Hachiro Kasuga — Izakaya (居酒屋)

 

Ever had a food you disliked and actively avoided for as long as you could remember, but one fine day you decide to give it another chance, and you end up liking it? For me, that’d be spring/green onion. As a child, I found its green presence in what I thought would’ve been the perfect dish highly offensive. But the aforementioned process occurred somewhere along the line, and now it’s something I actively want in my food. It’s such a strange phenomenon, isn’t it?

In the kayo context, my spring onion is what is commonly referred to as Hachiro Kasuga’s (春日八郎) signature sound. It’s a dark and plaintive sort of melody on the minor key of the yonanuki (pentatonic) scale that adds a layer of foreboding to Kasuga’s already forlorn tone. Generally speaking, I was never really keen on this sort of melody as I was of the mind that listening to stuff like that would dampen or exacerbate my poor mood. My picky taste thus had me avoiding such Kasuga Bushi, which ironically, were the bulk of Kasuga’s hits. Writing my thesis and joining the Kasuga Enka Denshokai made me accept the “enka” in the “enka singer”, but the greater exposure to Hachi’s vast discography did little to change my preferences. Then one day just this year, something in my brain chemistry must've changed, but I became more open to the Kasuga standards I'd been actively avoiding. There were days when my usual selection just didn't sit right with my mood - neither sad or happy - but these darker numbers were able to just about compliment it. Their haunting melodies and their arrangements suddenly became so fascinating and hypnotic. Nothing represents this change I had better than Izakaya.

Izakaya is a constant in Hachi's compilation albums and recitals, and seems to be a fan favourite. It was released in January 1958, and written by lyricist Hiroshi Yokoi (横井弘) and composed by Toshiyo Kamata (鎌多俊与). Its somber atmosphere and theme of moping at a bar would become key enka genre attributes, but I couldn't understand its appeal. My initial enka-kayo pickiness had me dismissing it as a boring mood dampener, and in later days, just one of the representative enka prototypes. 

However, I was quite recently doing something that had me picking an enka-like Kasuga Bushi that encompasses someone very enka and very Hachiro Kasuga. The first song that popped into my head, for some reason, was Izakaya. At the time, I had only just begun to appreciate the dark, minor key tunes and their magnetic arrangements, and Izakaya rarely if ever came up on my radar until that moment. Still, I was satisfied with my choice, and I think that was when I began to savor the flavours Toshi-san had created in this beloved hit: bitter, heavy, dry... But highly addictive. For something I disliked, it did a great job for getting stuck in my head. I could've sworn I listened to it at least twice a day for the past couple of weeks.

It also goes without saying that Hachi's mournful warble blended perfectly with the haunting melody. It makes the protagonist sound like he's struggling to hold back tears of anguish from falling into his drink. Yet, Hachi is also fantastic at conveying hope and empathy in the midst of despair, and so the consoling, emotional warmth our protagonist gets from his go-to bar cuts through the song's overall melancholic tone. 

So, is this what folks mean when they say "Kasuga Bushi", or rather, "Kasuga Enka"? I think I'm starting to get it.

Speaking of which, by some mind-bending coincidence, the aforementioned enka person later sang Izakaya while representing the Hachi club at a karaoke recital. I also have reason to believe that it's one of their cherished Kasuga Bushi, although I didn't know that when I affixed the song to them. Weird. I suppose that just affirmed by intuition.

Hachi would re-record Izakaya on stereo in 1970 with a different arrangement (the above video). While his more matured, slightly lower voice accentuates the song's inherent sadness, the haunting atmosphere of Toshi-san's original arrangement is what I can't get enough of... Sorry, Toshi-san, you really did cook with this one - I was the clown for not seeing it this whole time.

Anyway, Izakayas are not my kind of place. I bury my head in my favourite singers or surround myself with nature when depressed. So, in that respect, I don't think I can resonate completely with the concept of moping in a bar over alcohol as in the likes of Izakaya. That said, slowly coming around to enka style tunes/enka/Kasuga Bushi of this sound feels like quite the big milestone in my enka journey I'd never thought I'd reach. And that took me like, what, 12-ish years? 

"You'll understand enka when you're older." This is a phrase often used to explain enka's older fan base. I had even been told that several times - in fact, that very enka person had even said that I'm still too young to fully comprehend enka and its emotional depth. Admittedly, I took some offence to that, and just took it as a generalizing statement. After all, everyone goes through different things, and thus a listener can interpret and resonate with a song in different ways. But after this Izakaya episode, I'm inclined to believe that there's some truth to this saying, one way or another. I suppose it is really like acquiring the taste of spring onions.

P.S. J-Canuck did a writeup on Izakaya several years ago, so you can check it out here.

P.S.S. Izakaya was theme song of episode 8 on the first radio show Hachi hosted, Kasuga Hachiro no Shinmiri Enka Daizenshu (春日八郎のしんみり演歌大全集) in late 1982. The episode had the great Yokoi on as a special guest, and they talked about the results of a kayokyoku survey held by the Nihonshu Center (日本酒センター) that featured postwar kayo with themes, titles, and lyrics related to alcohol released between 1950 and 1981. To my mild surprise, Hachi claimed the top spot for being the singer with the most number of said songs: 26. Yokoi came first in the lyricist category, while Minoru Endo was first in the composer category.

Michiya Mihashi -- Muteki (霧笛)

Hello! It's hard to believe that we're in February already. I hope this new year's been going well for you guys.

I, though, didn't have the best start to 2026. I'd come down with a horrendous case of the flu since New Year's day. Perhaps it was all the residue fatigue from 2024 and stressors of 2025 compounded with a particularly serious flu season this winter, but I was put out of commission for almost two weeks. My sinuses were the main source of grief; that in turn caused my ears to become rather sensitive, so much so that I couldn't stomach listening to music. The dynamic rhythms and the emotive voices of the singers I ordinarily listened to caused me discomfort. That's saying a lot, because I can't remember a day where I didn't listened to a single song. It was two kayo-less days before I finally had the desire to listen to something. This song was Michiya Mihashi's (三橋美智也) Muteki (Fog whistle). 

Yes, only Muteki. 

Muteki is an 80's enka written by prolific lyricist Hiroshi Yokoi (横井弘) and composed by Toshiyo Kamata (鎌多俊与). According to the J-Wiki, it first surfaced in Michi’s 1982 album, Furusato Zessho (ふるさと絶唱), before being sold as a single in December 1983. Admittedly, I came across this just a few months ago while sampling as many of the Toshi-san-composed Michiya bushi (みちや節). Based on the comprehensive discography in Hiroshi Ogino’s (荻野広) Michiya Mihashi: Sengo kayo ni miru Showa no sesou (三橋美智也: 戦後歌謡に見る昭和の世相), Muteki seemed to be their final collaborative piece. 

As for why I could stomach this singular song (I must've listened to it at least 6 times on the day I broke my music fast), it's because it's an extremely easy-listening enka. Toshi-san's melody of a medium-ish tempo is pleasantly jaunty, yet not too intense; the plucky notes of the acoustic guitar and whistling flute making it lively enough. Even the dramatic segments were arranged in such a way that isn't too jarring while still working as intended. Later-day Michi's more subdued delivery still holds a level of despondence that carries the sadness within Yokoi's story - that of an ill-fated pair whose tragic love story began at a foggy wharf. Every aspect of Muteki just melded together so seamlessly, ill me could enjoy it without a shred of discomfort. Even after recovering, I still listen to Muteki fairly frequently since it fits almost any mood I'm in. I guess I found my kayo equivalent to chicken soup, although I wouldn't have foreseen it being a Michiya bushi.

Barb Satake -- Neon Gawa（ネオン川）

 

I have to say that among all of the ways that singers have gotten their stage names, this is probably one of the more interesting ones. Yutaka Satake（佐武豊）from Kushiro, Hokkaido up north was all of 22 years old in 1957 when he made his way south to Tokyo to try and make it big as a singer, and as such, he got gigs at nightclubs while strumming his guitar. 

However, because of the kanji of his family name「佐武」, he often got called "Sabu" instead of "Satake", so to remedy that, that second kanji「武」in "Satake" was changed to 「竹」so there would be no confusion. Also since 「竹」means "bamboo" in English, it was decided that even his first name would get a change from Yutaka to Barb「バーブ」 since apparently "Barb" sounds close enough to "bamboo" ("Sports Nippon" said it, not me); I guess losing that voiced bilabial nasal consonant doesn't change things all that much, linguistically speaking in Japanese. Even J-Wiki was aware enough that "Barb" is the short form of the female name "Barbara" that the Barb Satake article made it very clear that this was the stage name for a male singer.

Barb Satake's（バーブ佐竹）voice was heard as being quite distinctive to the extent that his music was called "Barb Song" and he had a hit right off the bat with his first single "Onna Gokoro no Uta"（女心の唄...Song of a Heart of a Woman） at the end of 1964. In July 1966, he had another successful single with "Neon Gawa" (Neon River). Written by Hiroshi Yokoi（横井弘）and composed/arranged by Toshio Saeki（佐伯としを）, despite the setting of a drinking area by a river (which would have me thinking Mood Kayo), the instrumentation and feeling is that of a very melancholy enka as folks go there for not only drinks but also acknowledgement of the loss of anything: love, money, the will to live. I can hear that distinctive Barb voice which sounds as if it, and not he, is weeping up a storm. 

Satake appeared four times on NHK's Kohaku Utagassen, between 1965 and 1968. His second appearance would have him perform "Neon Gawa". The singer passed away at the end of 2003 at the age of 68 due to multiple organ failure.

Michiya Mihashi — Fuyu no Hanabi (冬の花火)

 

Summer’s almost over - or, technically, it should be but the extreme heat over here in Japan is saying otherwise. Over in the Kanto area, we’re still getting highs of 36-39 degrees (Celsius), and being Southeast Asian is no longer a buffer against these insane temperatures in this country. And so, I decided to go north (again) to cool off for my summer break. 

It’s been about a decade since I last visited Japan’s northernmost prefecture of Hokkaido, and I’d never been to its southernmost major city, Hakodate. My parents, having been there fairly recently, had said good things about this quaint, historical locale and its sumptuous seafood, so I thought it was high time I paid it a visit. But, you know me, my vacation choices within Japan are governed by one thing: the presence of anything kayo-related. Hokkaido is one of the most enka-centric locations, and Hakodate alone has connections to the venerable Saburo Kitajima (北島三郎) and prolific lyricist Kikutaro Takahashi (高橋掬太郎). However, there was one figure from that area in particular whom I wanted to "see": Michiya Mihashi (三橋美智也).

Hi, Michi

I tend to choose flying for their short durations when I travel domestically (it's actually cheaper too), but this time, I specifically chose to go by bullet train. Why? Because I wanted Michi to welcome me to Hokkaido.

The 北海道 Man

Mihashi, hails from the town of Kamiiso (上磯郡), which is now under Hokuto City (北斗市) jurisdiction. Thus, a memorial plaque dedicated to the legendary min'yo kayo singer had been constructed outside the Shin Hakodate-Hokuto shinkansen station in late 2015. Additionally, a chic painting of the man strumming his shamisen decorates the brick-lined walls at a rest area within the station. Seeing those dedications to him upon setting foot in Hokuto, it felt as though I were reuniting with an old friend, and nostalgia hit me like a Hakodate-manufactured brick.

Because I had planned for this to be a Michi-centred* trip in terms of oshikatsu, part of the prep had included digging for Mihashi tunes which were Hokkaido or, at least, north country-themed. In the process, I uncovered Fuyu no Hanabi (Winter Fireworks). Fireworks, as far as Japan is concerned, screams summer, what with all the massively extravagant fireworks shows in August nationwide. But there's also "winter" in the title, which conjures up frigid conditions and snow-blanketed streets. Hokkaido/Tohoku generally is far cooler than most regions in the country, and I was going there in summer. 

Fuyu = Winter = Cold/Cool 

Hanabi = Fireworks = Summer

Fuyu no Hanabi? Cold place in summer? 

... Yes, I'm aware of how ridiculously thin I was stretching my imagination, but it was a fine song I wanted to bring to Hokkaido, so I rolled with my half-past-six logic.

Fuyu no Hanabi was released on 15th October 1982 as the B-side to Echigo Zessho (越後絶唱). This single was meant to mark the 30th anniversary of Michi's professional singing career, and its sales allowed Michi to become the first Japanese singer to hit one hundred million in record sales, according to the J-Wiki. An incredible milestone indeed. 

Looking at the titles of both songs, they do radiate ENKA, don't they? But doesn't Echigo Zessho just feel more like an enka A-side and looks right as the fronting tune to this single? Michi, in recounting the production process of this single in his autobiography Michi no Jinsei Enka (ミッチーの人生演歌) (1983), mentioned how he liked Echigo Zessho from the get-go, being in a buoyant mood during its recording and even assuming it to be the A-side. However, unbeknownst to him, it was Fuyu no Hanabi, which had been recorded earlier, that had been set as the A-side. After much discussion, Michi's insistence won out and the song order was switched to what we see now. 

Having listened to both, I thought both were pretty good enka and I'd be fine with either being the lead song. But I'm a bigger fan of Fuyu no Hanabi. The lyrics were written by Hiroshi Yokoi (横井弘), one of Michi's long-time collaborators. Yokoi painted a picture of a snowy hot spring town deep in the mountains in the midst of a winter festival. Our protagonist arrives by steam train (of course) after a long journey, and he searches high and low for the one that got away ages ago, hoping to make things right. But this is enka, so of course his efforts are in vain and he feels nothing but regret and sadness. Michi's voice is, to me, usually cold and hollow-sounding, so it certainly amplifies the despondence of the protagonist feels here.

Classic enka storyline aside, it was the music that got me hooked. Toshiyo Kamata (鎌多俊与) was responsible for the pop-like melody with a funky rhythm. The rhythmic guitar rifts, however, are my favourite part as they feel reminiscent of snow swirling in the wind and falling heavily. This, combined with the dramatic strings, seem to articulate the protagonist's anxious yet hopeful state of mind in his search.

The winter imagery in Fuyu no Hanabi was a good enough fit for my stereotypical view of Hokkaido, and so it was a tune that was constantly in my ears during my whole trip there. It was undoubtedly cooler than Saitama, being around 8 to 10 degrees lower in general. But instead of snow, I got rain. A lot of rain. That photo of Michi at the very top is a fairly good visual of what it was like to walk around town on most of the days, but I was certainly less composed as I fought the wind and horizontal sheets of rain that came with it. That said, it was still an enjoyable trip and I would revisit Hakodate. I reckon that if I were to head there again during winter, Fuyu no Hanabi would been even more fitting. 

Say "Cheese"!

During my tour of the Hakodate region, which included a stop at the town of Esashi, I was predominantly listening to Michi songs, something I hadn't done in several years. I mentioned the nostalgia upon "meeting" Michi earlier, but it actually also came with a hint of sadness and even guilt for practically almost forgetting about him for a very long time. This trip, while mostly meant for me to completely shut out the stressors of school and work for a bit, had helped me to reconnect with the singer I used to admire greatly. And that only took me, like what - 8 years? Better late than never, eh, Michi?

I'm trying to imagine another time line where, at that fork in the road about 8 years ago, I chose Michi over Hachi (Hachiro Kasuga... 春日八郎). I think things would've turned out quite differently. Then again, it may turn out more or less the same, just with a different fellow.

* I say "Michi-centred", and for the most part that is true, especially in terms of the music aspect. But the photos I brought along included Hachi and Muchi. Admittedly, I didn't have the confidence to tote "just Michi" photos yet. I still needed my support Hachi.

Miki Nakasone -- Kawa wa Nagareru（川は流れる）

The Katsura River in Kyoto
from Wikimedia Commons 
by Basile Morin

 

I heard this for the first time on the latest episode of "Shin BS Nihon no Uta"（新BS日本の歌） the other day and the melancholy nature of this was very plain to hear.

"Kawa wa Nagareru" (A River Flows) started out as the B-side to singer and actress Miki Nakasone's（仲宗根美樹）4th single "Ame no Hanazono"（雨の花園...Rainy Flower Garden） when it was released in September 1961, but witnessing how much more popular "Kawa wa Nagareru" was with the listening audience, the single was released once more in November with the sides switched. A reflection of some sad times, Nakasone's stoic performance of the song as if she were too exhausted and depressed to even cry won over fans along with her haunting vocals. Written by Hiroshi Yokoi（横井弘）and composed by Seiichi Sakurada（桜田誠一）, it would become a million-seller by the end of the year and in the following year, she would be invited onto the 1962 edition of NHK's Kohaku Utagassen to start the show as the top batter.

As was often the case back then with hit songs, they inspired cinematic adaptations and "Kawa ga Nagareru" which was known in the West as "Okinawa Blues" was released in theatres from March 1962. Nakasone herself received second billing as part of the cast.

Born Katsuko Kuniba（國場勝子）in 1944, she and her parents fled their native Okinawa to Tokyo due to World War II. Nakasone would release a total of 86 singles and 9 original albums up to early 1974, although she'd already retired once in 1971 due to marriage. She would go through a couple of those and also suffered a number of financial crises in addition to the tragic loss of a son due to cancer. She herself would succumb to lung cancer early in 2024 at the age of 79.

Michiya Mihashi -- Oira Tankoubu（俺ら炭坑夫）

 

One of the first things that I learned about Japan as a high school student was that the nation was very resource-poor. A lot of the raw materials needed for manufacturing had to be imported. But I gradually came to realize that the Japanese still had a mining industry for various minerals within their own nation for centuries which included coal. I didn't have to look up anything (although I did read some of the "Mining in Japan" article on Wikipedia) to know though that coal mining was difficult, dirty and dangerous just from what I knew about the industry in North America.

As has been the case with other industries in Japan such as woodcutting and fishing, mining has also had its kayo kyoku representation. I've already posted on one min'yo titled "Tanko Bushi" (Coal Mine Melody) via Minyo Crusaders and the famous Michiya Mihashi（三橋美智也）. And just recently, from watching an episode of NHK's "Shin BS Nihon no Uta"（新BS日本のうた）, I found out about another Mihashi tribute to coal mining, "Oira Tankoubu" (We Are Coal Miners) that was released in 1957, about a year following his version of "Tanko Bushi".

Written by Hiroshi Yokoi（横井弘）and composed by Hachiro Konoe（近衛八郎）, under the pseudonym of Toshiyo Kamata（鎌田俊與）, "Oira Tankoubu" has, for a lack of a better word, a rather industrious melody although not quite as cheerful as the legendary "Heigh Ho". There's a certain swagger in Mihashi's vocals (even some min'yo exhortations) as well, and in combination with Konoe's music, the message seems to be "We don't look too great, we don't smell too great but we are doing great...for Japan's economic boom".

Hachiro Kasuga -- Kore ga Jinsei (これが人生)

Donna kurou mo sugita nara (No matter the hardship, once passed)

Same, Hachi, same.

The word "Enka" in reference to the Japanese pop music genre is usually written as "演歌" and sometimes written as "艶歌" in this current day and age. But there are many other ways "Enka" can be written. After all, there is a huge variety of kanji characters read as "en." Inserting various "en" ideographs to write enka suggests that this (enka) song is of a theme and style fitting of the "en" used, while also showcasing that enka can mean different things for different people. Perhaps one of the most well-known "en"ka variants is "怨歌," originating from author Itsuki Hiroyuki (五木寛之), emphasizing enka being an expression of human pain and anguish. But, on the other end of the spectrum is "援歌," coming from lyricist Hoshino Tetsuro (星野哲郎), that shows that enka can also be a music that encourages people.

Warai-banashi ni kawaru mono (They will turn into funny stories)

Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎) has sung many an "援歌," a few of them helping me to push forth in my endeavors. I would say that one of these enka-ragement songs is "Kore ga Jinsei" (This is Life).

“Kore ga Jinsei” is the first in the video. I also recommend no.5, “Tokyo no Yamabiko”.

"Kore ga Jinsei" was released on July 1964*, and was written by Hiroshi Yokoi (横井弘) and composed by Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴). Looking at Nakano’s postwar discography, I believe this was the last song Nakano wrote for Hachi, and I must say, it’s quite the last piece.

Sake ni omoide nomi hoshite (Drink up the wine with the memories)

I came across “Kore ga Jinsei” quite by accident while I was doing some data collection for one of my school-related Hachi projects. It was one of those random medleys I’d chosen to lock distracted and scatterbrained me into doing work while also covering more of Kasuga’s discography I hadn’t yet come across. It was the first song in the video, I was in the extra silent library. The first robust blast of trumpets woke me up. Thanks, Mr. Nakano (?)

Asu no kibo wo utau no da (And sing of the hopes of tomorrow)

To describe Mr. Nakano’s score in a sentence, it’s a koshinkyoku march plus anthem. Giving "Kore ga Jinsei" a grand and triumphant air are the loud and proud wind instruments, the rolling snare drum, and booming bass (?) drum. Admittedly, when I look at just the title, "Kore ga Jinsei" feels like it could be a wistful, "Well, that's life, innit?" sort where the main character hangs their head low in resignation. But, no. Nakano's score screams, "Yes, this is life! Make the most of it with your head held high!" A passionate ode to life. Hearing it just gets the blood pumping - indeed, it fired me up to do the work I'd been beginning to find tedious. 

Yokoi's words essentially articulate what the melody seems to be getting at, or vice versa. His lyrics are on the poetic side of things, but they essentially have Hachi singing: Yes, there may be distractions and very hard times, but take them in stride and in your own time; there is hope and the bad times will eventually pass, and you'll come out of it just fine. On a whole, it's a very inspiring and enka-raging song

The summer wind, and the celebratory
wine of thirty years of joy and sorrow
From "Mikasa" 1971/5/1 Special Issue

If you've noticed, I have written out how I understand "Kore ga Jinsei" in a manner akin to the songwriters and singer physically articulating the song's message. This is because that is exactly how I listen to the song. Sometimes, I want to do many things and prove myself. Often times, I wish I could do better and I become down when I fail to meet my own expectations, especially as of late. But when I hear this song, I feel like I can continue to push forward, one step at a time. I suppose this is what an 援歌 is meant to do. A song that encourages. And I am happy that one of the 援歌 that's playing a big part in my life currently was made by two of my favourite fellas. (´；ω；`)

 

P.S. Because I am nitpicky and like to complicate things, I am personally reluctant to label "Kore ga Jinsei" as an enka song in the traditional sense. It was made even before the genre truly existed and doesn't feel/sound like the stereotypical enka from the 1970s onwards. I would actually consider it an uplifting kayokyoku than enka. BUT, because of what it is, it is essentially a (人生の応)援歌, so I would just call it an enka in the "encouraging song" sense. Also because that fits with the theme I was trying to go for. Please excuse my convoluted kayokyoku vs enka rambles.

* 4 different sources gave me 3 different dates of release: June, July, and August. Since of these resources is from Hachi's museum and it says July 1964, we shall go with that.

Hachiro Kasuga -- Namida Machi (なみだ町)

Hachiro Kasuga's (春日八郎) voice was often described as a beautiful, resonant or strong high tone, but also sad. The "sad" quality, I've come to realise, is what can put people off his songs. 

I once heard a Michiya Mihashi (三橋美智也) fan say that as much as they tried to like Hachi, they simply couldn't - the more they listened to him, the more depressed they got. Hachi had depressing quality to his voice. Oddly enough, that's exactly how Michi's voice is to me, but that was the first time I'd heard such a critique of Hachi and I found it rather intriguing. And then, I recently got a book "Enka no Tatsujin" (演歌の達人) (2001) by Rinichi Sato (佐藤稟一), and the author described Hachi's style in a similar way, albeit with intense vocabulary that tested my painfully average reading skills to the limit. Sato described Hachi's voice as "bukimi" (不気味… eerie, ominous, unearthly), chilling to the heart, and akin to taking a peek into the depths of despair. The lyrics in his songs all tend to have a hollow loneliness to match those dark vocals. Sato did mean this in a relatively positive way, though.

I certainly agree that Hachi's vocals were often tinted with a shade of melancholy and longing, and they can cast a heavier atmosphere on his already sad songs. But I never felt like I was staring into a pit of despair when his delicate voice hit my ears. When I'm down, his voice, even when relaying some of his most melancholic works, doesn't make me feel worse or like a hollowed-out husk. Rather, it feels like he's sharing the pain and crying with me. That, ironically, makes his songs comforting (to me).

“Namida Machi” is the first song in this compilation.

One of those instances where this was felt was when listening to "Namida Machi" (Street/Avenue of Tears). Released in February 1969, I would describe as a pleasant, albeit orthodox (oh, geez, it has come to this*) bluesy Mood Kayo. The mid to late 1960s into the early 1970s was when Mood Kayo, particularly of this sort, was all the rage considering the explosive popularity of the husky-voiced Mori Shinichi (森進一) and Fuji Keiko (藤圭子) and their jazz-inspired numbers. Behind many of these anguish-filled hits like "Onna no Tameiki" (女のためいき) was the composer of "Namida Machi," the renowned Kosho Inomata (猪俣公章). So, it is of no surprise that his composition for Hachi here was of such a style. But unlike the likes of Mori and Fuji, Hachi doesn’t sound angry and upset. His sadness is the quiet sort, which his voice conveys.

The whine of the tenor saxophone creates a rather cold and lonely atmosphere in Inomata’s composition. Accompanying that is a languid rhythm reminiscent of a slow step: you're tired and don't feel like walking, but you still push yourself forward with feet dragging. And then we have Hachi's quiet-sad vocals. To Hachi’s frequent collaborator Hiroshi Yokoi's (横井弘) words, Kasuga relays pain and of a man alone after letting go of his lover; he tries to perk himself up at the local bar district, but to no avail, and instead ends up in the titular “street of tears.” Yet, seen in the last stanza, he still holds on to hope for a better tomorrow. I think Hachi expresses this forlornness to a T, his use of the falsetto only accentuates the mix of emotions, and it almost sounds like the main character is trying to hold back his tears. His vocals are what takes this pretty good... orthodox... Mood Kayo up a notch.

Hachi's songs, are by far, the ones that pull the most emotions out of me, generally through the message of encouragement. But I think "Namida Machi" is the song where there isn't the message of, “You can do it!" from Hachi, but more like "It's okay to be sad and cry sometimes." 

And I really feel that.

 

P.S. Okay, I know I didn't do a proper Hachi article for July, but I did talk about Hachi, his relation to one of the great Showa era composers Yoshi Eguchi (江口夜詩) and one of his covers in the article featuring Akira Matsudaira's (松平晃) "Isoge Horo Basha" (急げ幌馬車)  I shall assume that Hachi is fine with the arrangement.

*For some reason, the King Records staff, particularly lyricist and creative director Ryo Yano (矢野亮) loved using the word "orthodox" (written in katakana) to describe Hachi's songs in the late 1960s and early 1970s. The word used to rile me because of how frequently it was peppered into the singer’s album liner notes. But after being inundated with phrases like “orthodox enka” while working on a project, it’s beginning to enter my own lexicon and I am slightly worried.

Hachiro Kasuga -- Mister Ame（ミスター雨）

 

A couple of days ago, Noelle put up an article regarding Hachiro Kasuga's（春日八郎）1960 "Kiso wa Koishiya" (木曽は恋しや), his take on an adapted Nagano Prefecture folk song with some enriched mambo-ness. Outside of the article, she and I were also chatting about The Preeminent Enka Singer's album "Boku no Atarashii Yatsu no Uta"（ぼくの新しい8つの歌...My Eight New Songs） which I believe was also released in the same year.

One of the tracks on that album was "Mister Ame" (Mister Rain). Now, from my supposed knowledge of kayo kyoku, usually when I see something like rain or snow or autumn in a title, my first assumption is that the song is going to be a rather melancholy affair on the topic of love lost. And sure enough, Hiroshi Yokoi's（(横井弘）lyrics talk about having and then losing that significant other. But Seiichi Sakurada's（桜田誠一）music isn't morose at all; it might be a short song at barely 2 1/2 minutes long, but it has its share of Latin joie de vivre almost as if the bullfights were about to begin. Perhaps a breakup is in progress but the mood seems more celebratory than mournful. 

Would "Mister Ame" be considered to be an enka song or a straight kayo kyoku with mambo ambitions? Considering the history of enka and the fact that enka really wasn't officially enka until the early 1970s with a lot of retrofitting of past songs including those of Kasuga, we can pretty much throw this into discussion over some sake.

Hachiro Kasuga -- Kiso wa Koishiya (木曽は恋しや)

On the theme of Hachi and Mr. Nakano being my 2-in-1 dose of fangirling, this article will also be a 2-in-1: It will both be an addition to the Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎) Centenary Project and a nod to Tadaharu Nakano's (中野忠晴) 115th birthday.

A few months back, I did an article introducing some of Hachi's works that were composed by Mr. Nakano. At the time of writing, I mentioned that I'd yet to go through every single Hachi-Nakano piece. I still haven't, but I'd been digging around for more since that article. One such tune I uncovered was "Kiso wa Koishiya" (Yearning for Kiso/Beloved Kiso).

"Kiso wa Koishiya" was released on October 1960. Going by the title, I would consider it a bokyo kayo, a song about homesickness. From my understanding, Hiroshi Yokoi (横井弘) painted us a picture of a Nagano native who'd moved to the big city (likely Tokyo). Life in the concrete jungle makes our protagonist yearn for the grand mountain ranges, clear blue rivers, and warm hometown festivals back in Kiso. Adding to that bokyo atmosphere, I feel, is Yokoi's inclusion of the Nagano minyo "Kiso Bushi" within the lyrics. 

According to the J-Wiki, as the title implies, the "Kiso Bushi" is the native minyo to the Kiso region in southwestern Nagano. Basing off the Kiso kawa-nagashi (川流し), or boatmen who ferry logs around the region's rivers, the "Nakanori-san" featured refers to the boatmen stationed in the middle of the flat wooden boat. Nagano's tallest mountain, Mt. Ontake, got a shout-out as well. Sandwiching this minyo into the kayo brings to mind the image of the protagonist breaking out into their hometown's folk song in a fit of nostalgia. 

You can hear the original "Kiso Bushi" in the video below.

Accompanying Yokoi's words was Mr. Nakano's mambo/cha-cha-inspired melody. Having heard the "Kiso Bushi", I'm inclined to say that the Cuban styled music blends well with it despite the seemingly wildly contrasting images. Personally, it conveys a rather cool and refreshing atmosphere that matches the image of the Nagano mountains and rivers in Yokoi’s words. The fun vibe of the mambo beat on top of the trilling flutes and rattling bongos also makes one feel like you're in the midst of a summer festival. On the note of the flutes and bongos combo, I noticed that that seemed to have been one of Nakano's favourite styles between the late 50s and early 60s. And within this combo, the flute somehow gives the composition a somewhat Japanese-leaning flavour, while the bongos provide the Western spice... Butter in miso soup. 

I like mambo-inspired kayo just as much as I do its early day brethren, the tango-influenced kayo. And so, it's no wonder that I enjoy "Kiso wa Koishiya" A LOT. I think we have a new contender for my Hachi Favourite list. Y'know, I began listening during trip to Fukushima in early April, so it was often on repeat as I took in the mountains, rivers, and villages/towns of that Tohoku prefecture. Admittedly, it felt kinda weird to listen to a Nagano song in Fukushima, especially now that I know that it had strong inspiration from the "Kiso Bushi".  And as a result of the constant repeats, "Kiso wa Koishiya" is now ironically tied to Fukushima in my head. If you happen to be from either Nagano or Fukushima, please do not come after me.

Hachiro Kasuga -- Tokyo no Ari (東京の蟻)

This sparks joy.

I'm going to be completely honest: I came to like Hachiro Kasuga's (春日八郎) "Tokyo no Ari" far more than I used to because it was composed by Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴). Well, of course there were multiple reasons for why I've been listening to it a lot lately, but I cannot deny that Mr. Nakano was one of them... For that matter, I've been rooting out as many of The Preeminent Enka Singer's works that were written by one of the first popular jazz (Western music) singers in modern Japanese music just because it's like a "Buy 1 get 1 free" deal if I happen to enjoy it.

Original take begins at 0:00 to 3:30. The re-recorded one is from 3:31 onwards.

To be fair, "Tokyo no Ari" was to me one of the most unique-sounding of discography entries I've come across in my many years of fangirling over Hachi, and that's in addition to its curious-looking title meaning, "Tokyo Ant." I'd read somewhere ages ago (mid-2010s I think) when I first came into contact with "Tokyo no Ari" that Hachi chose to sing this during his 1959 appearance on the Kohaku over the more popular "Yama no Tsurihashi" (山の吊橋) because he liked its unconventional sound. I agreed that it sounded unlike what I've heard from him, but I could not agree with him in saying that I really liked it. I just thought that it was okay, like a 5.5 or 6 out of 10. The hollow crash of drums and cymbals that made the very recognizable intro and the rather rough jangling of the piano keys complemented by the smooth whine of the saxophone gave me a strong jazz flavour. It also has an oddly halting tempo, if that makes sense. But it was this strange and raucous arrangement that initially didn't sit very well with me.

Quite a good number of years later, I would be putting "Tokyo no Ari" on repeat when I was to do an informal mini presentation for a casual meeting with my academic advisor and his other advisees... It was a presentation for three, but the idea was to go over some of the ongoing research I've been doing for my thesis. Since my topic is none other than Kasuga and I'd been reading about bokyo kayo/enka around that time called "Bokyo Kayokyoku Ko" (望郷歌謡曲考) by Hidetada Fuji (藤井淑禎) from 1997 (man, the book's as old as I am), so I figured I could merge both while working out whether I want this combo to be a part of my big project. Of course, there was a greater rationale for this combo and it wasn't just because I wanted to talk about Hachi. 

In the fragments of information I've dug up about The First Enka Singer, I noticed that he was most strongly associated with the genre/sub-genre of kayokyoku of bokyo kayo (望郷歌謡)*. Literally meaning "Homesickness song," this theme of song was popularized in the mid-1950s. As the name suggests, it usually features a character from the rural countryside in the city terribly missing their hometown and loved ones. It can also glorify the wonders of the natural countryside; conversely, it can emphasize the rancidness and loneliness of being in the stinkin' city. This just came at a time when a large-scale work-related urban migration of young Japanese people occurred (1954-1965); many, often between the ages of 15 to 19, flocked to the likes of Tokyo for better job opportunities. Some just wanted to go be in the modern and romanticized city paradise. But culture shock, disappointments and loneliness would set in, bogging down these wide-eyed kids. Tokyo wasn't as great as it was made out to be. I want to go home. I'm so lonely. The list goes on. And so, bokyo kayo and their reflection of this shared struggle took off, resonating with many a young worker, perhaps encouraging them to push on, or allowed them to find solace in knowing that they're not the only ones suffering. The tune and singer often cited as the starting point of this genre was "Wakare no Ippon Sugi" (別れの一本杉) sung by none other than my our Hachi. Of course, that's not to say that songs prior to this didn't showcase the theme of homesickness. It's just that societal events in the mid-50s and the decision to create a bokyo song theme at Hachi's resident King Records combined to make bokyo kayo a recognizable force to be reckoned with. Some years down the road, bokyo kayo would become subsumed under enka as it became an official genre in the late 60s and early 70s. I suggest that its resonance with the masses and grassroots appeal made it such an important sub-genre in enka, considering what the main genre came to stand for, and why Hachi deserves his prominent title, but I'll save that spiel for my thesis...

"Tokyo no Ari" on the Kohaku comes in at the 0:12 mark.

Okay, I went on a massive tangent right there, but my point is that Hachi is inextricably linked to bokyo kayo, and his forlorn vocals are perfect for conveying the wistfulness of this type of songs. "Wakare no Ippon Sugi" was certainly not the only bokyo kayo he did, and so I dug around for more examples for my presentation that would illustrate the variety of bokyo kayo mentioned in Fuji's book. That was when I realised "Tokyo no Ari" would be a perfect fit for a strain of bokyo kayo that highlighted the loneliness of being in the city while showcasing the wretchedness of urban living. Rather than the city paradise, Tokyo is grey and depressing. Our protagonist, having moved there with big dreams, is now in a little nook in the massive city, insignificant like an ant, just like the many who have treaded the same path as them. Hachi belting out the words so passionately ever so often almost sounds like the anguished cries of someone like that. Actually, it may have truly resonated with him and we may be hearing his real emotions in his voice as he was one such country bumpkin who moved to Tokyo, albeit in the prewar era. Anyway, Mr. Nakano's messy-sounding jazz melody, I feel, perfectly encapsulates the crusty part of urban center, and it wouldn't be the same if it had the same enka sound as something like "Wakare no Ippon Sugi." Seeing "Tokyo no Ari" in this new light enabled me to enjoy it a lot more than I once had. And then, of course, I came to like Mr. Nakano way, way, way more than before and suddenly I'm listening to this song every other day.  

As implied above, "Tokyo no Ari" was one of the discography entries to receive re-recording treatment in the early 70s or so. While I still enjoy it, I think the charm of "Tokyo no Ari" can be better felt with the original arrangement and Hachi's earlier, more impassioned delivery.

When I get a little bored of listening to Mr. Nakano, I switch to Hachi singing Mr. Nakano's compositions. On the other hand, I get to discover more of Hachi's songs I didn't use to pay attention to because it has Mr. Nakano's name tagged to it. It's the perfect combination and I feel like I've unwittingly min-maxed oshi-katsu. 

P.S. J-Canuck wrote about "Tokyo no Ari" some time ago, so you can check it out here.

*The rundown of bokyo kayo was based on my understanding of Fuji's piece.

Shinichi Sasaki -- Kimi ga Suki da yo（君が好きだよ）

 

"Kayo Kyoku Plus" co-administrator and contributor Noelle Tham opened up the Shinichi Sasaki（佐々木新一）file back in 2015 with a couple of songs by this Aomori-born crooner of enka. Since then, the file hasn't seen any further movement which is fine. Unfortunately, the following year Sasaki was diagnosed with gastric cancer which eventually took his life in 2022 at the age of 75.

As such, I would like to keep the Sasaki file going with a third contribution via his October 1966 single, "Kimi ga Suki da yo" (I Love You) which was written by Hiroshi Yokoi（横井弘）and composed by Seiichi Sakurada（桜田誠一）. It's a plucky and intrepid enka tune with that typically wistful women's background chorus behind Sasaki as he has a different take on the usual lyrical theme of the genre. There is a big sign in Yokoi's lyrics that a couple is soon to be separated for a short while at least due to perhaps the demands of work. However, instead of the "parting is sweet sorrow" theme, the man brushes off any sadness and tears from the love of his life and lets her know how much he loves her and that no amount of time and distance will change that. Now, that's the spirit!

My condolences to Sasaki's family, friends and fans.

Akiko Nakamura -- Niji Iro no Mizuumi（虹色の湖）

 

The last time that I wrote about singer Akiko Nakamura（中村晃子）, it was for her 6th single "Taiyo ni Koi wo Shite"（太陽に恋をして）from May 1967, so this time, I'd like to introduce her 7th 45" release which came out later in October that year, "Niji Iro no Mizuumi" (Rainbow Lake).

With a cool intro consisting of snappy percussion and a bass, Nakamura sings about neglecting someone dear in her old hometown when she flew off to the big city, only to find out that he himself has gone elsewhere much to her eternal sadness. Created by the same tandem behind "Taiyo ni Koi wo Shite", lyricist Hiroshi Yokoi（横井弘）and composer Hirooki Ogawa（小川寛興）, the setting of the romantic hard lesson learned may have been out in the regional areas, but the sound feels very urban. In fact, "Niji Iro no Mizuumi" has been considered to be a solo Group Sounds effort.

Reaching No. 3 on the very young Oricon charts, the single would eventually become the 23rd-ranked single for 1968, selling around 800,000 records. Nakamura not only got invited to perform on NHK's annual New Year's Eve special Kohaku Utagassen for 1968 but she was also able to sing it in a movie that was released earlier in March of that year titled "Susume! Jaguars Kizen Jouriku"（進め!ジャガーズ 敵前上陸...Go Jaguars! Landing in the Face of the Enemy）. The flick actually starred Group Sounds band The Jaguars（ザ・ジャガーズ）but I gather that the producers wanted to kill two birds with one stone so they also put Nakamura in a major role, being able to put some more exposure on what was her first big hit in music with backup by the GS band themselves. The arrangement is indeed a bit more Watusi-able.

Akiko Nakamura -- Taiyo ni Koi wo Shite（太陽に恋をして）

 

From jp.mercari.com

The very first article that I did on singer-actress Akiko Nakamura（中村晃子）was for her 1981 single "Sasayaki no Kubikazari" （ささやきの首飾り...Whispering Necklace） all the way back in January 2013, almost a year following the premiere of this blog. It also happens to be the very first Nakamura song that I ever heard through an old tape of various kayo singers and I fell for it due to the very dramatic Mood Kayo imbued into his melody. The only problem is that after a brief appearance of the song on YouTube, it disappeared from view, perhaps permanently, much to my disappointment. 

As of this writing, no sign of it has yet to reappear on YouTube or elsewhere, even through any excerpts on iTunes. So until I decided to write up this new article on Nakamura, I'd kept the original article on "Sasayaki no Kubikazari" back in Inactive status for years but I've opted to bring it back out into the light as it were, still without any video. I figure that at least you can read about how I first found out about her; after all, that has been the mission statement of "Kayo Kyoku Plus".

As I said above, "Sasayaki no Kubikazari" is a single from the 1980s so why not go back to her early days from the mid-1960s. Her 6th single "Taiyo ni Koi wo Shite" (Fall In Love With The Sun) is a pretty bouncy kayo with a heavy rhythm section and sharp Mexican horns. She was only in her early 20s at the time so her voice sounds much lighter compared to the whiskey-and-cigarettes vocals that she would later bring to "Sasayaki no Kubikazari". Written by Hiroshi Yokoi（横井弘）and composed by Hirooki Ogawa（小川寛興）, I'd probably think that it was used for one of Nakamura's films (her acting career began years before her singing) but I couldn't confirm this.

For that original article, I didn't give any real biography on Nakamura but she was born in Narashino City, Chiba Prefecture in 1945. During her high school years in the early 60s, she was a finalist in the Miss Air France contest which led to her being scouted by Shochiku Ofuna Film Studios and then making her film debut. One surprising piece of trivia that came from J-Wiki was that she had voiced the title character in Filmation's "Sabrina The Teenage Witch" when it came to Japan as a dubbed import cartoon in the 1970s. That could indeed be Nakamura singing the theme song below.

Hachiro Kasuga -- Tokyo no Ari（東京の蟻）

 

My sympathies always go out to the average company worker in Japan especially during the summers. They still gotta do right by the clients and bosses through pounding the pavement and wearing the suits, although the temperatures and humidity outside make saunas feel like igloos in comparison. Countermeasures including thinner and airier blazers, lots of vending machines filled with cold drinks, and Gatsby mentholated wipes are there to help, but it's still a mighty tough slog. Although I was a teacher and not a salesman in Japan, I still had to wear the dress blues and made frequent use of those remedies as well.

Not sure whether the late kayo legend Hachiro Kasuga（春日八郎）and the songwriting team backing him up had ever meant for his 1959 single to address the summer trials and tribulations of the typical salaryman. I think in all likelihood, his "Tokyo no Ari" (Tokyo Ant) was an all-year tribute to the life of the businessman beating the path to customers and profitability. 

In the Mood Kayo tune written by Hiroshi Yokoi（横井弘）and composed by Tadaharu Nakano（中野忠晴）, I believe that Kasuga was performing a somewhat comically forlorn if still proud paean to the worker ants helping to rebuild Tokyo from all angles and therefore Japan in general. The bluesy sax, strumming guitar and wistful accordion above accompany the corporate cog everywhere from the office to the local watering hole. It can even be a lullaby for them before they get their four hours of sleep. At the same time as was the case with many a Tokyo-based kayo back then, there are some wistful thoughts of the old hometown in the countryside.

Hibari Misora -- Ore-tachi no Uta Ima Doko ni（俺達の歌今どこに）

Oh, so shibui. I haven't heard too much enka or Mood Kayo recently, especially with the summer songs taking over the previous episode of "Uta Con"（うたコン）. So it's nice to encounter one of the oldies but goodies by the Queen of Kayo Kyoku herself.

I'm not totally sure about the release of Hibari Misora's（美空ひばり）"Ore-tachi no Uta Ima Doko ni" (Where Is Our Song Now?) but a couple of YouTube videos had it pegged down in either 1978 or 1979. Well, I will go with the latter for now.

Part of the title will give the show away in terms of who Misora is characterizing in Hiroshi Yokoi's（横井弘）lyrics. Ore refers to the very informal masculine version of the first-person singular so the legend is singing from the man's point of view. In this case, the song composed by another late legend, Toru Funamura（船村徹）, has Misora singing in that lower register with a slightly playful but also wistful tone about how time is passing by. It's not just about the music that has been changing but also the world that has been evolving as the guys spend time at the local nomiya reminiscing and commiserating. The singer seems to take on a tipsy delivery to reflect those hours drinking with good buddies. Even the song itself has that slightly tipsy quality.

The above version has a boozy sax in there (sorry the original video was taken down) so "Ore-tachi no Uta Ima Doki ni" perhaps has a more Mood Kayo flavour here. And indeed, those two fellow bracketing her are Hiroshi Itsuki（五木ひろし）on the left and Saburo Kitajima（北島三郎）on the right in their younger days (unfortunately that video has been taken down and replaced). Itsuki and Kitajima were probably already enka veterans when this concert took place but can you imagine how they still felt standing with Misora herself? By the same token, can you imagine them now seeing this video wearing those clothes? Ah, those were the 1970s for you.

Masao Sen -- Yuuyake Gumo（夕焼け雲）

Jokyo（上京）...heading up to the capital, namely Tokyo. I don't think it has quite the feelings now that it had some 40~70 years ago (Bullet Trains and planes decreased the feeling of distance and time, and then later on, things such as Skype). Back then, it was all about young people, even teenagers, going to Tokyo from all parts of the nation to find work and start making a life of their own while helping to get Japan onto its feet again. All sorts of wistful scenes come to mind: getting onto the trains, mothers waving tearfully to their now-independent children, arriving at Ueno Station, and perhaps looking wide-eyed at their new urban surroundings.

Although jokyo is more of a within-Japan thing, I can understand the feeling as well. In my case, it wasn't so much a train ride of hundreds of kilometres to Ueno Station, though; it was more a plane ride of thousands of kilometres to Narita Airport, shortly after (barely) graduating from University of Toronto. It was quite the thing to enter Tokyo on that steamy summer day in July 1989 on a limousine bus with the hustle and bustle of Shinjuku all around us as we approached the Keio Plaza Hotel.

Tonight's theme on "Uta Kon"（うたコン）was, as you guessed it, jokyo. It's a topic that was so beloved in kayo kyoku that I'm surprised that the expression jokyo kayo wasn't really coined in the language. Of course, the big representative of that little corner of old Showa Era pop music is "Ahh, Ueno Eki"（あゝ上野駅）by Hachiro Izawa（井沢八郎）, and indeed that song was performed.

However, I also encountered another song that perked my memory engrams due to the familiarity of its melody although I wasn't able to peg the singer or the title until both were revealed to me tonight. Veteran enka singer Masao Sen（千昌夫）released his 24th single in March 1976, "Yuuyake Gumo" (Clouds in the Afterglow), an encouraging song of keeping at the new life in Tokyo and not heading back home until you succeed. Hiroshi Yokoi and Noboru Ichidai（横井弘・一代のぼる）took care of words and music respectively. Hearing Sen sing out "Kaere~nai~"（帰れない...I can't go home）in that anthemic way is one of the aural memories I have of kayo kyoku in general.

Sen released a new version of "Yuuyake Gumo" in May 1983 as his 35th single although I don't think the arrangement was all that different from the 1976 original. The singer performed this song for the first time on NHK's Kohaku Utagassen in 1983 during his 11th appearance on the New Year's Eve program.

Hachiro Kasuga -- Ore wa Nora Inu (俺は野良犬)

Arnie

Back during my internship at AVA (Singapore's Agri-Food & Vet. Authority), because of my constant trips out to the boondocks with my colleagues for ornamental fish farm inspections, I got more than my fill of dogs in the span of four and a half months. There were a couple of hyper-excited corgi mutt-things, both taught me what it meant to be play bitten and had my friend Mr J. tutting at my ability to be bullied by the little rabid creatures; there was also trio of dobermans who were intimidating at first, but they turned out to be affectionate. However, I have a soft spot for the giant brindle mastiff Arnie who, despite his size, wouldn't hurt a fly. I mean, look at the derpy face! Any intruder would get to experience being lovingly leaned on or licked... before getting viciously chomped on the butt by the ferocious resident cane corso.

Those were some of the canines whom I had successfully made a rapport with - all owned by the farmers and at some point were meant to be guard dogs. However, there were also a number of strays hanging around the quiet roads and skulking about in the tall grass. I can't say that sentiments towards them were particularly nice, and they were being frowned upon or shooed. And unlike the likes of Arnie, I was constantly being told to stay away. Cut to late last year (and how this anecdote relates to anything in this article) when I got introduced to Hachiro Kasuga's (春日八郎) "Ore wa Nora Inu" (I'm a stray dog), I couldn't help but wonder if the main character in the song was being subjected to the above mentioned treatment.

As I mentioned in my list of Hachi songs, "Ore wa Nora Inu" is one of my favourites from the enka veteran. With just the melody alone, the strings and slow waltz-like rhythm makes for an elegant albeit dated sound.This contrasts with the words that feature a fellow who's the complete opposite of elegant. I'm guessing he could be a hobo-nagashi or hobo-ruffian, drunkenly wandering around the dark and dank uramachis, and thus being shunned by the masses as if he were a stray dog. An interesting juxtaposition, but what made it latch on to me, besides its surprisingly catchy tune, is how Hachi's forlorn and tender vocals convey Mr Hobo's possible loneliness and hopelessness of being stuck in his current predicament. I feel that it sounds more obvious in the original take of "Ore wa Nora Inu", which is in the video above, when the singer had a higher and shriller voice. His self-cover in his 3rd Deluxe album (春日八郎デラックス第3集) from 1972 (video below), had him sounding more lax.

"Ore wa Nora Inu" was written by Hiroshi Yokoi (横井弘) and composed by Toshio Kamata (鎌多俊与) - I think that's how his name is pronounced? - and was originally released as the B-side to "Gomen yo Kanbenna" (ごめんヨかんべんナ) in 1957. I think it was decently popular, considering Hachi's character sang it in a film (as with many singers of that time, he had roles in some movies too), which I think is called "Aoi Umibara" (青い海原) from the same year that starred Hibari Misora (美空ひばり) and Ken Takakura (高倉健).

(Sorry but the video has been taken down.)

Dang, he was cute when he smiled... ...

OKAY, on an ending note, I'd like to wish everyone a Happy Chinese New Year! And wouldn't you know it, it's the year of the dog. :)

Hachiro Kasuga -- Otoko no Butai (男の舞台)

Lookin' pretty good there, Hachi. Kinda prefer the white
double-breasted blazer though.

Seeing Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎) decked out in a proper kimono feels like sort of a rarity. I'd usually find pictures of him in either in suits or tuxedos, but I suppose those suit (haha, pun intended) the image for most of his songs in his discography better. However, there are a few of his entries where I find western outfits would not suffice, like one of his earlier singles from September 1955, "Otoko no Butai".

The premises of "Otoko no Butai" revolves around what may be a kabuki actor and his struggles that come with the profession. What I find interesting is that Hiroshi Yokoi's (横井弘) incorporated certain elements that relate to a kabuki play, such as the geza - as I learnt from this site, it's basically like the performance's accompanying score - to make the fellow Hachi sings about look like he's an actor in his own play. In that sense, it reminds me of Tomio Umezawa's (梅沢富美夫) "Yume Shibai" (夢芝居), although that one seems to lean more to using theater to describe the ins and outs of love rather than the life of a thespian.

Of course, like most songs, what first drew me to "Otoko no Butai" was none other than its music. Brought to you by Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴), the melody leans to the traditional side with the shakuhachi rasping away and the shamisen taking the lead - must be because of the kabuki theme. It's also got this dramatic and even slightly regal flair when the trumpets and western strings kick in, especially at the start. I can just imagine what an entrance that would have made with Hachi marching on to the stage in a kimono and hakama as this song plays. Actually, I think "Otoko no Butai" could fit someone like Michiya Mihashi (三橋美智也) too - I was thinking, maybe Hideo Murata (村田英雄), but the melody feels a bit too light (for want of a better word) for him.

To end off, here's a video that's a mix of Hachi's songs taken from his recitals from 1964 to 1976. I love the version of "Otoko no Butai" here for its fuller arrangement and - oh boy, Hacchan's vocals here - hot dang, it was amazing... I'm not sure exactly which recital it was from, but his voice sounded a little less shrill and slightly lower so I'm guessing it'd most likely be from the 70's. The song is in at the the 10:58 mark.

Michiya Mihashi -- O-Saraba Tokyo (おさらば東京)

As I had said on my other tributes to my grandfather, I've always wondered what his reaction to me liking enka would be. Well, after getting to know his personality better through Mom, I'd figure it'd go something like this if I were to show him some performance of an enka/kayo singer I like:

Me: I like this song. What do you think?
Grandpa: *Stares at video for a while, then at me, then at the video again* Why do you like this sort of music/such old singers?
Me: Why not...? 

It'd probably end about there for me, but then he would proceed to give my mom an ear-full. Yeah, Grandpa wasn't hot about Japanese music or its singers, to put it lightly. However, I think my weapon of choice against the unamused reactions and tutting would be to bust out "O-Saraba Tokyo", and then I'd be gloating over the fact that the original version of one of his favourites was actually by one of my favourites, Michiya Mihashi (三橋美智也). He's eyes might probably be rolling so hard they'd roll out of the house... but I think from there he'd warm up to the idea of me listening to good ol' Japanese oldies.

Moving on, "O-Saraba Tokyo" was something I'd least expect to be Grandpa's favourite. While I did mention that he enjoyed one of Hibari Misora's (美空ひばり) works, somehow it did not strike me that he'd be a fan of anything from the Yonin Shu. Perhaps it's because I always had the impression that their songs are quintessentially Japanese and so I just assumed that the likelihood of Chinese covers would be much lower. Turns out I was wrong the whole time and it's actually the complete opposite.

Mandarin cover.

As J-Canuck mentioned in his article for the song, this jolly sounding tune was one of Michi's many big hits and was incredibly popular in the titular city. Apparently, its popularity had extended out overseas as well, judging by the number of Chinese renditions made. The one version in particular that Gramps adored was this Mandarin cover titled "Liang Xiang Yi" (兩相依... Two Together... or something like that) done by Taiwanese singer Yao Surong (姚蘇蓉), and its lyrics are not as sad as "O-Saraba Tokyo" (if I'm not wrong) - seems more like the character is simply missing a loved one rather than mourning over him/her. Well, personally, I still prefer the original. To be honest, I am being somewhat biased here - because Michi - but at the same time I'm not used to listening to Chinese music, especially covers of Japanese songs which I mostly find sounding strange.

page18.auctions.yahoo.co.jp/jp/auction/w137892292

I'm not sure if this Michi Best album has "O-Saraba Tokyo" in the track list, but I think it serves as a good visual representation of my face in that scenario I mentioned at the start of the article.