picked for analysis, with part of the reason being the quoted phrase. But what does the rest of the song say? From my understanding, we have an exchange between our two protagonists played by Taro and Bin-san, the former, the older of the two, taking on the wiser, more seasoned role, mirroring reality. I'm not exactly what they're supposed to be, but I think they could be wandering nagashi or street musicians. Clearly, it's not the easiest lifestyle and Bin-san's character meekly admits to the strain it causes him. Taro's character, while mostly compassionate, berates his junior with the following:

Shoji: Yowane hakuna yo sumanu janai ka (Don't complain. It's pitiful.)

          Omoe senjo no suwamono wo (Think of the heroes on the battlefield.)

Uehara: Souda. Wakatta. Kyou kara ore mo (Yes, I understand. From now)

             Umare kawatte gambaru ze (I'll turn myself around and work hard.)

Even though "Naki Warai no Jinsei" takes a nationalist turn towards the second half, which you can sort of see in this third stanza, chunks of Shimada's words are particularly resonant in any occasion, such as in this exchange. Honestly, when I'm down and I hear Taro's admonishment (minus the "Omoe..." bit), Bin-san's response becomes mine and it reaffirms my resolve to overcome any obstacle. In the last stanza too, in a paraphrase of the title when Taro goes, "Nake yo, nake, nake, naitara warae" (Cry now, cry and cry. After that, smile), it oddly validates any feelings of sadness and it does turn that frown upside down. 

I can't imagine the number of times I've listened to "Naki Warai no Jinsei" over the past few months and that number is sure to go higher in the coming terms. But it's oddly reassuring to have these two bespectacled Akita natives spurring me on with some familiar encouraging words.

*As a side note, if you're wondering why "笑ひ" is pronounced as "Warai" and not "Warahi," I believe it's because the older writing system was used. In modern day writing it would've been written as "笑い."

Noelle's Favourite 1930s & 1940s Songs (Follow-up)

Lately, I've been in one of my early ryukoka phases. It's when I predominantly listen to songs from the 1930s to the early 1950s or so. It's most certainly because of the influence of Tokyo Taishu Kayo Gakudan (東京大衆歌謡楽団) and taking Bin Uehara (上原敏) as my newest muse. But it's also due in part to my reignited love for Yoshio Tabata (田端義夫) and a burgeoning interest in Katsuhiko Haida (灰田勝彦), both of whom have recently provided much-needed pick-me-ups as I figure out how to move on after graduating from university. And, of course, there are the covers by Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎) and stuff I learned from the karaoke. My once tiny collection of ryukoka has expanded greatly and I picked up many more favourites along the way from a myriad of artists. So, I'd like to share some of them with you guys in this instalment of "Favourite" Author's Picks.

Looking through my past Author's Picks writings, I realised that I had done a post on my favourite songs from the 1930s and 1940s in 2017 (geez, I actually forgot). Looking at my own selection, some of those picks actually withstood the test of time and I still love them to this day. Some of those artists will also reappear here, albeit with different titles to their names. Care to take a gander at who they may be? :) This entry is sort of a successor to my previous one and the rule of one song per singer for fairness' sake will be kept. The lyrics most resonant with me will also be noted. 

Just a couple of disclaimers before we begin: 

1. There are some songs that were originally duets where I only listed one singer. I did this because I prefer listening to their solo versions.

2. I tried putting in some translations for my favourite lyrics. Take them with a pinch of salt - my Japanese skills are (still) paltry.  

Without further ado, let's begin.

Bin Uehara -- Hatoba Katagi (1938)

Mamori toshite kita ore da (I’ve been protecting you with all my life)

Hatoba katagi wo shiranai ka (Don't you know that's the spirit of the wharf?)

Now, we can't have a prewar song list without Husbando 3, right? For some reason, I became enamoured by the clear and gentle vocals of this star from the 1930s who (low-key) looked like a studious accountant, getting hooked on his many samurai/ronin and sailor-themed discography. I've come to like a good number of those songs and it was hard to pick just the one. But, I think that accolade should go to "Hatoba Katagi" (波止場気質), my introductory song to all things Bin-san which I first heard as a cover by Hachi (well, well). I always found myself going back to this ditty about a sailor having to send off his beloved at the docks, loving both the jaunty melody and Bin-san's tender and forlorn vocals.

Ooooooossu!

Yoshio Tabata -- Otone Tsukiyo (1939)

Guchi janakeredo yo ga yo de areba (Not to complain, but it is what it is)

Tono no maneki no tsukimi zake (Having drinks admiring moon at a lord's invite)

Otoko Hirate to motehayasarete (Praised as the man, Hirate)

Ima ja ima ja ukiyo no sandogasa (But now, now he's just a wanderer in the floating world)

If you guessed Tabata as one who'd reappear, you're absolutely right. Batayan's been a constant favourite for as long as I can remember, his cool dude energy being a such joy to watch and hearing the brassy twang of his trusty guitar gives me goosebumps. He was also pretty cute. But, for personal reasons, he never really got past my top 5 and into Husbando territory. (Noelle from 18/4/23: Yeah, that statement didn't age well.)

Last time, I picked "Genkai Blues" (玄海ブルース), but I am fairly certain that it was a toss-up between that and "Otone Tsukiyo" (大利根月夜). The same thing happened this time, but the latter came out on top instead. "Otone Tsukiyo" was my introduction to the exuberant singer and one of the first of many ronin-themed tunes I would come to like. Its grand sound really gives the disgraced samurai figure of Miki Hirate such a heroic edge, and I can't get enough of those amazing guitar solos - twice in just this one! Speaking of Batayan and his guitar, he seemed to have been so particular about it that he would insist on having its amplifier be placed where he could "see its sound or it won't do." Batayan, you're literally the "I can hear colours" meme, and that's why I love you.  

Katsuhiko Haida -- Jawa no Mango Uri (1942)

Kage e no shibai ka gameran mo tanoshiya (A shadow puppet show? The gamelan's great too!)

Aa Jawa no mango uri (Ah, the Java mango seller)

Among the veterans on this list, Haida was the one I least expected to show up here. And yet, here he is with his ukulele and flower lei thanks to "Jawa no Mango Uri" (ジャワのマンゴ売り). Perhaps it's because of the exotic and sultry sound. Perhaps I just like it when Haida sings "gamelan" and "mango" in that strange yet silky crooning of his, but I ended up taking to "Jawa no Mango Uri" way more than I had expected. How has he already propelled up to Batayan's level from absolutely nowhere in my books?? 

Tadaharu Nakano -- China Tango (1939)

Charumera mo kiete yuku (The charamela has disappeared)

Tooi akai hi aoi hi mo (So have the faraway red and blue lights)

Kuniang no maegami no (The young lady's bangs)

Yarusenakunaku yo wa fukeru (The night deepens without any sorrows)

From the island of Java, we go north to China. I never knew how much I liked China-themed songs until the Asakusa Bois came along. It's kind of kitschy, but also somewhat familiar. "China Tango", originally by Nakano, is one of them with its snappy tango melody and romantically sweet lyrics that paint a dreamy image of a Chinese port town at nightfall. Be it Kotaro or Nakano, the way they belt out the chorus never fails to impress me. Needless to say, this is one of the songs I look forward to the most when I watch the Takashima Brothers and gang. It doesn't appear on their setlists often, but I've been lucky to catch it in the times I've seen them in person and it never fails to brighten my day.

Haruo Oka -- Shanghai no Hanauri Musume (1938)

Hoshi mo kokyu mo kohaku no sake mo (The stars, the kokyu, and the amber sake)

Yume no Shanghai hanauri musume (The flower-selling girl of the dreamy Shanghai)

Speaking of China-themed tunes and song introductions via the Takashima Brothers, we head to metropolitan Shanghai with "Shanghai no Hanauri Musume"(上海の花売娘). Like Batayan, Okapparu makes his appearance here as well, this time with an entry from his well-regarded "Hanauri Musume series" (Flower selling girl series), the very first one, in fact. A bright and joyful number, Okapparu relates the scene of a flower seller at the docks of Shanghai in his clear and chirpy style. 

Dick Mine -- Nagasaki Elegy (1947)

Kino futta wa konuka ame (Yesterday's rain was a light drizzle)

Kyo wa namida no ame ga furu (Today's rain is my tears)

Yume no Nagasaki ai yoru tama wo (In the dreamy Nagasaki, our spirits as one)

Musube yogiri no abe Maria (Wrapped in the night fog, Ave Maria)

Welcome back to Japan, specifically to Nagasaki, with yet another recurring artist. I'd say Mine's "Nagasaki Elegy" (長崎エレジー) is a strong contender for my favourite Nagasaki-themed song, and I think my recent trip to the prefecture only amplified that. The swelling strings, upbeat tempo, and earnest vocals of whoever takes it on give "Nagasaki Elegy" this mix of sadness and hopefulness that I can't get enough of. Mine's rendition is great, but I do love Hachi's and Batayan's versions as well.

Akiko Kikuchi -- Hoshi no Nagare ni (1947)

Uete imagoro imouto wa doko ni (I wonder where my starving sister is now)

Hito me aitai okaasan (Just once, I want to see my mother again)

This one brings back so many bittersweet memories of my first year at university - what a ride it was. Kikuchi's jazzy tune is so visceral in its depiction of anguish, reaching its tipping point at each chorus. An apt representation of the immediate postwar period, but emotions do transcend time. While my troubles are nowhere near as harsh as what "Hoshi no Nagare ni" (星の流れに) implies, just the feelings conveyed through Kikuchi's sorrowful delivery with an element of resignation really hit hard at times. But it's exactly that which brings me back to it. Plus, I do love a good jazz-inspired song. 

Minoru Obata -- Onna Keizu no Uta (Yushima no Shiraume) (1942)

Shiruya shiraume tamagaki ni (Don't you know, white plum blossoms, on the shrine fences)

Nokoru futari no kageboshi (Remains their silhouette)

If I were to use a single word to describe "Yushima no Shiraume" (湯島の白梅), I'd say "beautiful". The elegant and dramatic strings and horns, Obata's genteel and deliberate crooning, and the image of blooming plum blossoms in early spring. Yet, it's the stage for a romantic tragedy between the geisha Otsuta and her lover Chikara from the book-turned-film, "Onna Keizu" (婦系図). Still, there's no better time to listen to this than now as the plum blossoms bloom.

Shigeo Kusunoki -- Onna no Kaikyu (1935)

Kokoro kudakedo mamanaranu (A broken heart is beyond my control)

Tsurai ukiyo no sayoarashi (The painful floating world's night gale)

I feel like "Onna no Kaikyu" (女の階級) is one of those songs that is simultaneously popular and unknown. It doesn't make much sense, but that's my impression based on my contradicting experience with it. Veteran Kusunoki was the original artist, but I see more covers of this track by enka singers through the ages than his original on YouTube. Yet, when I'm at the karaoke, the oldies aren't too familiar with it. Nevertheless, I somehow got hooked on this spunky Koga Melody. It's likely because the orchestra goes on full blast at a frenetic speed in the original, and simply because I like hearing the likes of Hachi doing incredible vocal gymnastics to pull it off in the covers.

And that, folks, has been an updated take on some of my favourite songs from the immediate pre and postwar eras. As I previously mentioned ages ago, somehow, these songs have incredible staying power in my head. But, I suppose that's why they're still being enjoyed more than seven decades later. 

Man, 2017 Noelle wouldn't have believed this list if I showed it to her. I can imagine: "Batayan, yeah, but who's... Bin? And the baseball guy? rEalLy??"

I ended off my previous list with madorosu Batayan, so I shall do the same here. 

Bin Uehara/Hachiro Kasuga/Yoshio Tabata -- Hatoba Katagi (波止場気質)

Looking the recent editions to my YouTube "Liked Videos" playlist, I noticed a little first in all my years of music excavation: I'd actually liked 3 videos with the same song in a row. I know, I know, this hat trick is rather frivolous, but it was for a song I'd never heard of until very recently by an artiste who occasionally pops up on my radar. This song is "Hatoba Katagi" by Bin Uehara (上原敏).

Now, I was made aware of the very preppy, 1920s/1930s salaryman-like Uehara via the duet "Uramachi Jinsei" (裏町人生) with Michiko Yuki (結城道子). I love that song very much, and Uehara stuck in my mind as the Akita dude who made using minyo vocal techniques while singing ryukoka a thing and one of the many unfortunate casualties of the Pacific War, but I never really thought of sampling more of his discography that's speckled with a respectable number of evergreen hits. And then, one day I was listening to a video compilation of some of Hachiro Kasuga's pre and post war classics, "Uramachi Jinsei" included, and that was when I stumbled upon "Hatoba Katagi". Granted, I was half asleep while it played in my ears - I think I was resting before my last class of the day - but I recalled taking to the jaunty melody and effortless way Hachi nailed the vocal acrobatics the song demanded.

"Hatoba Katagi" starts at the 19:02 mark. The one before is "Uramachi Jinsei", if you're keen.

Some research later revealed that Uehara was also behind "Hatoba Katagi", at which point the extent of vocal acrobatics needed for the tune made sense. In listening to the Bin-san's original recording from 1938, his more deliberate manner of warbling gives a slight rusticity to this sailor/port-harbour song. The music arrangement also sounded more oriental with the plucking of an instrument that sounds more like a banjo than a guitar and the bit after the second stanza when the lonely violin kicks in temporarily, which was an interesting touch by composer Keio Iida (飯田景応).

An oriental-tinged hatoba number piqued my interest, and so did its gender-swapped roles in the lyrics. As far as I know, such a song topic would involve a woman seeing off her sailor lover and she'd be the one shedding tears while the sailor puts up a strong front. However, Kinya Shimada (島田磬也) seemed to have written the opposite, I believe: It's the woman who's going to set sail to a destination unknown to us, and the man who's come to see her off as promised, even if he has to do so with watery eyes. This made me wonder about how such a premise could've come about.

Considering the time period of "Hatoba Katagi" (the 1930s), many Japanese folks headed out of the economically struggling mainland in hopes of finding a better life elsewhere (the West, or the colonies). So, methinks the woman could've been whisked away to a foreign country (or minimally to a far-off part of Japan) by her family for just that, and her poor man, perhaps with his own familial obligations, has to stay behind... Of course, this is but speculation on the part of my interpretation of Bin-san's song (yes, I've decided to called him by his nickname from now on).

Aside from Hachi's version which was first released in 1971 via the album "Showa no Enka" (昭和の艶歌), the third version I had unwittingly added to my list was Yoshio Tabata's (田端義夫). For one, Batayan's the man for madorosu tunes, so him doing a cover of "Hatoba Katagi" was to be expected. The musical arrangement is truer to Bin-san's one, just that you can hear the notes from Batayan's signature electric guitar. I'm not exactly sure when it was recorded, but an album where it can be found is in "Batayan! Funauta wo Utau" (バタヤン!船歌を歌う) from 2013; I reckon it could've originally been recorded in the 60s or 70s, though.

And thus, I'd like to welcome "Hatoba Katagi" to the circle of pre/post war songs that play in my head incessantly. For some reason, ryukoka from that time are particularly catchy to me.

The Works of Masao Koga (古賀政男) Part 1: The Early Years

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.

Shigeo Kusunoki/Hideo Murata -- Jinsei Gekijo (人生劇場)

Over the course of these few months, I had been watching a bunch of Japanese dramas, both old and new, and most of them have been pretty good, but the one that takes the cake is "Sanbiki no Ossan" (三匹のおっさん... Three Geezers). It's basically about three old men - Kiyo, Shige and Nori - who, disgusted by how unruly and petty-crime-ridden their neighborhood is, decide to take matters into their own hands by becoming the town's secret law enforcers. Though advanced in age, they are not to be trifled with as they would always deliver a beat down to the bad guys when threatened and give them a taste of justice - Kiyo would strike them hard on the head with his wooden sword, Shige would flip them over Judo-style, and Nori would zap them senseless with his homemade tasers. Ah, ain't nothing better than seeing a trio of geriatrics beating up ne'er-do-wells! That aside, it also teaches some good ol' fashioned values, so there's more to it than just comedy and comedic violence. The video above with the DVD commercials for the drama sums up what I'd just mentioned.

Another thing that I enjoy in "Sanbiki no Ossan" is that an enka song or kayokyoku would be sung in every episode by Kiyo, with Nori occasionally providing the backup "Wah, wah, wah, wah". Unfortunately, I haven't been able to figure out the majority of the songs they had sung, but one thing's for sure, the very first one was Hideo Murata's (村田英雄) "Jinsei Gekijo". This was one of the tunes that Kiyo sang before a serious showdown with the baddies. Kinya Kitaoji (北大路欣也) singing to the song playing on his cell phone (it's the character's ring tone) in his husky voice made for an amazingly cool entrance to a fight.

Moving on to the song itself. J-Canuck's article on "Jinsei Gekijo" served as my introduction to Muchi and the composer responsible for spawning many enka classics of that era, the great Masao Koga (古賀政男). I wasn't a big fan of the song when I first heard it, but what made me come back to it was its haunting music. The instrument used throughout (it may be some string instrument. A mandolin, perhaps. Whatever it is, it's used in many of Koga's works) and the lonely blare of the trumpet of some sort gives "Jinsei Gekijo" a melancholic and slightly sinister air, while Murata's fierce and forceful delivery brought a manly edge. Accompanying Koga's score is Sonosuke Sato's (佐藤惣之助) lyrics.

Apparently many think that "Jinsei Gekijo" was originally by Murata. Who wouldn't, though? I mean, it sounds like it was tailor-made for the intimidating veteran, and if I were to listen to Muchi's version without any prior knowledge of the song, I wouldn't have thought that it was sung by anyone but him. However, as learnt from J-Canuck's article and the J-Wiki, ryukoka singer Shigeo Kusunoki (楠木繁夫) was the first to sing it. The video up there plays Kusunoki's rendition, and his vocal delivery actually sounds somewhat similar to Murata's, though not as growly at the lower notes and not as whiny at the higher notes. Though both versions have no particular differences in my ears, I find myself marginally favouring Murata's, simply because it's by Murata.

"Jinsei Gekijo" was first released in 1938 as Kusunoki's 12th single, then came Muchi's version 21 years later in 1959. Murata got to sing it on the Kohaku twice, in 1971 and 1978.

discogs.com

Finally, to wrap things up, this is what Mom calls Muchi: Bobo. I am not kidding. I am still trying to wrap my head around it. Out of all the nicknames I had shared thus far, this one made the least amount of sense. A while ago I was showing her a video of the Yonin Shu performing together with Muchi taking the lead, and she just looked at him and called him "Bobo". Well, at least she doesn't dislike him... or any of the Yonin Shu for that matter. She thinks they look fine and not annoying. It's their singing styles and the type of enka they sing that she doesn't like.

Sumire Uesaka & HIsako Kanemoto -- Katyusha (Катю́ша / カチューシャ)

I bought this gorgeous Soviet souvenir in the Ukraine booth in a traditional marketplace, called Feira da Providência, held in Rio de Janeiro last week.

Recently, I’ve been listening to some Russian Folk songs and Eurodisco gems from the 80s with Russia and/or former Soviet Union as their main themes. I was very surprised to come across so many Gorbatchov-era inspired synthpop songs, thanks to Perestroika and Glasnost.

In Japan’s case, we now have Sumire Uesaka (上坂すみれ), a young seiyuu that happens to be a Soviet Union enthusiast, who sometimes embraces Russian themes in her songs. I thought about introducing one of her Russian inspired songs today, but, in the end, I decided to work on her rendition of the classic “Katyusha”, a famous Russian anthem during World War II (or the “Great Patriotic War” in Russia).

“Katyusha” is a song I like a lot since I discovered it many years ago. It was composed in 1938 by MatveiI Blanter (Матве́й Бла́нтер), with lyrics written by Mikhail Isakovsky (Михаи́л Исако́вский). Also, although created in Soviet Union, it’s not a song full of political propaganda, so, instead, we get a patriotic song about a girl in love with a soldier who is fighting for Mother Russia in the war. It’s ironic how the song was written in 1938, a couple of years before the Soviet Union entered the war. You can listen to the version recorded by the great Red Army Choir below.

Back to Sumire Uesaka, I only discovered she recorded “Katyusha” after J-Canuck's comment on my post about her Eurobeat single "Kitare! Aakatsuni no Doushi". It was a very pleasant surprise as, like I said earlier, "Katyusha" is one of my favourite Russian songs.

Katyusha was recorded by Sumire Uesaka and Hisako Kanemoto (金元寿子) in 2012 for the “Girls und Panzer” (ガールズ&パンツァー) anime, which portrayed a world where fighting in tanks was somewhat a hobby, similar to other sports. I didn’t watch the anime yet (I’m planning to), but, apparently, Sumire and Hisako were the girls commanding Soviet tanks, and that’s why, in a scene, they appeared singing “Katyusha”. Singing in Russian was not a problem for Sumire, as she studies Russian language, but I wonder how hard it must have been for Hisako.

A funny thing about this anime rendition of "Katyusha" is that, due to copyright issues, it couldn’t be aired in the American version. Instead, the same scene aired with another Russian song in the background, “Korobeiniki” (Коробейники), which is widely known for being “The Tetris Song” (even I played this version of Tetris a lot during my childhood, although mine was probably from a cloned video-game).Don’t get me wrong, “Korobeiniki” is also a great song, but it was not very suitable for the scene. Here’s a video comparing the original Japanese version with the American one.

Finally, this anime version of "Katyusha" can be found in “GIRLS und PANZER Original Soundtrack” album, which was released in December 2012.

Source: Amazon.com