Birthdays for May 28th

 

Well, just like that segment on "Entertainment Tonight", let's go with some birthday announcements for two singers who are still around and one composer who did leave this mortal coil several years ago.

(1940-2020) Composer Kyohei Tsutsumi（筒美京平）

(1961 ~ ) Singer-songwriter Midori Karashima（辛島美登里）

(1968 ~ ) Singer Kylie Minogue

Akira Matsudaira -- Yoru no Ame (夜の雨)

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.

Source: 帝國ノ犬達 (Ameba)

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. 

Tadaharu Nakano -- Tanoshiki Kissaten (楽しき喫茶店)

Honoka ni yume wo oi nagara (Chasing a dream so faint)

Itsuka kohi no sameru no mo (I didn't even realise)

Shirazu ni sugosu boku datta (When my coffee's gone cold)

Everyone likes a good cafe, right? I know I do. It's where I can enjoy coffee as a wonderful drink and not as a necessary drug to keep myself from turning into a walking corpse. Of course, I have to pair it with a cute and tasty dessert. Then I'll immerse myself in a book or a school project and forget that the outside world exists until I notice more than 2 hours have passed. Often times, my coffee gets cold, but it only makes for a better drinking experience. I sound like a coffee aficionado, but believe me, I'm far from it. I just have a (not so) healthy addiction to the caffeinated bean water.

I think Japan has an immense number of cafes of a wide variety. You got your retro kissatens where you can smell the Showa era, the chic and minimalist outlets with your fancy Cold brews, and cozy alcoves that feels like you've entered someone's house. Some may even have a gramophone(s) where you can enjoy records from the bygone days with your cuppa joe. I've been to all the above with a particular preference for the record and cozy type. If it's got a nice Showa atmosphere, even better.

I'm not very familiar with cafe culture in the early Showa era, but those in Ginza, especially, were probably the epitome of modern and where you wanted to be seen in. There were certainly the more low-key kissatens that incur less stress as well. Where ever it may be, these coffee joints were usually fashionable spots (just like now, really) with that fancy Western coffee and gramophones where you could listen to the latest hits and pretend the world's not in an absolute state (just like now, really). As you'd expect, there were many coffee and cafe-related ryukoka that reflect this image, and who better to sing these than the man who oozes early Showa modernism, Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴).

 From コロンビア月報（邦楽）1940（昭和15年）
National Diet Library archives

One of the very first songs I recognized singer Mr. Nakano for was one such song aptly titled, "Chiisana Kissaten" (小さな喫茶店... The Little Coffee Shop), an originally German tune that relays sweet memories of a date at a little cafe (at least, in the Japanese lyrics). A few years later, he would release another kissaten song with a similar tango flavour, "Tanoshiki Kissaten" (The Delightful Coffee Shop). I actually like the latter a lot more and it's one of my Nakano favourites. This is due in part to Toshio Nomura's (野村俊夫) words. Unlike "Chiisana Kissaten," "Tanoshiki..." features our main character deriving joy in dropping by his favourite coffee shop in the evening after a long day or after a walk. He relaxes with a coffee and a smoke, and revels in his own daydreams while listening to some music in the background. The mellow, light-hearted melody by *ahem* Haruo Kashiwagi (柏木晴夫) and Mr. Nakano's ordinarily powerful and resonant baritone turning into a soft lilt matches this more subdued vibe. Perhaps something like that is wafting out of the cafe's gramophone. The bottom photo was the ad for "Tanoshiki Kissaten" from the Columbia Records monthly magazine from February 1940, and it describes this tune as having a sentimental and urban atmosphere. Can't argue with that. 

Also, "Haruo Kashiwagi" was actually one of Mr. Nakano's pen names. Considering he was both a singer and songwriter/director in a time when both roles do not mix and the latter was usually the one who calls the shots, I conclude that he was actually quite a powerful artist within the company.

 From コロンビア月報（邦楽）1940（昭和15年）
National Diet Library archives

Anyways, I don't smoke and I can't have coffee after 3pm if I want to sleep, but as someone who enjoys solo cafe time, "Tanoshiki Kissaten" actually encompasses my state of mind when I drop by a comfy cafe. One of these cafes is this underground (literally) joint called Cafe Ataraxia (かふぇあたらくしあ) in a side street of Jimbocho. It's a modern-looking record cafe with a hint of retro that has a Credenza gramophone and a Syrena gramophone, both older than my late grandfather. The walls are lined with shelves chockful of vinyls and the furniture is a hodge-podge of cute antiques. If you're a fan of classical music, I highly recommend it as chic Master Kubota will always be playing his selection on a turn table. I believe you can make requests, but only if you ask nicely and in advance. As for the coffee, the beans are on constant rotation and they all pack a punch. Then we've got aesthetically pleasing desserts which I'm guessing are made in-house - they look like they are. I first came across Ataraxia when I went for a my first record appreciation event late last year and I've since fell in love with its calm atmosphere, coffee and sweets. Now, I drop by every now and then. It truly is the tanoshiki kissaten. Here's the cafe's website (it's in Japanese) if you'd like to check it out if you're in Tokyo.

I naturally grew a year older while deliberately cutting
my life expectancy short with this visit last December.
That chocolate cake made it worthwhile.

Would I call Mr. Nakano an early Showa "Modern Boy" (Mo-bo)? I mean, technically, yes, he more than fits the bill, but it feels really wrong to me for some reason. Hai-Katsu is the quintessential mo-bo for sure, but Mr. Nakano feels different. He feels more like a... Jazz Dadd- NO, NO, NO - intrusive thoughts OUT... I will explain that in due time...

Shizuko Kasagi/Shuri -- Sentimental Dinah（センチメンタル・ダイナ）

A swing band done in Art Deco.

 

Keeping on the "Uta Con"（うたコン）theme from last article with Yu Sakai（さかいゆう）, there was a performance of an old chestnut that had been done on the currently running NHK morning serial "Boogie Woogie"（ブギウギ）starring Shuri（趣里）. Back in October, when the series just started, there was already some buzz flying about due to the barnstorming onstage performances of the actress as entertainer extraordinaire Suzuko Fukurai（福来スズ子）based on the real-life force-of-nature singer Shizuko Kasagi（笠置シヅ子）. Pretty hopping stuff to see and hear in the morning. The song that set the tone was "Sentimental Dinah".

The song about exhorting young Dinah to get out of her funk and do her singing and dancing whirlwind was written by Kobun Nogawa（野川香文）and composed by Ryoichi Hattori（服部良一）for Kasagi to record in 1940. It certainly starts out in a down-on-your-luck morose way but by the end, things seem to pick up for Dinah at last. 

The above video by Super Retro TV has Kasagi performing "Sentimental Dinah" in 1949. It's interesting to compare the 1940 recording with the 1949 performance on stage in front of a camera considering that the original record had been made right in the middle of World War II with the clampdown on entertainment (except for songs thought amenable by the Imperial government at the time). 

I'm pretty sure that Shuri's cover of the song was arranged by Takayuki Hattori（服部隆之）, Ryoichi's grandson, who is handling the soundtrack for "Boogie Woogie".

Columbia Rhythm Boys -- Tarinai Song (タリナイ・ソング)

Sa-sa, minna-san, kiite kudasai, Tarinai Song da!

You know it's gonna be a banger when the first piece of information you get from the song was that it was banned.

Imagine: Japan has been at war for three years (officially, at least). Resources are stretched thinner than before; whatever that could be scraped together was sent overseas for the soldiers stationed abroad. This is stacked on top of the worsening economic situation and poor harvests.

Tarinai tarinai okome ga tarinai (Ain’t enough, ain’t enough, ain’t enough rice!)

Poverty’s stranglehold has never been tighter, morale has never been lower, and the patience is wearing thin over the war that's been dragging out for way longer than it should. Yet, the government calls for greater austerity and condemning any smidgen of decadence, from painting your nails to "overly" sentimental songs.

Nante iu yatsu genki ga tarinai (Get a load of this guy! You just ain't got enough pluck!)

And then, you have "Tarinai Song" (The Not Enough Song) recorded by the Columbia Rhythm Boys and set for release. It was September 1940. Jazz and blues aficionado Ryoichi Hattori (服部良一) had come up with a catchy, rumba-inspired number to accompany the bold words by lead tenor Hideo Akiyama (秋山日出夫) and the rest of the quartet. As with all songs at the time, it was sent in to the record censors for vetting. 

Mattaku tarinai tarinai tarinai tarinai tarinai yo-- (Absolutely ain't enough! Ain't enough! x4)

Banned.

In R. Hatter's biography, the purpose of this silly ditty was to encourage the masses to keep their heads up and continue to give their all to the nation during this strict State of Emergency and trying time of severe lack.  So, technically, in line with what the government and censors want. I appreciate the thought, bois, and I see where you're coming from, but y'all flew too close to the sun with this one, as hilarious as the song is. Basically, "Tarinai Song" had the Rhythm Boys complaining about the lack of something, be it rice, money, the concern for the state of emergency, or the affection of the young lady working the cigarette stand. And for every concern, there'll be a retort like, "You ain't working enough! (That's why you got no money!)" The humour is on-brand, but plainly read, "Tarinai Song" is so on the nose in highlighting the lack the war is causing and kicking down the Imperial government's façade that all's fine on the resource front. With it being too accurate and honest a picture of pre-Pacific War Japan, I'm surprised they thought it'd survive inspection. 

As you may have noticed, the word “tarinai” (meaning a lack of/not enough) in the title is presented in katakana like so タリナイ, and was mostly written as such in the lyrics rather than in kanji where it may have looked like this 足りない. Since the advent of the 2nd Sino-Japanese War in late 1937 brought about a tighter grip on media censorship, I reckon that the Rhythm Boys and dear Hattori sensei were trying to skirt the system by making the word less obvious. Kinda like how YouTubers skirt the platform's auto-censorship by replacing letters with funky characters or numbers. But with the lyrics' meaning clear as day and with how our four jazzy bois were pretty much howling out their dissatisfaction at the state of things, “Tarinai Song” may as well had a “Ban me!” (禁止頂戴) sticker pasted over it in big, bold, red words. And so the censors gladly obliged. 

(Noelle from 25/1/24: I relooked at the original lyric card during a trip to the NDL today; record event organizer Tadaaki Kitakawa (北河忠昭) had also kindly shared the image on Twitter. Unlike the "Ketteiban..." album's liner notes that mostly used タリナイ, the original lyrics actually predominantly used 足りない,while タリナイ was used in reference to the song's name. So much for skirting the system. It's as if our bois just dumped a thimble of water on their heads and straight-up walked into the fire. I know record censorship was known to be comparatively sloppy, but I'm impressed "Tarinai Song" got as far as having its lyric card published in the official Columbia Records monthly entertainment magazines. Way to go, fellas. Then again, I suppose Hattori's rationale was strong enough to convince the record company to green light it.)

Despite the fate of "Tarinai Song," Hiroyuki Kondo (近藤博之), who'd written a full-on thesis on Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴) and contributed information and commentary to the liner notes of his centenary album "Ketteiban Nakano Tadaharu to Columbia Nakano Rhythm Boys" (決定版中野忠晴とコロムビア・ナカノ・リズム・ボーイズ), wrote in the latter that by a stroke of luck, the original recording was found after the war. This was how "Tarinai Song" managed to make a comeback, the former appearing in Mr. Nakano compilations in recent years like this centenary one. I'm so glad it did because it's fantastic. Likely within my Top 10 Hattori Melody - maybe I should make that list.

Speaking of Mr. Nakano, "Tarinai Song" was just recorded by the Rhythm Boys themselves without him, which may explain the lack of a "Nakano" in the quartet's name for this tune. The quartet did their own activities without the lead vocalist from time to time. Still, the group with or without Mr. Nakano didn’t seem like particular strangers to potentially controversial yet humourous songs chock full of social critique. Just a few years prior, they did a cover of “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf” titled “Fukeiki Nanka?” (不景気なんか？... Is there, like, a recession?), but the titular wolf was economic recession and the three little pigs were three wretched university graduates who couldn’t seem to find employment despite their qualifications… Good thing times have changed and songs like "Fukeiki Nanka?" and "Tarinai Song" aren't that relevant, right, guys? *Puts on clown wig and make-up* Right, guys?

*Information on the state of Japanese society before the Pacific War mainly came from my understanding of "Grassroots Fascism" (Yoshiaki Yoshimi), and the prewar-wartime record censorship came from "Tokyo Boogie-Woogie" (Hiromu Nagahara).

P.S. Sometime last week, I was at the National Diet Library doing my usual resource dredging, and while looking through the archives of prewar Columbia Records' monthly music almanacs, I came across the promotional pamphlet for "Tarinai Song." It had the cheeky faces of the Rhythm Boys next to the song lyrics. The guys speed-ran record bans and I'm impressed it managed to get that far before getting the axe... Why was I looking through Columbia Records' prewar archives when Hachi was from postwar King Records? Well, I'd been studying Hachi's and King's resources beforehand. And - I mean - Columbia was one of the modern Japanese music industry's old guard. *Sweats nervously* It's good to know more about kayo history, y'know. I certainly wasn't looking for snaps of a certain singer from that company from that period of time whose initials are N.T. ( ºωº; )

P.S.S. Speaking of Hattori, I've recently gone to another record appreciation event featuring the Father of J-Pop organized by the same fellas who brought Ichiro Fujiyama and Roppa Furukawa to life last year. It's split into 2 parts with the 2nd half in early February. I'll be sure to do a reflection piece after that. Apparently, Part II is gonna feature Hattori's hit ryukoka. I love me some Hattori Melody, so I'm looking forward to it.

Noboru Kirishima -- Akagi Blues（赤城ブルース）

 

The above is a video provided by the YouTube channel JAPAN TRAVEL & WALK for nature, landscape, flower and it shows Mt. Akagi in Gunma Prefecture. As with many mountains in Japan, it's a revered object for worship under the Shinto religion and a World War II Japanese battlecruiser was named for it. Plus, if memory serves, I think that a number of kayo kyoku have referred to the mountain in past decades.

Such is the case for Noboru Kirishima's（霧島昇）"Akagi Blues" which was recorded in 1940. Written by Shoji Kubota（久保田宵二）and composed by Yashio (or Yasuo?) Okuno（奥野椰夫）, it's a melancholy if determined kayo regarding a soldier waiting for the day that he can return to his home at the foot of Mt. Akagi. The rhythm makes me wonder if the soldier were dreaming of home while he was marching on some plain somewhere.

Maybe it's something to ask Noelle Tham about but considering the recent revelation to me that enka, officially recognized as a genre no earlier than the early 1970s, retrofitted a lot of different types of kayo kyoku to come under its umbrella between 1955 and 1970, I wonder whether that retrofitting applied to music before 1955 including the wartime songs. "Akagi Blues" seems to have that familiar enka feeling but maybe officially, it is considered a bokyo kayo（望郷歌謡）or a yearning-for-home song.

Katsuhiko Haida -- Kirameku Seiza (燦めく星座)

Somehow, I wasn't expecting my hand to be as big as Katsuhiko Haida's (灰田勝彦). Wait, let me rephrase: I wasn't expecting Katsuhiko Haida's hand to be as small as mine.

Before Hai-Katsu became one whose handprint I hunted for at the Asakusa Star Road, I think the only song from him I kinda liked was "Kirameku Seiza" (Glittering Constellation). For a long time, it was the one song where I was able to tolerate what I initially thought was a strange nasally crooning. 

"Kirameku Seiza" was one of the many tunes I'd gotten to know through my good ol' karaoke grandpa at my usual karaoke bar some time in 2021 or so. While an unfamiliar title and an artist I wasn't too fond of was glaring, the breezy jazzy melody sung by my Brojiisan was pleasant enough for me to look it up afterwards. That was when I came across this video below where the dandy Haida performed with actress Hideko Takamine (高峰秀子). Perhaps it was the more cozy arrangement with the piano tinkling away, but I enjoyed it way more than I thought I would. Even Hai-Katsu's funny 'o' pronunciation was fine! That said, it wasn't a song I'd go out of my way to listen to at the time. 

(Sorry but the video has been taken down.)

The watershed moment came when "Kirameku Seiza" became my ouenka (encouragement song). I talked about it in my list of graduation songs earlier in the year when I hit rock bottom after being rejected by one of the schools I had been gunning for. I was taking a walk to clear my head when "Kirameku Seiza" came on. There have been many a tune where I felt that the lyrics resonated with me, but never had it hit as hard as this one's second stanza at that very moment.

Naze ni nagare kuru atsui namida yara    Why are the hot tears flowing?

Kore ga wakasa to iu mono sa tanoshi janaika    This is what youth is. Fun, isn't it?

Tsuyoi hitai ni hoshi no iro utsushite utaou yo    Let's sing, forehead reflecting the colour of the stars

Hearing this felt as though Haida was telling me, "Chin up, kiddo. It'll be fine." Then when I sang it for myself, it was as if I was telling myself that failure is part and parcel of life and that we all just need to take it in our stride and push forward. I'm thankful that everything worked out in the end (after much PAIN), but even now, this stanza of "Kirameku Seiza" gets me misty-eyed and I still use it to get through the ever-present rough patches and PAIN. Because of all these events over the span of about a year, Haida quickly went from, “Oh, geez, it’s the baseball-yodeling guy,” to, “HAI-KATSU!” 

The re-recorded version (from the late 60s or early 70s, I think).

Anyway, "Kirameku Seiza" was written by Takao Saeki (佐伯孝夫) and composed by Shunichi Sasaki (佐々木俊一), the pair behind many Hai-Katsu hits. It was originally a part of the soundtrack for the 1940 film "Hideko no Ouen Dancho" (秀子の応援団長) starring Takamine and Haida, who I found were frequent film co-stars in the pre and postwar periods, and released as the B-side to the show's main theme song "Seishun Ground" (青春グラウンド), also by Haida, in March of the same year. However, despite just surfacing in one scene, "Kirameku Seiza" outshone its A-side and allowed single sales to hit at least 400,000, propelling the Hawaiian-born performer to stardom.

The original recording.

As mentioned earlier, Saeki’s words are imbued with encouragement, fitting into the film's theme. From what I gathered, “Ouen Dancho” was your typical feel-good (I think) sports drama that revolved around the spunky, baseball-loving Hideko, trying to rally her uncle’s company baseball team that’s in a horrendous rut. The star player, played by Hai-Katsu (the baseball man himself), gets fired up by Deko chan’s cheerleading and manages to send the team on a winning streak. I don’t know when exactly “Kirameku Seiza” comes in, but if we’re going by movie tropes, it’s likely that Hai-Katsu’s character burst into song when downcast from the losing streak, but refuses to give up and wants to fight on with dignity. The original, snappier arrangement of Sasaki's melody aptly depicts the simple yet strong hopes of dreams of said athlete. You’d think that this inspiring tune with words geared towards the young Showa man would get by the picky wartime censors during the Pacific War. But it did not. 

According to Minobu Shiozawa’s (塩澤実信) omnibus on Showa era singers, “Kirameku Seiza” was one of the many songs condemned by the censors because of the first phrase of the song:

Otoko junjou no ai no hoshi no iro   The star-coloured love of a man's innocence (?)

The censors took offence because it allegedly was an insult to the star (hoshi) emblem of the Imperial Infantry. Likely adding to that was the song’s sentimentality and Hai-Katsu’s soft crooning. And if there’s anything I learnt about Japanese wartime media censors in the early 40s, it's that the “S” words are no-nos: Sentimentality, Sadness, Soft. Can’t have any of that. No sir. Not in this household. It got to the point where Saeki had to change that sentence to something more censor-friendly and war appropriate, if I'm not mistaken.

Once the war ended, “Kirameku Seiza” was re-released with its original lyrics and its popularity did not wane, enabling Hai-Katsu to enjoy an extended time in the limelight. And the most recent re-recording from the late 60s or early 70s (the second video) has a much fuller arrangement that conveys almost a celebratory mood. It's as if our baseball protagonist, now much older and with many successful seasons under his belt, is happily reminiscing his youth and its ups and downs. Here's to hoping we all can have such a moment.

Today (20th August) is actually Haida's birthday, which was why I wanted to feature one of the tunes by him that marked a significant milestone in my life, and give context to that 180 I did. Honestly, I do still find it amusing that such an important song came from a singer I did not like, but that in turn made me like him. He must be grinning, where ever he is. Cheers, Hai-Katsu! Happy 112th!

Katsuhiko Haida -- Koryasa no Ondo (こりゃさの音頭)

Well, now, Mr Baseball. Here we are. You've got some pretty neat songs and you were, indeed, pretty cute. 

Geez, I did such a quick 180 with him in just these past couple of weeks that I got whiplash. I've been knocking on his strange voice for years. Today, he came in the mail just with my other pre-ordered bromides from Marubell-do. It happens.

When it comes to ondo tracks, the first person I'd think of is dear Haruo Minami (三波春夫) who did an ondo on pretty much anything you can think of. If we're going with someone from a generation prior, then perhaps someone like Bin Uehara (上原敏) who was no stranger to minyo beats. With that in mind, seeing "Koryasa no Ondo" in the discography of, of all singers, Katsuhiko Haida (灰田勝彦), had me doing a double take. When it comes to Haida, I think of jazzy pop ditties, exotic ballads, and Hawaiian melodies, less so an ondo. So, I was naturally curious about how his rather Western style of singing would fit into something more traditionally Japanese. 

Contrary to expectation, it worked. Really well, in fact. You know why? Because it's a jazzy swing tune with some Japanese instruments like the shamisen and narimono thrown in at the odd interval. It gets you in the first bit when you're treated to a dramatic intro quite like how a regular ondo may begin, but then the brassy notes of the electric guitar and the sharp trumpets come in to take you for one heck of a ride. And then Hai-Katsu opens his mouth and perfectly enunciated English spews out. What does he sing about? Well, if you know Kome Kome Club's "FUNK FUJIYAMA", you can take "Koryasa no Ondo" as its spiritual predecessor. 

In the land of Fuji, where everyone likes sushi

They all make a hoopie, singing ya-koryasanosanoyanoyanoya

HAIDA.

Oh, don't you just love traditional Japanese music? Sarcasm aside, "Koryasa no Ondo" seems to be about how Japanese folk love a good ondo and the fun that ensues when such a song comes on. Having checked out a couple of bon odori festivals myself, I can almost fully agree with the sentiment. Not just the locals, but I'd say that everyone under the sun seemed to revel in the festive atmosphere of the summer dance events. It is oddly fun to attempt to dance in a circle around a giant drum in the sweltering heat.

"Koryasa no Ondo" was written and composed by Hai-Katsu's older brother, Haruhiko Haida (灰田晴彦), later known as Yukihiko (有紀彦), in 1940. The older Haida would later be the founder of the Japan Ukelele Association. Somehow, I am not surprised that this funny ditty was the product of a pair of siblings. I know that that would happen if my brother and I could write music. Comical tunes aside, the Haida brothers had also created and worked with the Moana Glee Club to create Hawaiian songs on multiple occasions.

Hamako Watanabe/Yoshiko Yamaguchi/Tokyo Taishu Kayo Gakudan -- Itoshi Ano Hoshi (いとしあの星)

From the moment I unwittingly uttered an "Ah, Ko-san!" when the scrawny, pale fellow stepped up onto the Noh stage at the Asakusa shrine, I knew that the Takashima Brothers from Toyama prefecture have officially become my muse for this Autumn. In hindsight, I should've seen it coming: Smart-looking, Kotaro's (孝太郎) mellow vocals, high definition versions of ryukoka tunes, and having them constantly in my ears as I hack away at my readings. It was only a matter of time. Don't know how I feel about associating the Liberal Democratic Party with the likes of  "Midori no Chiheisen" (緑の地平線), though, but here I am. 

Anyway, a while ago I wrote about the pre-war piece that was "China Tango" which Tokyo Taishu Kayo Gakudan (東京大衆歌謡楽団... lit: Tokyo public music group) had covered. And today I bring you another one of their remakes, this time "Itoshi Ano Hoshi". 

Similar to "China Tango", what first caught my interest in this song was its rhythmic beat albeit at a much quicker tempo. In fact, the frenetic pace at which the bass and banjo are plucked and the blaring notes of the accordion are almost reminiscent of a steam train chugging away, or even the rumbling of a horse carriage headed off to some far off town. Either way, I wonder if this rousing melody was what made "Itoshi Ano Hoshi" somewhat of a mainstay in many of the quartet's performances. 

Since I was able to fish out the title from the comments, I didn't have to dig deep to find the original take of "Itoshi Ano Hoshi". Hamako Watanabe (渡辺はま子) had first recorded this in January 1940. Hearing her falsetto lightly dance over the words written by Hachiro Sato (サトウハチロー), the image of a girl infatuated by her special one and yearning for him can be envisioned a lot easier in comparison to Kotaro's hearty warbling. Watanabe was known as the purveyor of hits with connections to the Chinese continent and this song is no exception, made obvious by the Chinese sound in its melody, courtesy of Ryoichi Hattori (服部良一). 

In fact, "Itoshi Ano Hoshi" was actually the theme of the movie "Byakuran no Uta" (白蘭の歌) from 1939. It starred Chinese-Japanese actress-singer Yoshiko Yamaguchi (山口淑子) a.k.a Li Xianglan (李香蘭), who also had her rendition of this tune. Incidentally, Watanabe was supposed to be something like the Japanese mainland counterpart to Yamaguchi, who was active in China in the time before all hell broke loose... again. 

I believe the video here is Yamaguchi's version and it shows snippets from that film. The plot, set in the 1930s in Imperial Japan's annexed Manchuria, revolves around a love story between a Chinese girl of elite Manchurian descent, played by Yamaguchi, and a Japanese fellow who's working as an engineer at the South Manchurian Railway Company, played by Kazuo Hasegawa (長谷川一夫). But, really, in true propaganda film fashion, our main character here is really the railway being built. Why? Well, while our main characters do end up together, they end up sacrificing themselves to protect the railway's construction progress during the Marco Polo Bridge incident... Sarcasm aside, "Itoshi Ano Hoshi" does illustrate how our leading lady feels as she awaits letters from her engineer beau.  

On an end note, even though I hoped to hear "Itoshi Ano Hoshi" during my first viewing of the Gakudan's regular Asakusa Shrine performances on 31st October, it wasn't on their setlist for the day or, at least, during the 2nd of their 2 showings. Ah, well. I have many more opportunities to hear it and other favourites of mine in time to come... In fact, I intend to be doing so very soon on November 10th. 

Welcome to the wall, fellas.

Y'know, the Gakudan members do look like 4 copies of a product with some variations that make them relatively discernable. They're all great and I like them all. But. Admittedly. I do have a very, very marginal preference for Yujiro (although it does regularly shift to Kotaro). If you haven't read the "China Tango" article, I'll have you figure out which of the 3 instrumentalists Yujiro is. 

P.S. A few friends had accompanied me to see the quartet in action that afternoon, and it did amuse me that they seemed fascinated by the band's get-up and instruments. It then made me realise that in not usually seeing such an image and hearing such a sound regularly or ever, it would indeed be fascinating. I did greatly appreciate their willingness to take it all in. Rain and ryukoka.

Akiko Futaba and Noboru Kirishima/Chiyoko Shimakura -- Niizuma Kagami（新妻鏡）

(karaoke version)

Last Tuesday on "Uta Kon"（うたコン）, there was a tribute to the late kayo composer Masao Koga（古賀政男）through one of his classic creations, "Niizuma Kagami" (The Bride's Mirror) which was the theme song for a melodramatic motion picture of the same name released in 1940.

Initially from the title, I had assumed that the song would relate the sufferings of a newly-married woman due to the long absences of her husband and an imperious mother-in-law. However, looking at the lyrics by Sonosuke Sato（佐藤惣之助）, they themselves tell of the strong love between husband and wife, although the movie itself as seen above in the karaoke video has the main character indeed suffering when she is blinded by what seems to be a stray bullet.

"Niizuma Kagami" was a duet originally performed by Akiko Futaba（二葉あき子）and Noboru Kirishima（霧島昇）. According to her Wikipedia profile, the Hiroshima-born Futaba was once one of the most popular female singers in Japan and participated in the first 10 years of the Kohaku Utagassen making the transition from radio into television. Along with the duet performed on last Tuesday's show, I've also enjoyed this original version as an enka/kayo waltz which has that mix of melancholy and devotion.

Futaba debuted in 1936 and retired in 2003 at the age of around 88. She passed away in 2011 when she was 96.

Chiyoko Shimakura（島倉千代子）performed a cover version of "Niizuma Kagami" at the 1965 Kohaku Utagassen, although I'm not sure whether her recorded take came out in the same year. From listening to it a couple of times, her "Niizuma Kagami" seems to have that more traditional enka flair. I could imagine cherry blossom petals frittering away in the wind, for example. Interestingly enough, Futaba herself never performed the song herself on the NHK New Year's Eve special in her decade's worth of appearances.

Y'know...I look at that performance of the Kohaku in the year of my birth and I wonder what it must have been like to view the show back in those relatively early days.

Noboru Kirishima & Misao Matsubara (Miss Columbia)/Chiyoko Shimakura/Eisaku Ohkawa -- Mennai Chidori（目ン無い千鳥）

No "Uta Con"（うたコン）last night so I kinda need my dollop of enka right now. There's been quite a lot of articles going up on the relatively modern music recently so I want to swing the pendulum to the old days.

So, heck, let's go back to the 1940s and revisit the duo of Noboru Kirishima（霧島昇）& Misao Matsubara（松原操）, aka Miss Columbia（ミス・コロムビア）.  Husband and wife got together again after their 1939 "Ippai no Coffee kara"（一杯のコーヒーから）to sing "Mennai Chidori" (Blind Plover) in 1940.

Masao Koga（古賀政男）composed the very cheerful song about what I believe is a newlywed bride learning the hard ropes of being a wife with Hachiro Sato（サトウハチロー）providing the lyrics. In fact, I think the song is so cheerful that I can envision a Japanese Snow White happily trilling these words away while Prince Charming is out slaying dragons or something on that order.

"Mennai Chidori" was created for the 1940 Toei movie "Niizuma Kagami"（新妻鏡...Bride's Mirror）starring Isuzu Yamada（山田五十鈴）. Although there was the official theme song with the same title, "Mennai Chidori" was used within the movie itself.

In 1965, Chiyoko Shimakura（島倉千代子）released her own version of "Mennai Chidori". Like the original version by Kirishima & Matsubara, Shimakura's cover was a B-side to her take on "Niizuma Kagami" on the A-side.

Then a few years later in 1969, Eisaku Ohkawa（大川栄策）gave his own rendition which sounds a bit more contemporary for the times. The bass beat provides a bit more of a slow gallop to the melody. However, although composer Koga tried to make this an A-side for Ohkawa so that the young singer could gain some success, the record company ultimately decided that it probably wouldn't sell, so the powers-that-be placed his "Mennai Chidori" as the B-side for someone else's A-side! There was a happy ending of sorts for Ohkawa as everyone soon discovered that his rendition was starting to gain fans, and it was then marketed as a hit B-side.

Frankly speaking, it's hard to believe hearing Ohkawa's silken and crystal voice that the record company would just dust him off like that in the first place, but then again, I don't know how Ohkawa sounded back in his early days.

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.

Noelle's Favourite Songs From The 30's & 40's

Whenever a song were to be firmly wedged into my brain, I realise, more often than not, the song in question would be a pre or post war song. Could be a new discovery or an old favourite, be as it may, the moment I listen/hum along to/think of a ryukoka, it would linger in my head for days. I believe that's what J-Canuck calls an ear worm. I'm not sure why music from that era sticks to me like industrial strength super glue. Probably it's because they're simple and catchy, which explains why a good number of them are still popular over seventy years down the road.

This brings us to what I shall be sharing today: My list of some of my favourite ryukoka at this point in time that were spawned during the 1930s and 1940s. I had initially planned on including stuff from the 50's as well but decided against it after some thought. The reason being, if I did so, the list would inevitably comprise of Hachi, Michi, Muchi and Minami. Now, as much as I like them, I feel that I've been talking about them a lot, and adding the four here would then make the list rather predictable and therefore... boring. That being said, there is one fellow here that, I feel, won't be much of a surprise either.

In this article, I've narrowed my picks down to one song per singer for simplicity's sake, and I'll also be highlighting the lines from each entry that always comes to mind. For the latter, it's not necessarily because I fully understand what the words mean, but mostly because I like how it sounds when sung - strange, but it is what it is.

Well, anyway, let's get to it, shall we? The songs aren't listed in any particular order.

Ichiro Fujiyama -- Tokyo Rhapsody (1936)

Tanoshii miyako koi no miyako (楽しい都 恋の都)
Yume no paradise yo hana no Tokyo (夢の楽園よ 花の東京)

Tanoshii miyako indeed, Mr Fujiyama.

Oh boy, the chorus has been on repeat in my brain for the past few weeks. Out of all the tracks on this list, "Tokyo Rhapsody" (東京ラプソディ) is the most recent addition to my ryukoka favourites. Although I've been a fan of Ichiro Fujiyama's (藤山一郎) other evergreen classic, "Aoi Sanmyaku" (青い山脈) for a much longer period of time, I couldn't get enough of the faster pace and exuberance portrayed in "Tokyo Rhapsody". The video above has the newer version as well as the original. I really enjoy the new take of it for the cool and funky arrangement - just makes the song ten times catchier!

Noboru Kirishima & Hamako Watanabe -- Soshu Yakyoku (1940)

Hana wo ukabe te nagareru mizu no (花をうかべて 流れる水の)
Asu no yukue wa shirane domo (明日のゆくえは 知らねども)

"Soshu Yakyoku" (蘇州夜曲) is a tune that has been covered dozens upon dozens of times in Japanese and Mandarin. I've put down the very first recorded take of it here by Noboru Kirishima and Hamako Watanabe (霧島昇・渡辺はま子), but frankly, I'll always be happy to hear this song sung by just about anybody. While it's definitely the softest entry here, I do enjoy it for its beautiful melody - especially so in ASKA's atmospheric and languid version, which I listen to most - and romantic set of lyrics.

Dick Mine -- Tabi Sugata San'nin Otoko (1939)

Mita ka kiita ka ano tanka (見たか 聞いたか あの啖呵)

Wouldn't be list of pre and immediate post war ryukoka without something from the matatabi (股旅) label. Apparently, that's the proper term used to call songs featuring those wandering ronin. Coming back to the topic, there are a couple of matatabi enka from the late 30's that I'm always listening to - actually, I believe they're the ones that solidified my love for matatabi enka/ryukoka - but the one I tend to pick first is Dick Mine's (ディック・ミネ) "Tabi Sugata San'nin Otoko" (旅姿三人男). It's jaunty music is mainly what draws me to it... but I think that's about it because some of the lyrics still have me scratching my head and trying to figure out how they relate to each other.

OOOOSSSSUUU!!!

Yoshio Tabata -- Genkai Blues (1949)

Arashi fuki maku Genkai koete (嵐吹き巻く 玄海超えて)
Otoko funa nori yuku mich'ya hitotsu (男船乗り 往く道ゃひとつ)

Y'know when I mentioned that there's going to be a predictable artiste featured here? Yup, it's good ol' Batayan. There are also many works by Yoshio Tabata (田端義夫) that I favour but as with the aforementioned self-imposed rule, I can only choose one. So, I chose "Genkai Blues" (玄海ブルース). It was between this or the other matatabi tune I implied earlier, "Otone Tsukiyo" (大利根月夜), and the former was picked as I tend to find myself singing/humming this slightly bluesy madorosu entry more often.

Katsutaro Kouta & Issei Mishima -- Tokyo Ondo (1933)

Haa hana wa Ueno yo (ハア 花は上野よ)
Choito yanagi wa Ginza (チョイト 柳は銀座)
Tsuki wa Sumida no tsuki wa Sumida no yakatabune (月は隅田の 月は隅田の屋形船)

Here we have another entry dedicated to Tokyo, but this one has a Japanese flavour to it rather than Western. The festive bon odori melody and the constant "yoi yoi yoi" of "Tokyo Ondo" (東京音頭) is really quite hypnotic and catchy, latching on to me the moment I heard it at Kiyoshi Hikawa's (氷川きよし) event in Ikebukuro. As with "Soshu Yakyoku", I've put down the original version of "Tokyo Ondo" here by Katsutaro Kouta and Issei Mishima (小唄勝太郎・三島一聲). However, I normally listen to Hikawa's abridged version with it's updated score and five verses instead of the insanely long ten stanzas in the original - I'm fond of the song, yes, but there's only that much of a bon odori song I can take in one sitting before I call it quits.

Haruo Oka -- Akogare no Hawaii Koro (1948)

Hare ta sora soyogu kaze (晴れた空 そよぐ風)
Minato defune no dora no ne tanoshi (港出船の ドラの音愉し)
Wakare tape wo egao dekireba (別れテープを 笑顔で切れば)
Nozomi hatenai haruka na shioji (希望はてない 遥かな潮路)
Ah ah ah akogare no Hawaii koro (あゝ 憧れのハワイ航路)

Coming to the end of the article (thanks for sticking around), the last ryukoka that has been a perennial favourite of mine is Haruo Oka's (岡晴夫) "Akogare no Hawaii Koro" (憧れのハワイ航路). Ah, that was a time when I thought the mannerisms of the likes of Oka when performing were utterly amusing - honestly, I still find it quite funny now.

As you've probably noticed, I've highlighted the entire first stanza of "Akogare no Hawaii Koro" instead of simply a line or two. My reason for this is that firstly, I have it so firmly implanted into my brain that it doesn't take much for me to utter out the whole thing; secondly, this one stanza from the optimistic lyrics, combined with the jolly melody, gave me my first taste of what music was like in post-war Japan when I was still happily listening to just Chage and Aska. It was weird at first, but it was hard not to like it after a few listens.

That's the end of this article. I hope you enjoyed listening to these ancient classics. I might do one on my favourite songs from the 50's and/or 60's sometime, but we'll see how it goes... When I do, I promise I will be objective in my choices and the article won't just be filled with Hachi's works.

Mieko Takamine -- Kouhan no Yado （湖畔の宿）

I'm not all that big into traveling since my comfort zone outside of home isn't all that wide. However, having said that, I'm always appreciative of any sort of accommodations that provides the minimum of clean and comfy sleep. The urban hotels whether they are the high-end Keio Plaza Hotel in Shinjuku (my orientation venue on the JET Programme in 1989) or the medium-priced Toyoko Inn (where I stayed late in 2014) chain have been fine with me.

But there is also something about the rural ryokan that has managed to provide its charms. During that same trip in 2014, my anime buddy, his friend and I stayed at the Daitokan（大東館）in the city of Ito, Shizuoka Prefecture. As you can see above, it was Japanese-style, the bedding and futon were neatly arranged all in a row, there was the alcove with two seats and a small table to enjoy the view of the city, and there were the hot spring facilities down below. I also had plenty of opportunities to enjoy the ryokan scene during my time on JET when the teachers often took overnight trips in the nearby resort areas of Gunma Prefecture at the end of the year.

Daitokan

Over the last 18 months, I've been involved in translating short travel articles from Japanese into English, and so mention has been made of some of those countryside inns such as Daitokan. And a couple of weeks ago, on an episode of NHK's "Uta Kon"（うたコン）, there was a performance of a very old enka ballad titled "Kouhan no Yado" (Lakeside Inn) which was originally sung by the late actress-singer Mieko Takamine（高峰三枝子）in 1940. I've translated at least one article which involved one of those exclusive hotels beside a lake; I think one of them was situated right on the shores of Japan's largest inland body of water, Lake Biwa, and certainly that had me thinking about my time at Daitokan a couple of years ago and all of the ryokan back in 1989-1991.

Midori Oka's（丘みどり）performance of "Kouhan no Yado" was quite jazzy so I was slightly surprised when I heard the original version above and the later performances by Takamine, and found it quite melancholy, thanks to the melody by Ryoichi Hattori（服部良一）. Sonosuke Sato's（佐藤惣之助）lyrics describe a woman arriving at that lakeside inn all by herself just to try to recover from the end of a relationship. It seems as if there have been a lot of enka tunes which portray a woman heading out into the regional areas to attempt to forget heartbreak (admittedly, a good onsen does soothe). For me, a good dinner with lots of protein does the trick. But I digress.

One of the interesting rumours that I've picked up over the years about Japan is that management at some of the old-fashioned ryokan tend to decline reservations by solo travelers out of fear that one of these guests may decide to end it all in his/her room due to some sort of depression. Still not sure if that is true or not.

In any case, although the J-Wiki article on Takamine (1918-1990) is long, there is barely anything about her singing career aside from the fact that a few of her songs are mentioned in passing.

Unfortunately, I don't know whether this had been released as an official single or not but I have to say that actress-singer Chieko Baisho（倍賞千恵子）does a masterful job at this cover of "Kouhan no Yado". It's too bad that I can't find out when it came out. That voice of hers really resonates.