I've been a fan of Japanese popular music for 40 years, and have managed to collect a lot of material during that time. So I decided I wanted to talk about Showa Era music with like-minded fans. My particular era is the 70s and 80s (thus the "kayo kyoku"). The plus part includes a number of songs and artists from the last 30 years and also the early kayo. So, let's talk about New Music, aidoru, City Pop and enka.
Credits
I would like to give credit where credit is due. Videos are from YouTube and other sources such as NicoNico while Oricon rankings and other information are translated from the Japanese Wikipedia unless noted.
Showing posts with label Ichiro Fujiyama. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ichiro Fujiyama. Show all posts
As I noted in my previous article, due to Wednesday the 29th being Showa Day in Japan (and thus the official start to Golden Week), NHK's "Uta Con"（うたコン）devoted a good chunk of its broadcast tonight to some of the Showa Erakayo kyoku which I was plenty grateful about. After all, this is what we're all here for when it comes to this blog.
I recollect that I may have done something in the past to commemorate Showa Day via an Author's Picks but I decided to still go ahead with another try at a list. Initially, I'd thought about bringing over some of a list of most popular Showa Erakaraoke songs but when I realized that most of those songs originated in the years 1985 to 1987, I jettisoned that idea for being a little too centralized, time-wise. Then, after some more thought, I blurted out "Oh, what the heck!". I'll just let my memories pick out one song that immediately comes to mind when I think of a certain decade or period within Showa (1926-1989) and let the chips fall where they may.
The list below only consists of five songs...yes, very inadequate (I've left out City Pop and Group Sounds, for instance) but take this as an opportunity for folks to chime in with their representative kayo choices. Anyways, anything that would seem adequate would probably force me to make a new blog. Plus, Labels would throw a major tantrum at me. Still, allow me to mention the Blue Comets'"Blue Chateau"（ブルー・シャトウ）from 1967 and Miki Matsubara's（松原みき）"Mayonaka no Door"（真夜中のドアー）from 1979.
I can't say that I'm an expert on NHK's morning drama serials. However, and not surprisingly, when the 15-minute show is based on several decades ranging from prewar to postwar Japan, World War II acts as the crucible for the characters. Currently, I'm watching "Anpan"（あんぱん）and the episodes are now on the cusp of entering the war years so it'll be interesting to see who survives into the 1950s and beyond.
That did get me to thinking about what were the kayo kyoku that made their presence known in 1945 going forwards. I couldn't find anything that year that didn't have anything to do with the war effort. However, I saw that Ichiro Fujiyama（藤山一郎）was back in his crooning ways in 1946 as if nothing had changed during those previous fateful years. He released "Ginza Serenade" as a love song for those couples traipsing through the famous neighbourhood Ginza in Tokyo.
The legendary Ryoichi Hattori（服部良一）came up with the Habanera tango melody while a fellow named Masao Murasame（村雨まさを）was behind the lyrics. Well, it was actually Hattori here, too, under a pseudonym. Not sure what inspired the songsmith to come up with a castanet-happy arrangement but it sure added a new level of oomph so I can only imagine what Ginza was already looking like in the first full year without the war. Also what caught my ear was how Fujiyama was pronouncing most of those English words.
This has been called the oldest underground mall in Tokyo. Japan's capital is one of many cities in the country that has a plethora of underground malls so it's something to hear that the network of restaurants, bars and other shops below the traditional quarter of Asakusa is the oldest. And it's one place that I walked through many times during my two years working at the NOVA branch there in the 1990s.
Over the weekend, NHK showed one of its documentaries focusing on the Asakusa Underground, and I was surprised/not surprised that it hadn't changed one iota in the past thirty years. The subterranean community still looks very earthy, grungy and grimy. I still remember the combined smell of oil, soy sauce and most likely sweat whenever I walked through the place to get to the other side of the street without having to wait at the intersection for the signal to change to green.
Apparently, there have been two different kayo kyoku titled "Asakusa no Uta"(Asakusa Song): one from the prewar era and one after the war. The one I'm posting about here today is the 1947 version recorded by veteran Ichiro Fujiyama（藤山一郎）. Written by Hachiro Sato（ｻﾄｳ ﾊﾁﾛｰ）and composed by Tadashi Manjome（万城目正）, Fujiyama sings "Asakusa no Uta" in his characteristic jaunty style as he describes the hustle and bustle and the million stories that have been told in the venerable neighbourhood. I'm sure the Underground has a good chunk of those stories, and to be honest, I wouldn't mind a silver dish of that yakisoba made down there.
By the way, I did post on another Asakusa-themedkayo kyoku back in 2016 titled "Asakusa Shimai"（浅草姉妹）by the Komadori Shimai（こまどり姉妹）.
I failed to mention this yesterday but April 29th is part of the Golden Week holiday season in Japan and it's currently known as Showa Day. It had been celebrated as Emperor Hirohito's(the Showa era emperor) birthday until his death in early 1989 and then it was known as Greenery Day until 2007, when it was given its current name (Greenery Day is now May 4th).
Since there has been some nostalgic attraction for the culture of the Showa era (1926-1989), that's how I've usually seen Showa Day...not so much for the veneration of the late emperor but for what the times and trappings were like for ordinary people in Japan. Apparently, there is a Showa era museum in Aichi Prefecture as you can see above via MEGULOG's video. My particular examples of Showa era culture that regularly pop up in my memories are the old public phones of different sizes and colours, and the old-style kissaten as you can view in Mikki Café & Life below. Personally, my Showa era café will always be Café Renoir, the long-running franchise.
But of course, this being a kayo kyoku blog, I wanted to give my own contribution to Showa Day in terms of culture by providing some of the old songs. I'd wondered if I could find some sort of Top 5 list regarding memorable kayo kyoku but really couldn't find anything, so I've decided to come up with my own list of six songs representing each decade from the 1930s to the 1980s (sorry, couldn't remember anything from the 1920s). There wasn't any great research or all-night brain wracking for these songs...they just popped into my head and together they can perhaps show how music changed during the Showa era. So, without further ado...
Well, I did mention yesterday about St. Patrick's Day today and so young Kayo has decided to take part in the annual St. Patrick's Day parade somewhere on Earth. And rest assured, she is old enough to enjoy a pint of Guinness at some Irish pub though the bartender may ask her for ID. She might even be flattered by the request.
It's a bit of a tall ask but I was looking around to see if there were a kayo kyoku associated with the Irish holiday, and sure enough, I couldn't find anything. Then I searched for any Japanese songs that had a connection with Ireland itself. Once again, I got nothing. So, next I made the trek for any song title that had the word "green" or "midori".
Happily, it was there that I got the hit. Let me introduce you to "Midori no Uta" (The Green Song or The Greenery Song) which was released in 1948 and it is a duet between the legendary Ichiro Fujiyama（藤山一郎）and children's song vocalist Aiko Anzai（安西愛子）. Written by Riki Nakamura（中村利器）and composed by Yuuji Koseki（古関裕而）, "Midori no Uta" is a typically Koseki upbeat march, this time celebrating the verdant land surrounding the citizenry. It was still the early days of recovery from the war so I'm not sure whether all involved with the kayo kyoku were reflecting on home and hearth in the regional towns and villages while the younger generations were toiling away in the factories in the big cities. Perhaps Tokyo had some greenery in patches where people could visit and relax.
There's not much of a writeup on Anzai but on J-Wiki, she was born in Tokyo in 1917 and after her singing days, she became a Lower House member for the Liberal Democratic Party for three terms. She also had high status in a few organizations including one as vice-chairperson for the ultra-conservative Japan Conference lobbying group. She passed away in 2017 at the age of 100.
Welcome to the first weekend of February 2024. After getting through one of the grayest Januarys on record, we Torontonians are now bathed in brilliant sunshine. We could use a lot of that Vitamin D!
Therefore, it must seem a tad ironic that I'm starting this weekend session of KKP with an old kayo that's quite melancholy in verse and melody. And, true to my age and aging memory banks, I can't quite remember how I found out about Ichiro Fujiyama's（藤山一郎）"Sake wa Namida ka Tameiki ka" (Is Drinking About the Tears or the Sighs?). I very much doubt it was another discovery from the Weather News segment and the song hadn't been listed on the playlist during last week's episode of "Uta Con"（うたコン）.
Regardless, it's a good song to place onto the blog since it was a huge hit for the legendary Fujiyama after its release in September 1931 and probably one of the landmark examples of Showa era kayo kyoku. On J-Wiki, it's been designated as a form of ryukoka（流行歌）, which literally means "pop song", as well as a kayo kyoku (same meaning). However, despite coming to realize over the years through working on this blog and learning from fellow co-administrator Noelle that the genre of enka hadn't actually originated until the 1950s after the war, I still couldn't help but categorize "Sake wa Namida ka Tameiki ka" as a retrofitted enka tune because of the sound and the people involved in its creation.
For one thing, it was Masao Koga（古賀政男）, an up-and-coming composer at the time, who came up with the contemplative melody (powered by that famous guitar playing of his), something that has been a characteristic among that section of kayo kyoku known as the Koga Melodies (and you can get plenty of those through Noelle's Creator articles on the man himself at Part 1 and Part 2) although he has also been capable of jaunty tunes as well. Kikutaro Takahashi（高橋掬太郎）, who was also a newspaper reporter in Hokkaido, wrote the lyrics of heartbreak and loneliness. From the title, I'm assuming that the heartbroken lad in the song was trying to drown his sorrows in drink but not altogether successfully.
According to a 1997 issue of the "Kobe Shimbun"（神戸新聞...The Kobe Newspaper） via that J-Wiki article, "Sake wa Namida ka Tameiki ka" became a huge hit for the classically-trained crooner Fujiyama while the world was struggling through a major economic tempest. In fact, 800,000 records were sold which outpaced the sales of phonographs that year in Japan by a ratio of 4:1. In a foretelling of 1950s/1960s movies based on hit kayo, a couple of movies were inspired by Fujiyama's hit.
Did you know that Ichiro Fujiyama splurged on fancy cars after being royally paid for his undercover part-time work at Colombia Records? I certainly didn't. But I got to know this and other wild shenanigans Mr. Fujiyama was up to back then at an event called"Utaeba Tengoku" some time ago.
Utaeba Tengoku was a record appreciation event that revolved around ryukoka's leading man Ichiro Fujiyama (藤山一郎) and comedic star Roppa Furukawa (古川ロッパ). Hosted by early Showa enthusiasts Tadaaki Kitakawa (北河忠昭) and Taira Ozawa (小沢たいら), records from their personal collection were played on a 97 year-old gramophone in a little cafe off the streets of Jimbocho. Facilitating the show was veteran emcee Yuichi Hayashida (林田雄一).
Outside of karaoke recitals, I never knew there were public record appreciation and talk events that showcased enka and early Showa kayo until I found that community on Twitter. You can imagine my surprise when I saw the Utaeba Tengoku promos a few months back. Ryukoka being blasted in a public space among ryukoka fans? That's like a dream come true! BUT gone were the days of dive-in-head-first-think-later Noelle and I hesitated. After all, I'd only just begun to appreciate Mr. Fujiyama's works and I barely knew who Roppa was. I also knew next to nothing about the intricacies of SP records and gramophones, had no idea what an event like that would be like, and that's not to mention being daunted by the language barrier. But I figured that it'd be a good step-off point to try immersing myself in the community I knew existed but never knew where to find it. Plus, can't be bad to learn more about Mr. Fujiyama and Roppa, right? And so, with much internal and external convincing, I reserved my spot and headed for Jimbocho on the afternoon of September 17th.
I'd say that, in all, it turned out to be a great experience... Y'know, besides my brain blanking out at first and forgetting to do a self-introduction when the spiffily dressed hosts welcomed me into the cafe (Sorry, guys :')). That aside, the provided pamphlets were already quite something. There was the event's program, listing Fujiyama and Roppa's hits and hidden gems, then there was a reference materials booklet, filled with never-before-seen photos, news articles, and record lyric sheet scans from both artists. I think what floored me the most were the tables showcasing Mr. Fujiyama's record releases down to the minute detail. While I had seen event prep sneak-peeks over on Kitakawa's socials, I could not have imagined that it amounted to the said pamphlets in my hands. The amount of work put in was impressive.
"Utaeba Tengoku"
The main thing that puzzled me since seeing the poster was why this event revolved around Mr. Fujiyama and Roppa. Besides them being the respective favourites of Kitakawa and Ozawa, I couldn't see any connection between the singer and comedian. But, as it turns out, both artists crossed paths on multiple occasions: both were in the same record company (Victor) for a period of time and collaborated on various projects, from songs to films. One such collaboration included a song this very event was named after, "Utaeba Tengoku" (歌えば天国... Singing paradise) a light jazz ditty from 1941 that was sung with Akiko Futaba (二葉あき子) and was the theme song to the movie of the same name.
As for the show itself, the best way I could describe the show is that it was part record show-and-tell, part lecture, part natsumelo TV program "Natsukashi no Utagoe" (なつかしの歌声) or "Osakabe-Takehei Showa no Utagoe" (刑部たけ平昭和の歌声) podcast episode. I reckon other events like Utaeba Tengoku are of a similar style, but it did make for a rather bizzare experience for me in a good way - three things I tune in to separately converging into one. So Mr. Fujiyama's and Roppa's tunes were played in alternating fashion and according to year of release, each preluded by a brief (sort of) introduction and anecdotes the hosts dug up from the various books and resources.
"Oka wo Koete"
Hayashida's emceeing was the icing on top of the cake, his humour melting the ice and encouraging the nervous hosts. Occasionally, he even indulged us by rattling off the classic natsumelo program song intros to a few tunes. One such occasion was right at the beginning as "Oka wo Koete" (丘を越えて... Over the hill) blared from the gramophone and reverberated through the quaint, antique-filled cafe. This classic from 1931 is one of my favourites by Mr. Fujiyama, hearing it first with Hayashida's intro gave me that same feeling of excitement as when a tune you'd been hoping to hear starts playing on a TV program. Plus, it is the song to get the ball rolling for any program with its bright and chirpy melody. Considering this evergreen tune is an ode to the joys of youth, I felt that it aptly encapsulated the vibe of the event: 2 young folks eagerly sharing about the music and artists they love.
"Otoko no Junjo"
Many of the Mr. Fujiyama and Roppa anecdotes relayed were insane, but the most insane of them all (to me) was the former getting into a physical altercation with a taxi driver on the way to a music recording in 1936. When Fujiyama turned up at the studio, his head was covered in blood and he had to get patched up in the infirmary. What song was he to record at that time? "Otoko no Junjou" (男の純情... A man's pure heart/dedication) ... There is a twisted sense of irony in there and I'm here for it. That afternoon, my long-held impression that Mr. Fujiyama was the primmest and most proper singer out there flew out the window like my ability to follow social rules.
"Sensuikan no Daidokoro"
Let's not forget Roppa. This comedy legend, on par with Eno-Ken, was loved for his slap-stick comedy just as much as his witty song parodies and showcased his hearty vocals in many a tune during his career. This event served as my gateway to Roppa's amusing discography that happens to be steeped in social commentary. The Roppa ditty I enjoyed quite a bit was "Sensuikan no Daidokoro" (潜水艦の台所... Submarine Kitchen Song) from 1944. Roppa singing with such gusto made what would likely have been a dank and dreary place with food barely passing as edible sound like a homey shokudo.
After close to three hours (this was with Hayashida speeding things up), the show came to a close. It began with one of thenatsumelo intros, so it wouldn't be right to not end things off on one of thenatsumelo outros: "Aoi Sanmyaku" (青い山脈... Blue Mountain Range).
Oh - SS rare Mr. Fujiyama
"Aoi Sanmyaku"
Similar to our intro, "Aoi Sanmyaku" can be seen as an ode to youth, but it also spoke of forgetting the past and starting anew with everyone together, hand-in-hand. A very uplifting tune for its time and it seemed to have a firm position in the postwar collective consciousness as it was ranked 1st by viewer vote on NHK's "Showa no Uta Kokoro ni Nokoru Best 200 Kyoku" (昭和の歌 心に残るベスト200曲) back in 1989. Another feature of "Aoi Sanmyaku" and its role as the natsumelo program shime (ending) is that all the singers present have to be on stage and sing it chorus style. And so, to keep in tradition, we all sang "Aoi Sanmyaku" with Mr. Fujiyama and Mitsue Nara (奈良光枝). A fitting way to end a ryukoka-filled afternoon.
Overall, I enjoyed my time at Utaeba Tengoku and I think our young presenters and Hayashida put up a good show. I have to take my hat off to them. An event like this, though small in scale, helps to bring the spotlight on to a part of Showa era music that's quickly becoming sidelined in the current public and media discourse on "Showa Kayo" and "Showa Nostalgia." It's also admirable to have folks so passionate about what they love that they'd do extensive research and organize an event like this. I could never - wait a minute...
I also feel like I learned a lot not just about wild Fujiyama and gourmet Roppa, but also about what these record events are like. This has certainly given me more confidence to attend other like events should they pop up on my radar. Learning opportunities in all sense of the word aside, I wouldn't want to miss a chance to "see" some of the artists I enjoy come back to life for just an afternoon either.
Recently, I met a fellow early Showa kayo enthusiast I got to know on the 'gram in person while he was on vacation in Tokyo. I brought him record hunting and introduced him to my favourite record haunts in the Jimbocho area. The topic of conversation amid vinyl viewing was, naturally, the musicians of the time and the technicalities of records - fascinating stuff. One of the artists we touched upon was none other than the great Ichiro Fujiyama (藤山一郎). My natsumelo acquaintance did comment that I seemed kinda "late to the party" on the Fujiyama train despite doing deep dives into the world of Japanese prewar and postwar popular songs. In a way, I do agree with that.
On one hand, Mr. Fujiyama had been one of the very first ryukoka characters I'd encountered nearly a decade ago. I enjoyed some of his spunky evergreen hits and thought he was a pleasant presence with that crystal clear voice. I've also always respected him as one of the kayo greats, all the more so when I came across a video of an elderly Fujiyama fiercely asserting that having a cold was no excuse for not being able to sing. This made me see him as that intimidating music teacher who strives for nothing less than discipline and excellence. In fact, it's the reason why I call him "Mr. Fujiyama" rather than his nickname of "Pin-chan". But that was about it and I never bothered to pay much more attention to him despite his omnipresence in old kayo shows and VTRs.
And then "Shanghai Yakyoku"(Shanghai Serenade). Specifically, this live performance on the music program "Natsukashi no Utagoe" (なつかしの歌声) from 1969.
In Kiyomaro Kikuchi's (菊池清麿)"Showa Enka no Rekishi"(昭和演歌の歴史... History of Showa Enka) from 2016, Taro Shoji (東海林太郎) described his "Murasaki Kouta" (むらさき小唄) as having an ethereal, eerie air to it. I felt the exact same way about "Shanghai Yakyoku" when I watched the this clip. Maybe it was the black and white footage that accentuated the haunting nature of Takio Niki's (仁木他喜雄) score. Maybe it was Toshio Nomura's (野村俊夫) lyrics that seem to relay a mysterious love affair in the enigmatic bayside city. Or, perhaps it was the singer himself, smartly-dressed as always, effortlessly gliding towards the camera just as the music sounded most foreboding with its bellowing strings and deep, menacing trumpets. Strangely ethereal. Wonderfully eerie. Combined with his hearty, textbook perfect delivery and crisp enunciation, Mr. Fujiyama had never seemed so... alluring.
The original take.
Anyway, while the 1930s were chock full of China-centric songs and I can think of a couple that are of a similar dark atmosphere as "Shanghai Yakyoku," I can't help but compare it to another entry from 1939 that falls on the complete opposite end of the ambience spectrum, Tadaharu Nakano's (中野忠晴)"China Tango". They're like different sides of the same, tango-inspired, romantic tune coin. The fantastical "China Tango" feels as though you're about to be treated to a wonderful night on the town with a playful Nakano leading you by the hand. And then we have "Shanghai Yakyoku", its intense atmosphere making it feel as though you've just stepped into a 1920s Shanghai Noir film. Who committed the murder in that alley? No one knows. Maybe the suave Mr. Fujiyama does, and he'll take you by the hand to show you who did it - if you can trust him *cue Niki’s dramatic music*.
But at the end of the day, the image I hold of Mr. Fujiyama remains more or less that of a strict classical music teacher who does “moral”, appropriate-for-the-whole-family rajio kayo. “Shanghai Yakyoku”, however, finally enabled me to see him as a pop singer who can be fun to tune in to. Would I get invested into Mr. Fujiyama? I'd be surprised if I do, because I think his singing's "too perfect" and not much feeling gets conveyed as a result (compared to the fellows I love, at least). For now, though, I'm just happy to listen to more of his works with a renewed appreciation for him.
I'd never been to Kyushu before, let alone Nagasaki. So, last December, my mom and I decided to use the opportunity to explore this culturally and historically rich part of Kyushu. Much of what I know about Nagasaki comes from a combination of enka/ryukoka/mood kayo, travel shows, and classes on Japanese history. Because it was the main (at times the only) port of entry into Japan for foreigners back in the day, traces of Chinese and Western influences are particularly strong. Case in point, a Chinatown and Holland Land (Huis Ten Bosch) in just one prefecture. It was where Christianity thrived, but was also the site where its persecution was particularly intense during the Edo era. It is one of the most featured locations in enka and mood kayo. It is where Kiyoshi Maekawa (前川清) is from! Needless to say, I was stoked to visit such an iconic place.
We were in Nagasaki city for about four days and I thoroughly enjoyed my time there. The food was mostly great, the city picturesque with Chinese and western colonial architecture, and it had a rather quaint atmosphere. Oddly enough, the cultural mix and hilly terrain reminded me of Hong Kong and just a hint of Singapore. I would like to share some highlights through the Nagasaki-themed songs I filled my ears with throughout the trip. Nagasaki songs, particularly those from the early Showa era, seemed to have a more exotic and European sound, if not Chinese, but my selection here mainly features the former. I'm not very familiar with European music, but I reckon some melodies could be Portuguese-influenced.
If you know other tunes featuring Nagasaki, feel free to mention them too. With that said, let's begin.
We kick things off with Hachi's signature, "Nagasaki no Hito". I thought it was a pretty good way to begin the trip since it sounds rather bright while describing the features of the city, like the sotetsu (Japanese sago palm), ishi-datami (cobblestone paths), the minato machi (port town), Oranda-zaka (Hollander Slope), etc. It fit the only day when the weather was clear and we were able to take a stroll down the port. We did see sotetsu. Many sotetsu. Seeing palm trees thriving in winter was a first for me.
Akira Nakai, Masaru Takahashi & Coloratino -- Shianbashi Blues (思案橋ブルース)
After our walk, we headed to a place featured in one of my favourite mood kayo songs and karaoke go-to's, Shianbashi. It's basically a watering hole with a number of Chinese joints and bars. Kinda seedy, but not unexpected, considering it's a mood kayo staple. The wistfulness conveyed by lead vocalist Nakai's high tenor in the original "Shianbashi Blues" fits perfectly in the warm, neon-lit streets of Shianbashi, but more so when it's raining... which would come later...
We then adjourned to Tsuruchan, a Nagasaki institution. This more-than-a-century-old kissaten is renowned for a Nagasaki B-grade gourmet food, Toruko raisu (Turkish rice). I don't think there's anything Turkish about it, but to say that it was hearty was an understatement: large servings of double carbs (napolitan spaghetti plus rice pilaf) and a slab of tonkatsu with gravy. Never had a, "Gochisousan" been more appropriate after I polished off everything. Mom would later remark that she'd never seen me eat that much carbs in one sitting before. Neither have I, mother.
Mae-Kiyo and the Cool Five finally make their appearance! Yes, I had saved the Nagasaki-made group's iconic hit for Day 2 of our trip because that's when the rain came. A lot of it. I don't like rain, but I took it as an opportunity to experience what most Nagasaki songs feature. Also, there's just a warm feeling when you hear one of your beloved singers' songs that first got you into him at the place he came from.
Later in the day, mother and I finally found and visited Glover Garden. Besides the fact that this residence of the titular Scottish businessman is a famed historical spot in Nagasaki, we wanted to go up there because the Glover house was often used in extremely cheesy and cringe-worthy karaoke videos from the 1970s and 80s, some featuring Mae-Kiyo and his cronies. I still cannot bear to rewatch some of those videos because I die of secondhand cringe every time. It was a beautiful place, however, with an amazing view of the bay and city, especially in the evening. We also did the tourist thing of having castella and tea at a cafe on the premises. Castella is... cake. That's all I can say. But its worth got elevated because I was cold, drenched, and hungry.
Dick Mine & Sendaka Fujiwara -- Nagasaki Elegy (長崎エレジー)
Before ending our day a Glover Garden, we first began the day going uphill. Up Oranda-zaka and exploring the old grounds of a Catholic/Christian girls' school (I forgot what it was called). In the rain. Oranda-zaka and the surrounding slopes were really steep and lined with cobblestone, so the anxiety from trying to slide down the hill was palpable. Oura Cathedral was the main checkpoint in mind. It was one of the well-known churches from the persecution days and I believe where Christianity was "rediscovered" in Japan once the hunt was over. Rather poignant, especially under the grey skies, light rain, and with Mother Mary watching over the town from up a hill. So, I thought "Nagasaki Elegy" was fitting with its references to Catholicism and a fine drizzle. Also, this song was constantly running through my head throughout my time in Nagasaki.
On the note of poignant, nothing was more so than the Nagasaki Peace Park and Ground Zero for the atomic bomb. It was chilling to read survivors' accounts and to imagine what it must've been like then and there. And yet, it was tranquil and there was a sense of hopefulness that radiated from tributes to the victims of the devastation and monuments symbolizing the strive for peace. One of these sculptures was the Nagasaki no Kane (Bell of Nagasaki). According to the J-Wiki, it was built in 1977 in memory of military factory workers, many of whom were school students, who perished when the bomb hit a nearby factory.
Fujiyama's solemn "Nagasaki no Kane", though only related to the structure by name, quite aptly represents the gravity of this place. I feel it does this through the initial hopelessness that morphs into strength to carry on upon hearing the bells of the Nagasaki cathedrals toll in each stanza. An emotional song to fit such a significant place.
Uchiyamada Hiroshi & The Cool Five -- Omoikiri Bashi (思い切り橋)
On a lighter note, Chinatown and Megane Bashi (Spectacles Bridge) were next on the itinerary. Compared to Yokohama's Chinatown, Nagasaki's felt more... real? Less kitschy. There was a section that you could easily tell was geared towards tourists, but outside that bubble was a much larger, proper local suburb/settlement dotted with old Chinese Buddhist temples and a Hokkien clan association. Connecting Chinatown to other parts of town were bridges. Many bridges. That's not to be unexpected since the city is by the coast with many waterways. And one of the most iconic bridges is the Megane Bashi, a cobblestone bridge with two perfect arches that stretches over a tiny section of the Nakashima river. I believe it's Japan's oldest surviving arched bridge, but I could be wrong. It was very picturesque, especially when you see its reflection on the surface of the water.
I don't know any kayo that feature this bridge specifically but as an ode to the many ancient bridges in the area, I bring another Cool Five tune, "Omoikiri Bashi". A very dramatic and jaunty number with Mae-Kiyo's recognizable anguished cries.
Along the uber-long, more than a-century-old shopping street that follows the Nakashima river, my eyes picked up an old, rather Chinese-style sundries store. It oozed early Showa-era vibes, but what stole my attention was a pile of pomelos inside. Despite the freezing rain, I couldn't help but smile because the very first Nagasaki-themed kayo I'd heard came to mind, Obata's cheerful "Nagasaki no Zabon Uri". It wasn't on one of the steep inclines of the city, the store was empty, and I don't even think pomelos were actually much of a thing in Nagasaki despite the Chinese settlement, but it was just a happy little coincidence to add to my Nagasaki song experience.
Yuri Akemi -- Nagasaki Monogatari (長崎物語)
On our final day before heading off to the airport, we checked out Dejima, where the Dutch settlers were confined during Tokugawa's reign in an attempt to stave off religious influence. It had been made into a sort of open-air museum with preserved Dutch-style buildings. "Nagasaki Monogatari" is one such song that gives a shout-out to the little island, among other Nagasaki tropes while telling the tragic story of one Jagatara Oharu (じゃがたらお春).
Shizuo Higuchi -- Nagasaki Chanson (長崎シャンソン)
Ah, yes, traditional Japanese cuisine
Rounding off the trip was lunch at a family grill restaurant where Mom and I tried the Sasebo burger, the taberu milkshake (a milkshake you eat, not drink), and the lemon steak. It was pretty decent fare, with the latter being more delicious than it sounds. On the way back, I had Higuchi's exotic and jiving "Nagasaki Chanson" in my ears. Having enjoyed my time in the city, even with the rain, I think I can agree with the following welcoming lines from this ode to the port city:
Batten Nagasaki yume no machi
Mimase yokatokko yorimasse
Batten Nagasaki yume no machi yume no machi
"Batten" roughly translates to something like "although" or "but" in the Kyushu dialect, and this last bit of the last stanza proudly claims something like, "Nagasaki, city of dreams! Come on over, it's fabulous!" Couldn't have put it better myself. For that matter, it is indeed also an "uta no machi" (city of music), considering I was able to make a whole list out of just some kayo that are Nagasaki-themed.
If you do have the opportunity to visit Kyushu, perhaps give Nagasaki a visit. It's great if you're a foodie and/or a history and culture buff. If I have the opportunity, I would love to go back. There's just so much more of the city and prefecture to see. Next stop, Sasebo, Saikai, and the "Kaeri Bune" (かえり船) music plaque.
On a final note, since Mae-Kiyo is a Nagasaki native (Sasebo city), he serves as a mascot/spokesman for the local police force's fight against fraud and other related crimes. Ever since I spotted my first Mae-Kiyo anti-crime poster, I took it upon myself to do a "Mae-Kiyo Sagashi" (Spot the Mae-Kiyo) and try to find at least one picture of the pillar man a day. I was more or less successful, and it culminated in the ultimate piece: Mae-Kiyo on the cover of the "Karaoke Fan" magazine. I'd waited an eternity for him to be on any magazine cover, and it just so happened that his long-awaited cover appearance coincided with my trip to Nagasaki :).
No, I'm painfully aware that I'm not young anymore but I'm not quite THAT old yet. Admittedly, though, this is going to be one of the more unusual ROY articles for this Thursday since the origins of this song go far back to the year 1932. So, if you can bear with me for a few paragraphs, I can let you know where the youth (well, toddlerhood) part of this comes in.
According to Wikipedia, the popular song "Lover" by the legendary songwriting team of Lorenz Hart and Richard Rodgers was created in 1932 and first used in the musical flick "Love Me Tonight" starring Maurice Chevalier and Jeanette MacDonald. Ironically, I'd thought that the song, from its title, was this sweeping romantic waltz for the lovers in all of us but when McDonald sung it, her character was trying to control an uncontrollable horse, so it was more of a comical thing.
It's been covered numerous times over the century in its sung version and as an instrumental piece. The cover above is by Paul Whiteman and his Orchestra with Jack Fulton as the vocalist as recorded in 1933.
Maybe the one cover that is most generally known is the one by the famous Boston Pops Orchestra led by Arthur Fiedler and then John Williams (yes, that John Williams). I've known about the Boston Pops since I was literally a baby because they were often on that compilation of five LPs by RCA Victor when we got our huge oaken stereo. It was labeled "50 Years Of Hits In Stereo" and was the source for all of my nostalgic love for the standards through the Pops, Bing & Rosemary, Henry Mancini, etc.
I don't know when exactly Fiedler and the Pops first recorded their version of "Lover" but interestingly enough, their majestic version wasn't included on "50 Years Of Hits In Stereo". By this time, I've heard this "Lover" frequently, and it certainly feels like it was meant for dozens of couples traipsing joyfully all over the ballroom floor. The strings and the French horns are absolutely exquisite, and really, I can't imagine any horses trying to be calmed down with this take.
Ahhh...this is where the ROY comes in although I was indeed far younger. Speaking of "50 Years Of Hits In Stereo", there was a version of "Lover" among the discs but this was the one done by bandleader and pianist Marty Gold and his Orchestra. Originally his cover showed up on his August 1960 album"Skin Tight", and this was my first exposure to the Rodgers and Hart classic.
Man, this was one swinging blast! Gold arranged things so that he threw trumpets, trombones, saxophones, percussion and even a crazed timpani into this massive jazz party march. If it had been used in a movie, his "Lover" wouldn't have been calming down a horse or inviting dancers for a waltz; instead it would have been instigating one of the classiest chase scenes involving the Rat Pack...while they were sipping martinis...very dry ones.
It's hard for me to choose which one I prefer, the Fiedler waltz or the Gold swinger.
Anyways, seeing that "Lover" was born in 1932, let's see if we can merely bring back the three songs that have already been written on "Kayo Kyoku Plus" from that year.
Currently with the adapted biography of composer Yuuji Koseki（古関裕而）being televised as the NHK morning serial drama "Yell"（エール）, the network has also been providing 5-minute vignettes of some of Koseki's work. The themes for the Hanshin Tigers baseball team, "Rokko Oroshi"（六甲おろし）and everyone's favourite heroic moth, "Mothra", have already been given their due in the vignettes.
Another song that has been featured is the elegiac "Nagasaki no Kane", inspired by the January 1949Takashi Nagai（永井隆）book of the same name with the translation of "The Bells of Nagasaki", which referred to the bells of Urakami Cathedral in Nagasaki. The song itself was released as a single later in July with Koseki providing the melody while Hachiro Sato（サトウハチロー）was behind the lyrics.
Veteran kayo singer Ichiro Fujiyama（藤山一郎）was the first to record "Nagasaki no Kane", and in the vignette, singer and TV personality Akihiro Miwa（美輪明宏）noted that the song was perhaps one of the first kayo to feature a combination of major and minor chords to reflect both sorrow and hope with the additional help of a women's chorus. That was a pretty noteworthy point Miwa made since I've often heard Japanese pop songs from way back that had that similar pattern of sad-and-happy melodies.
According to the J-Wikiarticle on the song, "Nagasaki no Kane" never made any direct reference to the atomic bombing of Nagasaki itself but referred to all those who suffered because of the war. Lyricist Sato himself had lost a brother in the Hiroshima bombing.
It would be years before I realized how much of an association Fujiyama had with NHK's Kohaku Utagassen because of his traditional role as the orchestra conductor when it was time to wrap the show up with the annual playing of "Hotaru no Hikari"（蛍の光）. I've also now learned that Fujiyama was one of the performers at the very first edition of the Kohaku on NHK Radio back on January 3rd 1951 in which he sang "Nagasaki no Kane". He would perform the song again on the 1964, 1973 and 1979 editions.
Recently, I played an old 33 rpm record of some of Hibari Misora's（美空ひばり）hits which included "Kage wo Shitaite", a very sad enka song written and composed by Masao Koga（古賀政男）that was originally recorded back in 1931 by Chiyoko Sato（佐藤千夜子）.
Now, our resident enka enthusiast Noelle Tham had written a Creator's article based on the works of Koga in which she explained a little bit about the genesis of "Kage wo Shitaite" (Longing for the Shadow). The song was born out of despair which came to a head in the summer of 1928 when Koga was around his mid-20s and was planning to commit suicide due to the feeling of darkness that had been pervading him with the arrival of Modernism to Japan. However, fortunately for him and for all of his future fans, he was able to get out of that self-destructive cycle and put his frustration onto paper and into song instead.
One reason that I decided to do a follow-up of sorts after Noelle's 2017 description was that this was another Misora ballad that I had been hearing for years probably starting when I was a small kid, and I've placed her "Kage wo Shitaite" alongside "Kanashii Sake"（悲しい酒）as her most tear-inducing works. If there is a certain similarity between them, it's probably because Koga had also composed the latter song. The evolution in recording techniques aside between Sato's original in 1931 and the possible recording of Misora's cover in 1969, there is a certain Misora-esque grandeur in her version although that same poignant mandolin intro has remained constant in the many covers by other singers.
When I listened to Sato's original via Noelle's article, my impression was that the song took on a simpler but operatic quality as if it had certainly been meant to be sung in front of others but also in humbler surroundings, among friends and/or fellow barflies. In a movie, I would have seen the formerly jollity in the drinking establishment dissipate temporarily for customers to reflect on their station in life over their drinks.
Ichiro Fujiyama's（藤山一郎）version came out in March 1932 and it was noticeable by how quickly that mandolin opening went before that melancholy tone set in once more. Plus, it sounds like that the instrument contributed a little more before a fuller orchestra entered the picture. Fujiyama's cover came across as the one that would have been performed on a radio program. Of course, Fujiyama and Sato have different voices but that common mournful quality still wafts through the air.
One other reason that I put up "Kage wo Shitaite" is that it has made for an interesting comparison with an American standard by one of the foremost authors of the Great American Songbook, Irving Berlin. Somewhere in my cardboard boxes is Ken Burns' multi-volume DVD discourse on jazz and I remember that the song "What'll I Do?" was given some attention. According to the Wikipedia article for the song, Berlin had created it as a forlorn inquiry following the end of a romantic relationship, although I had remembered it (perhaps wrongly) on the Burns DVD as his despairing message over the death of a loved one.
I'm not sure how jazz purists have felt about Linda Ronstadt's tackling of the standards through her 1983 album"What's New?", but I purchased my copy of the album years ago, and I still love her take on "What'll I Do?".
At this point in time, I'm aware of a few kayo that are meant to be odes to ancient Japanese castles, namely Michiya Mihashi's (三橋美智也) "Kojou" (古城) and Kiyoshi Hikawa's (氷川きよし) "Haku-un no Shiro" (白雲の城). I'm a fan of Michi's biggest hit and I'm in the midst of getting used to Hikawa's iconic single, but I hadn't yet got formally introduced to their spiritual predecessor "Kojo no Tsuki" until now.
"Kojo no Tsuki", which translates to "Moon Over the Ruined Castle", has a forlorn and haunting atmosphere, created by long drawn out strings and, in some versions I've heard, the tinkling notes of the koto (adds a more Japanese flavour). This eerie composition, written by the short-lived Rentaro Taki (滝廉太郎) in 1901, highlights the fact that these fortresses, once grand in their time, are now nothing but moss-covered ruins and remnants of the past. This brings to my mind the phrase "If the walls could talk, what would they be saying?". Perhaps the cobblestone walls must be lamenting over their fate of being forgotten or having been turned into a tourist attraction after being the epitome of power in their prime.
Yoshiko Yamaguchi's version
I digress. Moving on, the inspiration for the two aforementioned hits by the huge enka stars actually started out as a tune for music lessons in school. After Taki passed on, one thing led to another and some changes to his score were made and the lyrics were added by poet Bansui Doi (土井晩翠). Eventually, it did become popularized nationally as well as internationally in the 1920's, although I'm not very sure who was the first to record it. The English Wiki stated that operatic singer Yoshie Fujiwara (藤原義江) recorded it in 1925, but the J-Wiki has no mention of it. That aside, it was covered a number of times by a myriad of artistes, like the venerable Yoshiko Yamaguchi (山口淑子), Ichiro Fujiyama (藤山一郎), and of course, Michi and Hikawa. I'm not able to find Michi's take, but I've put up the others. I don't have a favourite, but I feel that Yamaguchi's soprano gives "Kojo no Tsuki" an extra layer of loneliness and eeriness.
Mr Fujiyama's version
Between "Kojou" and "Haku-un no Shiro", I think the latter resembles "Kojo no Tsuki" more in terms of its music. You can hear it in the video below. The score of "Kojou", on the other hand, sounds like it has slightly more modern touch to it.
Hikawa's "Haku-un no Shiro"
A little tidbit of information here: The castles the words and the music were based on were different. Taki had Oita prefecture's Oka Castle in mind, while Doi pictured the Aoba Castle in Miyagi and Aizuwakamatsu Castle in Fukushima.
Personally, I've not visited many castles in Japan. The only one I've actually gone up to for a look was the Osaka castle about 4 years back. T'was a majestic sight against the night sky and it's nowhere near ruin, but to be frank, I was more interested in this enormous Siberian Husky or Alaskan Malamute (probably the latter) that was stationed inside a photo shop. I really wanted to give it some love but I was advised not to - the elderly shop owner seemed sour over people going into the shop for the dog and not for the photo services. Well, lady, what do you expect when you've got a dog big enough to be ridden into battle? I wonder if Fido is still there.
I was walking back to Shimo Kitazawa Station when I discovered this small old theatre with the feature being the old version of "Aoi Sanmyaku"（青い山脈）. It's kinda nice to see these quaint movie houses in an era of massive cineplexes. Since I'm a casual purveyor of old black & white flicks (namely the films that get onto Turner Movie Classics), I can imagine folks in Tokyo coming out to see the ancient Japanese productions from decades past.
Of course, if I'm gonna talk about "Aoi Sanmyaku" the movie, then I have to show "Aoi Sanmyaku" the song.
After my sushi lunch, I later headed off to the East Shinjuku area with all of its bright lights and big city air. My old movie-and-meal gang had gone there to catch "Blade Runner: 2049" at the Piccadilly. Because of lunch, I couldn't make it for the show but said that I would meet everyone afterwards for dinner.
One of our group is a happy-go-lucky organizer who often recommends the restaurant. And so we went off to a place not too far away down the street from the theatre. It was a fairly new establishment called Restaurant Hayashiya which specialized in serving yoshoku (洋食...Western-style Japanese dishes) in a retro Showa Era atmosphere.
I ended up having the hanbaagu and shoga yaki plate which was quite delish. My arteries probably hardened not too long afterwards. But as they say on TV....WAIT! THERE'S MORE!!
Allow me first, though, to put on the song of the article..."Tokyo Rhapsody"（東京ラプソディ）by Ichiro Fujiyama（藤山一郎）. Quite representative of the Showa Era.
My friend, Shiho, must have all of her senses working overtime searching and discovering these places. For dessert and coffee, she found this Komeda's Coffee which originally started out in Nagoya but has found fame beyond. I wouldn't be surprised if it ended up in Honolulu or even my own Toronto.
The chain's piece de resistance is Shiro Noir which consists of a huge thick plate of pastry topped with ice cream and strawberry sauce. Calories kept on climbing from there.
