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.
I feel like I'm playing a word association game but with themes with the past couple of articles I wrote. First, it was "Isao Hayashi" (林伊佐緒) with Sogen wo Yuku Otoko (草原をゆく男) and Kurashiki no Hito (倉敷の女). From the latter, I am carrying over the theme of a singer's voice to this article.
Quite a while back, I was reading something on the line of how a singer's voice can be highly attractive to its listeners, even without the presence of their physical being - think radio, records, CDs, etc. - as we can fill in the blanks ourselves. The mind is a powerful tool. Seeing as how Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴) never showed up on TV postwar, and prewar footage of him even just moving is exceedingly rare, I let my imagination take the reins with what it has: his photos and his voice (via his songs).
So hot｡ﾟ(ﾟ´艸`ﾟ)ﾟ｡
Mr. Nakano is essentially my antithesis to Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎). During his tenure as a recording artist, he often appeared to be either chipper with his cheeky grin or suave with a smolder. His jazz covers and western music-inspired songs often match either version of him, and his expressive deliveries would sound a little different depending. If its something like a silly or sentimental jazz song, he would ordinarily come equipped with a bright tenor. But if its a more dramatic number, he would lean into the lower register of his vocal range and showcase its richness. The latter, in particular, gets the heart racing.
Seishun Rumba belongs to this latter category. Released in June 1939, it's actually a cover of Tabú, originally created musician Margarita Lecuona. The Cuban number has a heady air of sensuality about it with its languid rhythm. However, to fit Nakano's dynamic energy, Showa's other jazz song arrangement whiz Takio Niki (仁木多喜雄) sped up the tempo a little and made it sound theatrical with more dramatic percussions and blaring horns, yet still retained the sex appeal of the original. It makes the perfect space for Nakano's chesty delivery in this instance to shine; and despite its boldness, the singer manages to add a tenderness to his voice that makes it even more alluring.
Taking care of the Japanese lyrics was Ko Fujiura (藤浦洸), who was already making a name for himself making several hit western-inspired numbers. His words seem parallel the rumba and its vitality to youth, which explains the title that literally translates to "Youth Rumba." To be completely honest, I'm not super fond of the title they gave the Japanese version. Somehow, the thought that this could be considered one of those "odes to youth" (seishun sanka) that were popular during the 30s does kind of diminish the more mature vibe the Niki's arrangement and Nakano's delivery give to me. Nevertheless, Seishun Rumba was the song where, upon first listen, had me texting one of my good friends that I thought the man "[sounded] so hot." The blend of the music, his voice, and those suave images sends my imagination into overdrive and has me forgetting to breathe. I would be transfixed seeing Hachi sing Kurashiki no Hito live, but I think I'd pass out seeing Nakano do Seishun Rumba live.
Nakano in 1949 during the in-between period when he took a break from the music world. Fromアサヒグラフ (22/6/1949)
Feels like it's been a while since I've done a solo piece on Jazz Daddy Dandy Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴), what with me predominantly sniffing around for any crumb of information about his postwar activities as of late. But in between unearthing such random tidbits, such as him playing for the King Records baseball team in the 50s, and sampling a variety of his postwar compositions, I would have evenings where I'd dig around good ol’ YouTube for works from his stint as a singer.
With the exception of gunka and school/company songs, Mr. Nakano the singer was most known for covers of an assortment of western music, particularly jazz, and ryukoka with strong western flavours. But this trend seemed to have only began once he began dabbling in American jazz and putting together the Rhythm Boys & Sisters chorus groups from about 1934 onwards. Prior to that, as a new face of Columbia Records, he mainly did the standard ryukoka and the then-trending shin min'yo between 1932 and 1933. The jumps from 1932 Nakano to 1937 Nakano, and then back to 1933 Nakano, for instance, is pretty jarring, and can make you wonder if it's the same man singing all those songs.
A tune that I came across earlier this year from one of these expeditions was Haru wa Hohoemu (Spring smiles). This spring-themed jazzy number was released in March 1939. It’s got a cheerful melody with a chic piano solo that has a warmth like a spring breeze. To match the light tune, Nakano had also toned down his ordinarily powerful and resonant voice into a gentle lilt, conveying a protagonist reveling in the joys of spring and his youth - haru/spring seems to be a fairly common metaphor for youth in ryukoka.
Anyway, to me, Haru wa Hohoemu sounded like something one would hear on the other side of the Pacific, so much so that I had assumed that this was yet another of Nakano’s covers. So, seeing the names of Columbia Records (Japan) employees Toshio Nomura (野村俊夫) for the lyrics and Hideo Hirakawa (平川英夫) for the music on the record label had me doing a double-take - it’s a locally-produced original! Then again, Takio Niki (仁喜他喜雄) was on arrangement duty. If you ever see the name of this aloof-looking musician, especially under “Arranger” (編曲家), you're more often than not going to be hearing a cover of of western tune (a.k.a. jazz song), or a ryukoka that sounds uncannily like western music. As you'd expect, he's handled a number of both for Nakano, including this one.
I like Haru wa Hohoemu quite a lot as it showcases a side of Mr. Nakano I don't hear as often. As mentioned, he has a strong and bright voice, which lends well to the super upbeat ditties or dramatic numbers he's synonymous with. But I appreciate his softer, more intimate crooning as well. Honestly, though, Nakano could sing in any style and it'd still make my heart flutter (*´艸`).
I think it's safe to say that people of a certain age and over, even those who aren't into jazz, have heard of "Moonlight Serenade" by Glenn Miller. Even if they don't know the title or the man behind it, they can recognize it. And even before I got into jazz wholeheartedly during my years in Japan, I remember hearing this all the time on radio and seeing performances of it on television.
Coincidentally enough, I'm writing this ROY article just a couple of days shy of what would have been Miller's 121st birthday. Much has been made about his death, declared in absentia, after his plane had disappeared over the English Channel in December 1944 during World War II. But let's focus on "Moonlight Serenade" which made its premiere in 1939 with the clarinets in front and the horns backing them up. Considering that Miller purportedly wasn't the warmest person on the planet, one of his masterpieces apparently had listeners getting all lumpy in the throat.
As someone who attended his fair share of school dance parties, there was always a song at the end of those soirees which made for a far better way of saying that it was time to go home than having the janitor crankily switch the lights on and off repeatedly. It would always be a ballad of sorts to get lovers up for that final cheek-to-cheek and then everyone would slowly sashay off the floor and out of the building. I think "Moonlight Serenade" may have been the jazz equivalent of the last song of the party. Mind you, I never heard Miller's magnum opus ever played at the end of my own dance parties, but I could imagine it gently delivering folks up into the night sky under the moon before quietly depositing them out the door.
The Boston Pops is a pop orchestra that has been with me ever since I was a baby. Their contributions are included in that 5-LP set of "50 Years Of Hits In Stereo" by RCA that we got with our huge stereo. Led by Arthur Fiedler in my early years, the Pops always struck me as the coolest orchestra because they could handle not only classical music but also provide their own distinct classy touch to modern hits. Perhaps they are the one unit that managed to merge the jazz that had once been disdained as the devil's music and the more acceptable "beautiful music" of a century ago.
And then, in what would become one example of music's equivalent of bringing Shohei Ohtani and the Los Angeles Dodgers together, maestro John Williams, the king of the blockbuster soundtrack, became the new conductor for the Boston Pops from 1980 to 1993. PBS used to have the summer weekly shows featuring the Pops which I remember watching quite a bit.
I recently discovered that Williams and the Pops had released an album covering some of the jazz classics titled "Unforgettable" back in 1993, and their take on "Moonlight Serenade" was indeed splendiferous. It still hews to the Miller original but the Pops' touches are there such as those shimmering strings. In a way, their take would be the ideal version to finish off a TV series or movie franchise with the main character walking off into the distance after having confessed to his love for "Moonlight Serenade" years or entries earlier. Not a bad way to go.
Well, when it comes to 1939 and 1993, I was obviously alive in only one of those two years, so let's go with what was winningthe Japan Record Awards in the latter year.
Some time ago, I mentioned that my eyes were treated to a "Day in the Life at Columbia Records 1937" vlog at the Yuji Koseki (古関裕而) Memorial Hall on a recent trip to Fukushima. Koseki's vlog had a clip of Akira Matsudaira (松平晃) doing some vocal warm-ups, but what really sent me over the moon was live footage of Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴) and his Columbia Rhythm Boys. Up to that point, I'd never seen them move. I'd never seen Mr. Nakano sing. There was no audio, but I died, then quickly resuscitated so that I could watch it again. Three more times... I intended to spend an hour at the museum, but spent almost two.
Returning to reality (and home base), I contemplated about how Koseki sensei's footage may have been the only moving pictures of Mr. Nakano and the Jazzy Bois I will get to see, and that was a bit sad. Then I decided to watch a movie I'd saved some time ago: "Junjou no Nijuusou" (純情二重奏) from August 1939 (video below... no English subs, unfortunately). I saved that movie because I knew that Akira-san had a minor role in it and was curious to see his acting chops. When the beginning credits rolled, the bit of sad from earlier fizzled out when the name "Nakano Tadaharu" appeared along side a roster of Columbia Records artists, including the Rhythm Boys. Nakano quite literally appeared for 20 seconds and muttered a "Sumimasen ne." I wanted to hear and see more of him, but other singers like Ms. Columbia had zero lines and simply showed up for a scene or two, so I am grateful with my 20 seconds of Nakano. Besides, he reappeared in the final scene with everyone else for the main character’s (played by movie star Mieko Takamine (高峰三枝子)) final send off.
Mr. Nakano: 8:25; Rhythm Boys: 18:55;
Rhythm Boys vs Cha-san: 20:26; final send-off: 1:09:33
The ones who actually got a decent amount of screen time were the Rhythm Boys, appearing in multiple scenes and even getting to showcase their musical chops. This, at long last, allowed me to place faces to the voices, albeit just the group's 3rd generation members. The Rhythm Boys’ members shuffled over the years since they formed in 1934, but the composition in "Junjou Nijuusou" was the 3rd gen bunch. This line-up comprised of tenors Hideo Akiyama (秋山日出夫) and Reisuke Harada (原田礼輔), baritone Dairyo Momose (百瀬大了) a.k.a. Bin Takakura, and bass Eiichi Hagihara (荻原栄一). Exactly when this 3rd generation Rhythm Boys was formed, I'm not sure, but based on the info I have at the moment, it was at least after February 1939, when Momose was recruited. This should be the same crew who did "Yurei wa Odoru" (幽霊は踊る) and "Tarinai Song" (タリナイ・ソング)
Anyways, as you can see in the movie above, the Jazzy Bois played a rival enka-shi/nagashi gang to Hisao Ito’s (伊藤久男) minor street musician character. Side character antagonists had never been this adorable. The group made their first appearance on screen at a cafe entertaining guests, snazzily-dressed in coordinated suits and newsboy caps. Ordinarily, it takes me some amount of trial and error to figure out a song sung in passing in movies like this, but I didn't need to this time. I think it's safe to say that the song where the guys go "Kappore! Kappore! Kappore! Kappore!" would be called "Kappore." Okay, to be fair, it was also because I saw a song titled "Kappore" in the Nakano-Rhythm Boys compilations, so I just put two and two together.
The "Kappore" was originally quite a well-known celebratory zokuyo (folk/pop song) from the late Edo-era (early 1800s) that was used in conjunction with the Hounen Odori (Bountiful Harvest Dance) or Sumiyoshi Odori (Sumiyoshi Dance) as a form of street entertainment by street performer priests. The titular term apparently originated from a phrase in the "Toba Bushi" minyo from the Kii region (the Wakayama and some of Mie prefectures), which goes "Watasha omae ni okapporeta" (I'm head over heels with / have a crush on you). Looking at the words for our song in question, though, I don't think it has anything to do with romance. Coming into the Meiji era, "Kappore" and its dance turned into a side show incorporated into kabuki, yoseseki entertainment (traditional arts like rakugo, manzai, etc.), geisha parties, or dinner gatherings. This was where its popularity took off. I got this information from kotobank.jp and its various definitions. You can check it out here.
The popularity of the "Kappore" meant that many singers had their own versions of it. Many of these renditions were by geisha-turned-singers like Ichimaru (市丸), Kimie Nihonbashi (日本橋きみ栄), and the first of their kind, Fumikichi Fujimoto (藤本二三吉). I've put Fujimoto's version above. The shamisen-filled music and the reedy voices of these uguisu geisha are perhaps what one would expect from an old-style Japanese folk tune. But not so much when you put the ditty into the hands of the composer with a penchant for jazz and give it to the prewar jazz chorus group.
While we got an acapella teaser in “Junjou Nijuusou”, The Rhythm Boys officially released their funky version of "Kappore" a few months later in November 1939. Managing the zokuyo's arrangement and lyrics was Ryoichi Hattori (服部良一). From the get go, the full orchestra with horns blasting and thumping percussions andthe Jazzy Bois spiritedly chanting, "Kappore!" cranks up the original zokuyo's celebratory vibe by a few notches. What made it particularly Western or “jazz” on the music-front were the smooth notes of the tenor sax piping in ever so often and the group's signature barbershop quartet style of delivery with Akiyama in the lead. Despite that, "Kappore" still maintained some semblance of the traditional Japanese flavour from its source material, I feel. This fun piece of east-meets-west still makes you want to dance, but you'll probably end up doing the Swing in the midst of an odori.
The words the Hattori fitted into "Kappore" were part of the oft sung original, pointing to the tale of the Kii region's local hero, the sea-faring businessman Kinokuniya Bunzaemon (紀伊国屋文左衛門... Bunza, for short) and his mandarin ship. The video above features Houkan entertainer (an entertainer who performs for dinner parties/gatherings) Hachiko Matsunoya (松廼家八好) doing the Kappore dance, and he gives a brief rundown of the zokuyo's meaning beforehand.
I could not fully catch all that he said, but there is apparently the Fuigo festival celebrated by blacksmiths where it was tradition to fling mandarin oranges. One year during the Edo era, the mandarins to be used had gone bad, but there was a bumper crop in the Kii region, and so enterprising folks wanted to ferry the mandarins where they are wanted, one of them being Bunza. However, as dear Haruo Minami's(三波春夫) kayo-rokyoku on Bunza and the Heike Story has taught me anything, is that the waters around the Kii region are terribly rough and shipwrecks were the norm. This was the unfortunate case for those mandarin-carrying ships, save for one: Bunza's small vessel. Thus, Bunza became uber rich and celebrated for the feat. That seems to be the main idea for "Kappore," and it was this bit that Hattori kept for the Rhythm Boys' version.
Y'know, because the Rhythm Boys' snazzy take of "Kappore" was the first time I heard the zokuyo as a whole, I can only associate the "Kappore" to them now. Also, speaking of Haru-san, I've been listening to his kayo-rokyoku version of Bunza's tale "Gosho Ichidai Kinokuniya Bunzaemon" (豪商一代紀伊国屋文左衛門) for years. But it took me that many years and the Jazzy Bois' introduction to "Kappore" to finally realise that Minami had added the zokuyo at the very end of his epic... You learn something new everyday.
On a recent trip to Fukushima, I visited famed ryukoka composer Yuji Koseki's (古関裕而) museum, and on display were some of the composer's own home videos. One of such Koseki "vlogs" was essentially a "Day in the Life at Columbia Records 1937" and featured the song recording process. This was an extra sweet treat as it allowed me to see some singers and composers in motion for the very first time. I momentarily died upon seeing some of it, but that's okay... Dramatic reaction aside, without a doubt, Akira Matsudaira (松平晃) was in the footage - Koseki sensei filmed his rehearsal session. I figured that I've now come to enjoy Akira-san's presence quite a bit since I couldn't stop a grin from forming while watching his part.
That grin I did kinda looked like the one above, actually.
One of the songs that made me warm up to Akira-san further was "Yoru no Ame" (Night rain/Rainy night). I just happened to pick this at random when going through the singer's best albums not too long ago. Perhaps I was curious as to how this one went because the title looked similar to "Minato no Ame" (港の雨), his early-day piece that I've come to like very much. But while titles looked similar, their sounds have never been more different. "Minato no Ame" sounds more like Japanese kayokyoku of the early enka (艶歌) style, whereas "Yoru no Ame" sounds as jazzy and Western as you can get. It'd be of no surprise if it'd been an imported Western piece he covered, but we'll get to that discussion in a bit.
Considering the jazz bug hit the early kayo industry in the 1930s, especially at Columbia Records, I shouldn’t be surprised that Matsudaira dabbled in jazz songs. And by “jazz songs”, I don’t necessarily mean just American jazz, but the umbrella term the record industry used at the time to basically refer to any foreign Western song brought into the Japanese market. Anyways, perhaps it's because of Akira-san’s hits being mostly koya mono (曠野もの... A genre of songs featuring Manchuria/inner China/Mongolia that were hot in the early to mid-30s after the 1931 Manchuria Incident and the later creation of the Manchukuo puppet state) and darker-sounding kayokyoku, so I never equated Akira-san to the more Western side of things. It's also probably because my image of male Japanese jazz singers of that time from Columbia and other record companies was wildly different from the image I had of our man himself. So, hearing something like "Yoru no Ame" from him was quite the surprise.
"Yoru no Ame" kicks off with some ominous-sounding strings that feels as though you got caught in a gnarly storm in an old Disney film, but quickly clears into an oddly cheerful ditty. It gives off a similar bright tone to "Singin' in the Rain", as even though our downtrodden protagonist has grey clouds over his heart, he revels in the night's downpour which washes away all his worries. We can feel our protagonist becoming lighter, having been cleansed of his troubles, when the music swells after the first chorus. In Akira-san's booming delivery in the second chorus, one can sense a feeling of liberation, especially when he's egging on the rain to soak him through and through. (Noelle from 18/6/24: I think one could also interpret the rain as tears/crying. In that sense, the protagonist may have gone to a quiet sob to bawling his eyes out, but the relief he gets from letting out his emotions allows him to finally feel liberated/at peace.)
On the note of Akira-san's singing, a thing I had with it was that I thought his tenor with a slight nasally twang tended to be on the stiff side and not showcased much emotion nor vocal prowess - compared to his music school-trained contemporaries, at least. But here was where I finally felt that I got the full extent of what Akira-san was capable of.
That said, I’m actually unsure of a number of stats on “Yoru no Ame”. For one, I don’t know who composed it. According to the Showa Museum (昭和館) archives and Spotify, stated as the lyricist was a Tsuneharu Fukuda (福田恒治), which was Matsudaira's real name. The composer was not shown, but the arranger was: Takio Niki (仁木他喜雄), who was renowned for creating and arranging many a jazz song from Columbia throughout the 1930s. It could be that it was a cover of a Western song and the original composer wasn't really known. Or maybe I'm just overthinking and that Akira-san also did the music. (Noelle from 12/4/24: J-Canuck mentioned that "Yoru no Ame" is a cover of Fats Waller's "Ain't Misbehavin'" from 1929, its score written by Waller and Harry Brooks. So, it is, indeed, a Jazz song. I'll put the Waller's version below.)
That brings me to my next puzzle, which was when this song was released, as the above sources and the 78Music website garnered no results. I attempted to look up the song in the JASRAC database, but it produced no such song by Akira-san, which is strange considering it has a record label number. I might try looking it up at the National Diet Library’s physical archives when I have the time. But if it really doesn’t draw up anything either, I wonder if it's like Akira-san’s version of “Hōrī Jun Zairai” (何日君再来), it was recorded but never reproduced or released after recording, but dug up decades later to be digitalized. It's very possible. A theory I have if, indeed, this scenario was the case, I wonder if the song was made in the late 30s/early 40s, but shelved because of the Pacific War and the domestic battle against all Western music come 1940, and never saw the light of day until now... But then again, even the once shelved “Hōrī Jun Zairai” is logged in the JASRAC website... "Yoru no Ame" is a strange one. (Noelle from 14/4/24: Early Showa culture enthusiast Tadaaki Kitagawa (@anakuro69) from the Twitter grapevine noted that the record number of "Yoru no Ame" makes it very likely that it was released some time between December 1939 and January 1940.)
Akira-san singing "Yoru no Ame" is at the 1:16 mark.
Noelle from 14/6/24: Akira-san appeared as a minor character (the music teacher of one of the main characters) in the film "Junjou Nijuusou" (純情二重奏) from August 1939. He even showed up in the very first scene playing the piano while crooning "Yoru no Ame." I've never heard him speak until this very scene, and his voice was way higher and softer than I imagined it to be.
Finding more songs of his I enjoy was a major factor in allowing me to see Matsudaira in a better light. But I think calling him "Akira-san" and that kinda awkward/goofy smile (that’s honestly pretty cute) of his helped considerably.
Disclaimer: Because this is an extremely well-known song internationally with many covers in various languages, I have chosen to only feature the versions from the Showa teens by Japanese* ryukoka singers to narrow the article’s scope. Also, I'll use the Chinese and Japanese titles relatively interchangeably, but will mainly refer to it in Japanese, unless I'm talking about the Mandarin version.
Oh, boy, “Heri Jun Zailai”, or “Hōrī Jun Zairai” (its Japanese pronunciation). It takes me way back to my formative years. I was always told about how its title was a seed of controversy during the 2nd Sino-Japanese War because of how the character 君, meaning something like “young gentleman” sounds the same as 军/軍, meaning “soldier”. Put 日 and 军 together and you get “Japanese Soldier”. The rest of the title translates to “When will ___ return?” You see why it was/is a spicy subject? Yet, from what I’ve briefly read recently, it was a sentimental love song originally written by Chinese songwriters (Bei Lin and Yen Lu) for a Chinese audience in Shanghai without this twisted meaning.
Anyways, as an empty-brained child far-removed from the terrors of history, the title controversy was just a tidbit of song trivia from Mom. In hindsight, I wonder if that trivia did unwittingly stain the song in my mind unconsciously. Still, I also never really thought to listen to “Heri Jun Zailai” even though I had an inkling about its vast popularity. I, however, have this very, very vague memory that I may have checked out Aska from Chage and Aska’s version. My impression was that it was a slow ballad and I wasn’t too into it. And so this impression stuck for over a decade. I only reconnected with the tune just last year when reading "Songs of the Empire: Continental Asia in Japanese Wartime Popular Music" (2003), a dissertation by Edgar Pope on Tairiku songs/Tairiku mono (大陸もの)/China Melody, and Chinese exoticism in Japanese pop music during the early 20th century. For context, Tairiku mono was a term used for kayo featuring mainly the theme of China from around the late 1930s to the early 1940s. Pope mentioned that it eventually came to include other parts of Southeast Asia when Imperial Japan moved down into the region. However, I think it’s generally understood that Tairiku mono equals China-themed kayo.
Same, Akira-san 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！"
I have a strange affinity for Tairiku mono, hence my excitement in reading a full-blown dissertation on the topic. My grandfather, however, would probably give me the stink eye because, as Pope very clearly showed in some songs, many of them were pieces of exoticism that were produced as a result of Imperial Japan's further encroachment into the Chinese continent. Some of them were meant to enchant/convince Japanese listeners about the potentials of the new lands and contained a truckload of (racist) stereotypes. That’s not to say that there weren’t songwriters who wrote Tairiku mono because they were truly impressed by the culture and hoped to actually bridge the gap between China and Japan via music, though. Many were made to fit current events and were a likely way to ensure safe passage through the censors. I think many of these Tairiku mono are wonderful songs as they are, so it is regrettable that they have a dark history attached to them.
But, tangent aside, when you talk about popular “Chinese” songs in Japan at the time, one can’t do without “Hōrī Jun Zairai”. What I most vividly remember reading in Pope's was him describing the melody as having a tango flavour. Another thing about me is that I really enjoy kayo/ryukoka that are tango-inspired (tango-cho). Its snappy rhythm often giving a more dramatic flair and romantic atmosphere to the song. Combined that with a Tairiku mono? *Cue Takehei Hayashiya (林家たけへい)* Tamaranai. I mean, one of my favourite songs is literally called “China Tango”. So, learning that prewar “Hōrī Jun Zairai” was of tango-cho piqued my interest greatly and shattered the impression of it being a slow ballad.
Ohama-san's version
Since I was reading about Tairiku mono, I figured I go with the Japanese version for Japanese audiences. The version I first picked to (re)listen to “Hōrī Jun Zairai” was the version from none other than the Queen of China Melody, Hamako Watanabe (渡辺はま子). In the Japanese version, the song's words were mostly translated into Japanese save for the titular, "Heri Jun Zailai" at the end of each stanza. This translation was done by Tsuneo Nagata (長田恒雄). Ohama-san's delicate soprano expresses our protagonist's bittersweet memories of the lover with whom (she) parted with, and hoping that (he) would soon return. The beautiful and languid accordion-filled tango-inspired melody makes (her) longing even more palpable. Minus the historical context, this perhaps feels like your typical long-distance relationship angsts fit for any time period. With the historical context, I reckon it could be read as a soldier leaving his loved one after being sent off to war. I have a darker interpretation to fit the period's situation, but I do not want to mar this song any more than it already has been, so I will leave it at that.
Excerpt from "Byakuran no Uta"
Anyways, Ohama-san's version actually came a little later as Japanese-Chinese film and music star Rikōran (李香蘭), a.k.a. Yoshiko Yamaguchi (山口淑子), had recorded it in Mandarin first for a Japanese audience. Even earlier, it was originally recorded by Chinese songstress Zhou Xuan (周璇), but for the domestic Chinese market. According to Pope, Ri's rendition was released in Japan in April 1939 and seemed to be quite the sensation. From the video above, even popped up in the Japan-Chinese "friendship" *ahempropaganda* film (Kokusaku eiga) "Byakuran no Uta" (白蘭の歌) which starred Ri and Kazuo Hasegawa (長谷川一夫) from November 1939, the former playing a Chinese woman who fell in love with a Japanese railway engineer played by the latter.
Ri's original recording
Ri, known for her fluency in both Japanese and Mandarin, was the poster girl for Japan-China relations back in the day (at least), so it was not surprising that she was made to sing "Heri Jun Zailai". The video here features her fully Mandarin version from 1939. As Pope also noted, the original lyrics by Bei Lin differed slightly from Nagata's Japanese translation, wherein the couple in the song have yet to part and are having one last night together. It includes Ri's spoken dialogue which is actually the protagonist's lover happily telling her to not be upset and offers her drinks/a toast over dinner. However, the singer's soft delivery going, "When will you return?" just shows that the jolly toasts are simply a façade. Comparing the versions I've talked about so far, putting aside the language difference, Ohama-san's version somehow gives off a more angsty edge, as compared to Ri's, whose gives off a slightly more melancholic vibe. Perhaps its the even slower tempo and a simpler arrangement similar to the very first recording by Zhou.
Ri's latter day (?) recording
I also came across this version here that I reckon could be a postwar recording since Ri's silk-like voice sounded more mature. But, correct me if I'm wrong. I especially like this version because Ri sang it in both Mandarin and Japanese. It really feels like she continued that Japan-China ambassador role, but without a fascist government's puppetry. Also, the arrangement feels somewhat similar to Ohama-san's take.
Akira-san's recording
Now, you must be wondering why I bracketed "she" and "he" in my earlier descriptions of "Hōrī Jun Zairai". Well, that's because we also have a male Japanese version from the prewar era, from Akira Matsudaira(松平晃) at that. So, I assume that the roles in the lyrics in his version are reversed, wherein it's the man who is pining for his beloved.
Now, Pope had also mentioned Akira-san's involvement in bringing "Hōrī Jun Zairai" to Japan. Soon after Ri's version was released domestically in Japan, Matsudaira had returned from an imon katsudo (Consolatory activities) trip to China arranged by Columbia Records. One thing he brought back was the sheet music to "Hōrī Jun Zairai" and wanted to record it since it was popular in China. And so, Columbia agreed, preparing two Japanese versions: a female version by Ohama-san of "Shina no Yoru" (支那の夜) fame, and a male version by Matsudaira himself. Unfortunately, the powers that be in Columbia thought the song fit a female voice better and thus released Ohama-san's version in August 1939. Nevertheless, since Akira-san's rendition is available in CD albums now, it must've been released at some time in later days, or the original recording was dug out of the archives and digitalized. (Noelle from 11/3/24: According to the J-Wiki, Akira-san's version was dug out in 1970 and released in the LP album "Matsudaira Akira wo Shinonde" (松平晃を偲んで... Remembering Akira Matsudaira) as part of Columbia Records' 60th anniversary.)
Honestly, Akira-san's take genuinely surprised me because I was not expecting him to have also sung "Hōrī Jun Zairai". I uncovered it on my Akira-san appreciation drive a few days back when looking at the song list for one of his Best albums available on Spotify. Without hesitation, I gave it a listen. As suggested above, this take has the exact same arrangement as Ohama-san's, and he similarly employed the vocal gymnastics that are meant to be reminiscent of Chinese singers at the time. Contrary to Columbia's decision and probably a hot take, I thought "Hōrī Jun Zairai" fitted a man's voice quite well. And Akira-san, whom I usually thought to be quite stiff in his vocal delivery, was able to bring forth much emotion to appropriately carry the song... I liked it way more than I expected... Oh, could this actually be my favourite version? Oh. ( ´艸｀*) Nah, Akira-san will, at best, be around Mr. Fujiyama's level and no higher. I'm quite certain of that.
Ohama-san and Akira-san's "duet"
To wrap up this article, here is something I think is amazing. Someone on YouTube (channel 古今東西昔昔今今) did us the greatest service by meshing both Ohama-san's and Akira-san's versions together to create a duet. It personally feels like a play on the idea present in Zhou's original, where both halves of the couple are expressing their love and pining for each other to each other. Ah, the wonders of technology. This is the version we don't need but deserve.
Akira-san and Ohama-san 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！"
I believe my grandfather enjoyed Zhou Xuan's songs. If he were still around, I would make him listen to all these versions of "Heri Jun Zailai"/"Hōrī Jun Zairai". Just because... Although, I wouldn't put it past him to go, "This is a Chinese song. Why are you listening to a Japanese man(I won't say the term he would've used) sing this in Japanese?"
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 likejoruri. 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'stanka 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.
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.
When not even a plant stirs in the deep of the night
Out come the ghosts, bitter and anguished
Spooky.
Personally, I'm one of those folks who's terrified of the paranormal but with a curiosity for the macarbe. Unfortunately, it traps me in the loop of regret over listening to that one scary story that was a little too creepy, then immediately moving on to the next one. It was with this curiosity that "Yurei wa Odoru" (Ghosts dance) caught my eye when I was checking out some of Tadaharu Nakano's (中野忠晴) prewar works. Thankfully, rather than something that would keep me up at night, he and the rest of the Colombia Nakano Rhythm Boys had me grooving to and chuckling at the silly yet morbid jazzy ditty.
I'd actually wanted to save "Yurei wa Odoru" for Halloween season, but I thought now would be just as good a time for a *insert wavy effects* spooky tune. Obon may be over, but its Chinese counterpart, the Hungry Ghost Festival a.k.a. Zhongyuan Festival a.k.a. The Seventh Month (of the lunar calendar), only just began last week, so it's rather fitting.
If only there was a version with the Nakano Rhythm Boys as ghosties doing the Swing.
The best way I can describe "Yurei wa Odoru" is that it's essentially the Japanese version of the "Spooky Scary Skeletons" song with a theatrical touch featuring ghosts and a nod at Buddhist afterlife beliefs. It begins on a dark and ominous tone with crashing gongs and tolling bells, sounding more like it's your time on earth that has ended rather than announcing the arrival of the dead. But the moment the fellas start cackling like a bunch of mischievous poltergeists, the mood takes a complete U-turn. This is where the Nakano Rhythm Boys give us a quick rundown of what to expect in the Buddhist hells and ask fundamental questions like, "Why aren't ghosts fat?" (Doushite yurei nya futoranai?) to a playful tune with some sinister undercurrents. Never has such a line been more apt for the Hungry Ghost Festival. I'm not of the Buddhist faith so I'm not sure of the details, but, like Obon, this is the period where those who have left us will come back for a visit, and family and believers will provide offerings of food and other random items (iPhones, anyone?) for the visitors. I think this is also the one time they get to actually "eat." So, even though Nakano and the Bois cite the lack of food in hell for the reason ghosts aren't packing on the pounds, fret not, they can finally get their sustenance and hopefully be less salty. (Noelle from 18/12/2023: Just a little mistake on my part, but I found out that this tune was sung by just the Rhythm Boys themselves without Mr. Nakano. So, the one on lead vocals was most likely Rhythm Boys' leader Akiyama.)
"Yurei wa Odoru" was created by Hideo Akiyama (秋山日出夫) in 1939. Akiyama was the tenor in the Colombia Nakano Rhythm Boys, together with fellow tenor Reisuke Harada (原田礼輔), baritone Shinichi Tezuka (手塚慎一), and bass Matsuzo Yamakami (山上松蔵). Members came and went, but these were the main bunch. This was actually a replacement for the original Colombia Rhythm Boys, Colombia Record Japan's answer to American jazz quartet, The Mills Brothers, as they had moved to Polydor Records. And so, a replacement was needed, thus came the Colombia Nakano Rhythm Boys in 1935. So, how does Nakano fit into this? From what I gather from the J-Wiki and the record company's group introduction, Nakano, enamored with American jazz, was behind the move to form a jazz quartet in the first place, and he frequently collaborated with the original Rhythm Boys until their move. So, in the formation of the second group, the quartet was rebranded as the Colombia Nakano Rhythm Boys, and continued mainly performing as Nakano's backup. Later in 1936, a female jazz quartet, the Colombia Nakano Rhythm Sisters, was also created.
On an ending note, about the Hungry Ghost Festival: In Singapore at least, there are these open-air, free-to-watch concerts called getai (song stage) that are held all over the country during this period. Singers dressed in glitzy and gaudy outfits (very enka, when I think about it) perform Chinese hit songs and may do some comedy sets for a mostly alive audience. Yes, mostly. These performances are meant for the visiting dead, which is why the first row of seats are always empty. The video above will give you an idea of what this annual phenomenon is like through the eyes of a pair of getai performers. Seeing as to how lively the shows can get, the folks must be having the time of their lives jiving to the tunes - literally Yurei wa odoru :).
Recently, I met a fellow early Showa kayo enthusiast I got to know on the 'gram in person while he was on vacation in Tokyo. I brought him record hunting and introduced him to my favourite record haunts in the Jimbocho area. The topic of conversation amid vinyl viewing was, naturally, the musicians of the time and the technicalities of records - fascinating stuff. One of the artists we touched upon was none other than the great Ichiro Fujiyama (藤山一郎). My natsumelo acquaintance did comment that I seemed kinda "late to the party" on the Fujiyama train despite doing deep dives into the world of Japanese prewar and postwar popular songs. In a way, I do agree with that.
On one hand, Mr. Fujiyama had been one of the very first ryukoka characters I'd encountered nearly a decade ago. I enjoyed some of his spunky evergreen hits and thought he was a pleasant presence with that crystal clear voice. I've also always respected him as one of the kayo greats, all the more so when I came across a video of an elderly Fujiyama fiercely asserting that having a cold was no excuse for not being able to sing. This made me see him as that intimidating music teacher who strives for nothing less than discipline and excellence. In fact, it's the reason why I call him "Mr. Fujiyama" rather than his nickname of "Pin-chan". But that was about it and I never bothered to pay much more attention to him despite his omnipresence in old kayo shows and VTRs.
And then "Shanghai Yakyoku"(Shanghai Serenade). Specifically, this live performance on the music program "Natsukashi no Utagoe" (なつかしの歌声) from 1969.
In Kiyomaro Kikuchi's (菊池清麿)"Showa Enka no Rekishi"(昭和演歌の歴史... History of Showa Enka) from 2016, Taro Shoji (東海林太郎) described his "Murasaki Kouta" (むらさき小唄) as having an ethereal, eerie air to it. I felt the exact same way about "Shanghai Yakyoku" when I watched the this clip. Maybe it was the black and white footage that accentuated the haunting nature of Takio Niki's (仁木他喜雄) score. Maybe it was Toshio Nomura's (野村俊夫) lyrics that seem to relay a mysterious love affair in the enigmatic bayside city. Or, perhaps it was the singer himself, smartly-dressed as always, effortlessly gliding towards the camera just as the music sounded most foreboding with its bellowing strings and deep, menacing trumpets. Strangely ethereal. Wonderfully eerie. Combined with his hearty, textbook perfect delivery and crisp enunciation, Mr. Fujiyama had never seemed so... alluring.
The original take.
Anyway, while the 1930s were chock full of China-centric songs and I can think of a couple that are of a similar dark atmosphere as "Shanghai Yakyoku," I can't help but compare it to another entry from 1939 that falls on the complete opposite end of the ambience spectrum, Tadaharu Nakano's (中野忠晴)"China Tango". They're like different sides of the same, tango-inspired, romantic tune coin. The fantastical "China Tango" feels as though you're about to be treated to a wonderful night on the town with a playful Nakano leading you by the hand. And then we have "Shanghai Yakyoku", its intense atmosphere making it feel as though you've just stepped into a 1920s Shanghai Noir film. Who committed the murder in that alley? No one knows. Maybe the suave Mr. Fujiyama does, and he'll take you by the hand to show you who did it - if you can trust him *cue Niki’s dramatic music*.
But at the end of the day, the image I hold of Mr. Fujiyama remains more or less that of a strict classical music teacher who does “moral”, appropriate-for-the-whole-family rajio kayo. “Shanghai Yakyoku”, however, finally enabled me to see him as a pop singer who can be fun to tune in to. Would I get invested into Mr. Fujiyama? I'd be surprised if I do, because I think his singing's "too perfect" and not much feeling gets conveyed as a result (compared to the fellows I love, at least). For now, though, I'm just happy to listen to more of his works with a renewed appreciation for him.
It'd been only a month since I started grad school when I had to do my first proper presentation. It was also my longest one yet at about half an hour long. Solo. The pressure was immense despite the class on Japanese music being tiny (five people, including my prof). The fact that the prof is my academic advisor only intensified things (oh, geez). But, having dear Bin-san gently grinning back at me was comforting. I think we made it through okay. Tired, but kinda okay.
For some context, class presentations functioned as mini-lectures on anything related to Japanese or East Asian music. So, of course, I had to do an enka-kayo-ryukoka thing. Specifically, I featured the beginnings of what would later become a staple topic in modern-day enka: matatabi-yakuza kayo, or songs that featured the likes of ronin, yakuza, and other wanderers of the Edo era. It seemed to have been popularized in the early to mid-1930s by the lyricist we're pretty familiar with on KKP, Masato Fujita (藤田まさと), who had penned many a matatabi kayo hit. A couple of singers also became synonymous with this theme of song. Interestingly, both were from Akita prefecture, both wore glasses, and both were known for singing in a more "traditional Japanese"-sounding style. Between the two, I naturally picked Bin Uehara (上原敏). I featured four of his matatabi kayo hits as examples, doing so in a way similar to how I'd write my KKP stuff, oddly enough. As you saw above, I "brought" Bin-san along for the ride as well for moral support and, in a way, to have him there in spirit to witness a random foreigner doing a presentation on him in English 79 years down the road.
Admittedly, part of me wanted to include this song in my project just so that I could show Bin-san live in action.
Anyway, one of my picks was "Oya Koi Dochu" from March 1939. This was Bin-san's final hit before things took a nose dive for Japan and for the poor man himself as another devastating war was to come. Perhaps because of this, little information was recorded on this piece. But we do know that Fujita was in charge of its words and Itsuro Hattori (服部逸郎) its sentimental melody and that it appeared in a musical movie titled "Roppa Uta no Miyako e yuku" (ロッパ歌の都へ行く) from the same year. Starring the titular comedian Roppa Furukawa (古川緑波), the movie included a concert by multiple singers towards its end. It was a clip of this concert where I first got to witness live performances of familiar pre-war music stars in their early days and Bin-san as a non-static portrait. You know the feeling of finally being able to put a face to a voice? It felt sort of like that. The above video is Bin-san's portion of the movie's concert.
The full version.
From what I understand from Fujita's words, "Oya Koi Dochu" tells of a yakuza-ronin feeling the bite of homesickness on his rootless travels. He is miserable enough to contemplate leaving behind his carefree, itinerant lifestyle and eventually does return home, where his mother tearfully awaits him. Bin-san's mournful vocals only emphasise our protagonist's anguish. Considering the time period this song was released, I can imagine that it would've tugged at the heartstrings of many a soldier and the families waiting for their loved ones to come home safely. On a less sentimental note, the narrative of a frowned-upon yakuza-ronin exiting an unsavoury lifestyle and returning to a life of a responsible, upright citizen who takes care of his mother/parents could have some political undertones... but let's keep the sentimental value of the song for KKP and the cut-and-dry speculations for school.
Here is another video that includes the only other live reel of Bin-san I can find online. It mixes the above clip with what seems to be scenes from another movie in which Bin-san cameoed (?) as himself. Honestly, the star-struck moustachioed fellow in that clip is me.
This was from a few months back The shelf is not nearly as spacious anymore
A trip Odate, Akita, is in order. I do want to tell Bin-san that he's not forgotten and not to be remembered as just "Shoji Taro No.2" (東海林太郎の第二号... I am not kidding. It was actually one of his nicknames). And that for a short amount of time in the 21st century, his voice rang through the halls of a university. And that he is resting peacefully wherever he may be. I've decided to visit his plaque on his death anniversary. I read that his fans gather there to pay respects on that day, so I'm curious as to how that'll play out.
On a final note, here's the modern-day Bin-san (or Shoji) doppelganger and his brothers doing their rendition of "Oya Koi Dochu". I feel that the simple arrangement with just Yujiro's (雄次郎) accordion and Ryuzaburo's (龍三郎) bass made Kotaro's (孝太郎) delivery almost as forlorn and lonely as the original.
Having picked up the fact that many ryukoka from the prewar era centred around China, I thought that "Shunkoden" was one such song. Uncovering it during one of my deep dives into Bin Uehara's (上原敏) discography when I was getting into his music, the combination of three kanji characters that didn't seem to sound Japanese was also what contributed to the assumption. Its theatrical sound, courtesy of shrill strings, made it feel as though I was transported back to ancient China. The main characters, Shunko (春香) and Muryu (夢龍) looked like they were Chinese names too. And yet, when I consulted Mother for her opinion, she insisted it didn't sound like it was inspired by the middle kingdom. That gave me the impetus to look up "Shunkoden" on Google Sensei, though I wasn't expecting much to come from it since I knew it wasn't one of Bin-san's smash hits. How wrong I was, from the start and down to that very moment.
As it turns out, "Shunkoden" was actually an extremely well-known Korean romantic folk tale from way back in the day. I guess the music was possibly Korean-inspired, then. Called "Chunhyangjeon" in the original language, this story mainly revolves around Chunhyang (Shunko), a musical entertainer's daughter, who caught the eye of Mong-ryong (Muryu), a magistrate's son. Through the latter's persistence, the former eventually fell for him and they lived happily ever after. No, they didn't. Not yet. Not before a series of unfortunate events: Mong-ryong couldn't marry her because he need to pass his magistrate exams first; Mong-ryong's father moved to Seoul, so his son had to follow, but only after promising his beloved he'd come back; in the place of the father, a bad governor took over and targetted Chunhyang; she refused and got thrown to jail. That went from a zero to a hundred. But, of course, things worked out in the end as Mong-ryong, successful in his endeavours, comes back in the nick of time to save Chunhyang and kick out the bad egg of a magistrate. Now, they live happily ever after. You can check out a comprehensive rundown of the story via this article on Korea.net.
Coming back to Bin-san's interpretation of the widely adapted story and switching back to the Japanese pronunciations, the lyrics by Yoshio Yuzawa (ゆざわよしお) seem to highlight Shunko and Muryu's separation. Playing the role of Shunko was famed actress Kinuyo Tanaka (田中絹代), who wonderfully expressed Shunko's heartbroken state through dialogue in a wistful manner. Bin-san's parts seemed to act as a response to this. Rather than narrating the story through singing, it sounded as though he was conveying Muryu's own sadness and resolve to reunite with Shunko through his tender vocals. It's been a while since then, but I'm fairly certain that the moment he did the line, "Sadameshi kimi wa tada hitori", I decided that he be Husbando 3 despite my reservations.
"Shunkoden" was one of Bin-san's later-day works from 1939, and complementing Yuzawa's words was Itsuro Hattori's (服部逸郎) musical composition.
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.
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 justthe 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.
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.
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??
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.
