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.
Hard to believe that enka singer Hiroshi Itsuki（五木ひろし）will be turning 78 in a couple of months' time. I haven't seen him on the Kohaku in over five years now since he retired from the annual NHK special.
When I first heard his 28th single from September 1977, "Akari ga Hoshii" (I Want to See the Light), I had assumed that this was one very dramatic enka for a person looking to cadge a light for his cigarette. But looking through Masato Fujita's（藤田まさと）lyrics, I quickly realized that the light this particular protagonist is looking for is the light of hope and recovery because it became evident that the fellow is pretty much at the end of his rope after drinking himself into isolation.
Drinking and enka have gone together like hamburgers and cola but "Akari ga Hoshii" is different in that Mr. Booze isn't seen as the good ol' buddy or salve for what ails someone but the thing that brings someone down to his knees. Prolific Minoru Endo（遠藤実）was also the composer of the very bittersweet melody including those silky and flourishing strings. There's no one better to tearfully beckon for salvation than Itsuki and the song didn't do too badly by scoring a No. 14 ranking on Oricon and selling around 200,000 records. It also got him his 7th invitation to the 28th edition of the Kohaku Utagassen at the end of 1977.
With Tanabata happening a couple of days ago, I figure that Japan has entered its annual weeks-long festival season. Lots of traditional dancing, yukata-wearing, food-noshing and minyo-singing to be had all over the nation.
To be honest, I can't remember how I encountered this festive tune. Perhaps it was through one of the music shows popping up on NHK via Jme but it's appropriate for the time. At first glance, I'd assumed that "Dai Tokyo Ondo" (Great Tokyo Song) was something that had been around for a century at least but then I looked up its article on J-Wiki and discovered that it had been created by lyricists Tsuneharu Takita（滝田常晴）and Masato Fujita（藤田まこと）and composer Minoru Endo（遠藤実） back in the relatively recent year of 1979 (in May, to be exact). It so happens that the festive "Dai Tokyo Ondo" was actually created to commemorate the 15th anniversary of what is now the channel TV Tokyo back in that year. There was apparently a contest in which around 3000 entries were accepted for a celebratory song.
Mr. Takita must have been doubly honoured when he found out that veteran enka singer Yukio Hashi（橋幸夫）and relative newcomer Akiko Kanazawa（金沢明子）would record "Dai Tokyo Ondo" as a duet officially as Hashi's 140th single. It also became the title song for a Hashi album that came out in September 1979.
"Dai Tokyo Ondo" may have been created on behalf of a TV station, but it has since also become a regular part of the Tokyo summer festival scene, and it's been covered by a number of other singers over the years. However, the Hashi and Kanazawa duet is supposed to the one that had the most success.
On the eve of what would have been Hibari Misora's（美空ひばり）87th birthday, NHK's "Uta Con"（うたコン）continued the annual tradition of celebrating the life and career of the Queen of Kayo Kyoku through a display of covers by the show's guests and videotape coverage. I knew that with the tribute that Yoshimi Tendo（天童よしみ）, arguably the closest person in style and ability to Misora, was on the program.
It really does say something when basically retired Saburo Kitajima（北島三郎）, who I've always thought as the Grand Old Man of Enka, appeared on the program to relate his thoughts about Misora because he had always seen her as his teacher, perhaps not in singing but in showmanship. NHK then revealed Misora's appearance at the very end of the 1972 edition of the year-end Kohaku Utagassen in its entirety as she sang her 259th single from that same year, "Aru Onna no Uta"(A Song by One Woman), and absolutely wowed the audience and all on stage.
The impression from the J-Wiki write-up on "Aru Onna no Uta" was that her performance on December 31st 1972 not only sealed the deal for the Red (women's) team to win the battle but it garnered the 2nd-highest ratings for a performance in Kohaku history with 80.6%. The footage that was shown was the first time for me to see it (and it was the first time for me to even hear the song) and it had Misora in very flamboyant dress as she sang at how emotionally crushed she was on losing or being betrayed by a lover and there were points where she seemed to be on the cusp of losing it all in front of the audience. At the end, though, she gave off a beaming smile to everyone, letting all know that she was the master entertainer.
Written by Masato Fujita（藤田まさと）and composed by Katsuo Inoue（井上かつお）, "Aru Onna no Uta" is a fascinating number because at its core, it sounds like an enka number but the arrangement, at least in its original recorded version, feels like the then-popular kayo soul with rollicking percussion, bluesy guitar and strings. Perhaps, "Aru Onna no Uta" could be considered as one early version of New Adult Music with its mix of enka and pop that was first coined going into the 1980s. Even Misora's vocals took on a deeper hue and the finish of each chorus had her fairly screaming out the words in pain and frustration.
There was more poignancy in Misora's 1972 Kohaku performance than even the singer had been aware of at the time. The following year, the legend would end up mired in the scandal involving her brother's organized crime dealings which would lead to her non-invitation status for the Kohaku going forward. After a long run of regular appearances on the NHK special, 1972 was her penultimate appearance. In fact, it was seen as her final appearance as a regular performer since her return to the NHK stage in 1979 on that Kohaku Utagassen was as a special guest to perform a medley of her hits, after which she never came back to the Kohaku.
Continuing on the matatabi kayo theme from my Bin Uehara (上原敏)article, here's another number that features a wandering yakuza. By Katsuhiko Haida (灰田勝彦), of all folks. Much to my surprise, he has at least one of these old Japan-themed songs buried so deep in his discography that it comes before his debut under the name we commonly know him by.
For some backstory, let's head back to 1935 for a bit, shall we? We have the terror of Rikkyo University, Toshikatsu Haida in his senior year, and he's been doing some under-the-radar work as a singer at record companies for about a year. One of the companies is Polydor Records, where Masato Fujita (藤田まさと) already made a name for himself with the success of his matatabi-yakuza kayo project. Haida was set to record and release one such matatabi kayo written by Fujita, and in order to not get the student in trouble with the school, the lyricist had him go by the stage name of Toshi Fujita (藤田稔). "Toshi" came from Haida's first name (at the time) "Toshikatsu", and "Fujita" from the lyricist's last name. And with that, "Oiwake Garasu" was released on September 1935. This was as told in a blog article by haguruhaguru, which gives a pretty detailed run-down of Hai-Katsu's history and the crazy shenanigans the ill-tempered Hawaiian got himself into during his early days.
As many a ronin song would at the time, "Oiwake Garasu" was a theme song for a jidaigeki (period film) titled"Jigoku Bayashi" (地獄囃子), which hit theatres on 7th November of the same year. That seems pretty impressive for a singer who hadn't even properly debuted. Its upbeat composition, created by movie theatre musician turned composer Masajiro Kondo (近藤政二郎), feels like a reflection of the carefree nature of our main character and his lifestyle choice. With the jaunty percussions and cheerful accordion melody, I can imagine the happy-go-lucky gambler skipping down a forested dirt path on his way to Edo (*ahem* in search of another gambling den). But his smiles only hide the dilemma fellows like him seem to face: to stay a free drifter or to settle down and become a responsible member of society. Which will he choose? Only he will know.
Hai-Katsu, or perhaps Fuji-Toshi at this point, deftly pulled off a more traditional Japanese singing style for "Oiwake Garasu" with minyo/rokyoku vocal ornamentations. It was uncharacteristic of his smooth and gentle crooning, but much in line with the singing style employed by singers who do matatabi kayo, like the aforementioned Uehara. I am impressed, Hai-Katsu.
It'd been only a month since I started grad school when I had to do my first proper presentation. It was also my longest one yet at about half an hour long. Solo. The pressure was immense despite the class on Japanese music being tiny (five people, including my prof). The fact that the prof is my academic advisor only intensified things (oh, geez). But, having dear Bin-san gently grinning back at me was comforting. I think we made it through okay. Tired, but kinda okay.
For some context, class presentations functioned as mini-lectures on anything related to Japanese or East Asian music. So, of course, I had to do an enka-kayo-ryukoka thing. Specifically, I featured the beginnings of what would later become a staple topic in modern-day enka: matatabi-yakuza kayo, or songs that featured the likes of ronin, yakuza, and other wanderers of the Edo era. It seemed to have been popularized in the early to mid-1930s by the lyricist we're pretty familiar with on KKP, Masato Fujita (藤田まさと), who had penned many a matatabi kayo hit. A couple of singers also became synonymous with this theme of song. Interestingly, both were from Akita prefecture, both wore glasses, and both were known for singing in a more "traditional Japanese"-sounding style. Between the two, I naturally picked Bin Uehara (上原敏). I featured four of his matatabi kayo hits as examples, doing so in a way similar to how I'd write my KKP stuff, oddly enough. As you saw above, I "brought" Bin-san along for the ride as well for moral support and, in a way, to have him there in spirit to witness a random foreigner doing a presentation on him in English 79 years down the road.
Admittedly, part of me wanted to include this song in my project just so that I could show Bin-san live in action.
Anyway, one of my picks was "Oya Koi Dochu" from March 1939. This was Bin-san's final hit before things took a nose dive for Japan and for the poor man himself as another devastating war was to come. Perhaps because of this, little information was recorded on this piece. But we do know that Fujita was in charge of its words and Itsuro Hattori (服部逸郎) its sentimental melody and that it appeared in a musical movie titled "Roppa Uta no Miyako e yuku" (ロッパ歌の都へ行く) from the same year. Starring the titular comedian Roppa Furukawa (古川緑波), the movie included a concert by multiple singers towards its end. It was a clip of this concert where I first got to witness live performances of familiar pre-war music stars in their early days and Bin-san as a non-static portrait. You know the feeling of finally being able to put a face to a voice? It felt sort of like that. The above video is Bin-san's portion of the movie's concert.
The full version.
From what I understand from Fujita's words, "Oya Koi Dochu" tells of a yakuza-ronin feeling the bite of homesickness on his rootless travels. He is miserable enough to contemplate leaving behind his carefree, itinerant lifestyle and eventually does return home, where his mother tearfully awaits him. Bin-san's mournful vocals only emphasise our protagonist's anguish. Considering the time period this song was released, I can imagine that it would've tugged at the heartstrings of many a soldier and the families waiting for their loved ones to come home safely. On a less sentimental note, the narrative of a frowned-upon yakuza-ronin exiting an unsavoury lifestyle and returning to a life of a responsible, upright citizen who takes care of his mother/parents could have some political undertones... but let's keep the sentimental value of the song for KKP and the cut-and-dry speculations for school.
Here is another video that includes the only other live reel of Bin-san I can find online. It mixes the above clip with what seems to be scenes from another movie in which Bin-san cameoed (?) as himself. Honestly, the star-struck moustachioed fellow in that clip is me.
This was from a few months back The shelf is not nearly as spacious anymore
A trip Odate, Akita, is in order. I do want to tell Bin-san that he's not forgotten and not to be remembered as just "Shoji Taro No.2" (東海林太郎の第二号... I am not kidding. It was actually one of his nicknames). And that for a short amount of time in the 21st century, his voice rang through the halls of a university. And that he is resting peacefully wherever he may be. I've decided to visit his plaque on his death anniversary. I read that his fans gather there to pay respects on that day, so I'm curious as to how that'll play out.
On a final note, here's the modern-day Bin-san (or Shoji) doppelganger and his brothers doing their rendition of "Oya Koi Dochu". I feel that the simple arrangement with just Yujiro's (雄次郎) accordion and Ryuzaburo's (龍三郎) bass made Kotaro's (孝太郎) delivery almost as forlorn and lonely as the original.
Look, Bin-san, it's Uehara Bin 2- err- I mean, Ko-san
Looking at the two fellows above, one who didn't make it past 1945 and one who hasn't hit 40 yet, I wonder if I think the former is cute because I think the latter is so, or if I find the latter appealing because I find the former was too. Either way, I ended up having the need to get a bromide of Bin Uehara (上原敏) shortly after I came to adore Kotaro Takashima (高島孝太郎) of Tokyo Tashishu Kayo Gakudan (東京大衆歌謡楽団).
I mean, I'd seen some shots of Bin-san and he did look rather sweet by my standards, albeit of the geeky, accountant-looking sort (well, I mean, I do see Ko-san the same way too), so the bromide is a nice addition to my collection. But, interestingly enough, some of my favourite ryukoka actually do come from him. This is not self-justification of getting a bromide of a singer who far pre-dates Hachi or Haru-san, I promise. Besides, I got some Batayan and Okappal stuff too.
Beginning with "Uramachi Jinsei" (裏町人生), I slowly grew to enjoy Uehara's minyo-hinted ryukoka singing style. Then came "Hatoba Katagi" (波止場気質), and eventually the ronin-based songs he was easily most known for, "Ruten" (流転) and "Tsuma-koi Dochu". I'll be featuring "Tsuma-koi Dochu" here.
I think of the sub-categories of enka/ryukoka that exist, the ronin/wanderer and husband-wife relations themes are definitely my favourites. A number of tunes feature an amalgamation of both, one of them being "Tsuma-koi Dochu". In this 1937 instalment of misery, we join who I think is a samurai who had to leave his beloved wife behind to become a ronin - perhaps he couldn't find employment under any master and had to resort to this dishonourable path cursed with solitude. In Masato Fujita's (藤田まさと) words, he begets his wife to not hold it against him and tries to put on a strong front, but he himself is aching badly on the inside.
Bin-san's gentle vocals shine as he takes each vowel for a rollercoaster ride with Takeo Abe's (阿部武雄) shamisen-filled composition. Overall, it sounds on the moderately upbeat side, which, I guess can be seen as the fellow's strong front. But Uehara's forlorn delivery does seem to convey his lamentations over his fate. Y'know, considering the time the song had been released, I wonder if this could be used in the context of a soldier having to be shipped off to war, being separated from his wife at the orders of the nation.
"Tsumakoi Dochu" is at the 16:05 mark
As with the past songs I had recently written about, it was through Tokyo Taishu Kayo Gakudan that I actually got a full listen of this wandering yakuza tune. Because Bin-san's matatabi enka tend to be of a slower tempo that showcases much of his kobushi skills, it did take me a bit longer to really get into it. It simply took hours upon hours of Ko-san & Brothers, being tickled by "Aho" (I'm monke brain, alright?), and realising how perfect it is to sing it on long cycles through the countryside and across cities. But, I have to say that hearing how each singer handles the words has to be my next greatest enjoyment of "Tsuma-koi Dochu".
The song is at the 4:15 mark
As I mentioned, "Tsuma-koi Dochu" is one of Bin-san's many musical legacies, so much so that even enka greats like Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎) and Haruo Minami (三波春夫) have done their own renditions. Hachi's version retains the original flavour save for his more kayokyoku-esque vocals, not unlike the Gakudan's take. Hachi's cover makes its first appearance in his ronin-themed enka cover album "Kasuga Hachiro Ninkyo wo Utau" (春日八郎仁侠を歌う) from 1970.
Haru-san's one in the video here, on the other hand, is a whole different ball game. Haru-san is no stranger to such tunes and his chirpy vocals are a joy to hear, fluttering over the words. Together with the faster pace and modern arrangements with an electric guitar instead of shamisen, this does give "Tsuma-koi Dochu" a peppy, cheery slant. I believe Minami's version first appeared in 1974 in "Minami Haruo 'Hana no Matatabi Nikki'" (三波春夫“ 花の股旅日記").
Personally, I lean towards Bin-san's original and the Gakudan's modern-yet-old-sounding take.
P.S. Usually, around this time, I would've decided on a song for the year. Oddly enough, this is it. Really came out of the left field. I was expecting a Hachi or Haru-san (original) song or something. Well, welcome to the club Bin-san! (?)
As I've mentioned in the past, enka and Mood Kayo can have a number of lyrical themes including the trial and tribulations of work, crying one's sorrows in drink or having that romantic whirlwind (illicit or not).
One other common raison d'etre for an enka ballad or an old kayo regards the pining for a loved one lost due to various circumstances including war. I used to hear one on my parents' stereo in which there was one song that had the very memorable scream of "MOTHER!!!" in Japanese in the middle, perhaps being yelled out by a soldier who was about to lose his life on the battlefield.
Recently on an "Uta Con"（うたコン）episode late last year, there was a rendition of such a song that has probably cleared many tear ducts since it was first introduced. Titled "Ganpeki no Haha" (Mother at the Wharf), it was first released as a single by Akiko Kikuchi（菊池章子）in September 1954, and it was modeled upon a woman named Ise Tanno（端野いせ）* who had visited a wharf frequently (although I'm not sure whether it was every day) in the hopes that her son would return from a Soviet prisoner-of-war camp. You can read the full story at the link here.
Written by Masato Fujita（藤田まさと）and composed by Namiryuu Hirakawa（平川浪竜）**, the sad lyrics are overlaid with an elegant, even slightly buoyant, melody which has often gone hand-in-hand with what a kayo was all about. If I hadn't understood the lyrics, I probably wouldn't have recognized "Ganpeki no Haha" as a cry-worthy tune of loss and forlorn hope. The song did hit a nerve among the Japanese since it sold over a million records.
Many years later in 1971, kayo singer Yuriko Futaba（二葉百合子）provided her version of "Ganpeki no Haha" through an album of covers titled "Futaba Yuriko no Namida no Kayo Gekijo"（二葉百合子の涙の歌謡劇場...Yuriko Futaba's Tearful Song Theatre）, and then a single with "Ganpeki no Haha" was released in February 1972. I don't know how the recorded version sounds like but if it's anything like how Futaba performed it before the TV audiences, then this cover gained a certain grandeur, almost like a Hideo Murata（村田英雄）song. Apparently, according to the J-Wiki article on the song, this version incorporated a rokyoku rhythm.
Through the combined sales of LP records, audiotape and singles, Futaba's "Ganpeki no Haha" did even better than the original by selling more than 2.5 million copies. The song also went as high as No. 3 on the Oricon weeklies and became the 5th-biggest single of 1976. A number of other enka singers since then have covered it including Aya Shimazu（島津亜矢）and Sayuri Ishikawa（石川さゆり）.
*The article regarding the mother includes two different readings of the kanji for her last name: Tanno and Hashino. Not sure if this was by design or the writer simply made a mistake here.
**Not 100% sure on the reading of the first name although according to "Music Brainz", it's being read that way.
Just to summarize our state of affairs under the current COVID-19 crisis in Toronto, schools, tourist attractions and sports teams are out of commission for all of March, at least. Plus, I'm sure that the panic buying will continue for the remainder of the weekend at least, but I'm hoping that even those folks will be largely sated for a little while on Monday. As with many other places, toilet paper and sanitizer have been going like hotcakes. So far, my family and I are fine, and we're hoping that it stays that way.
To move onto more positive things, I somehow encountered this comical little enka called "Matsu no Ki Kouta"(Traditional Ballad of the Pine Trees) which, from reading the lyrics by Masato Fujita（藤田まさと）and Koji Yume（夢虹二）, seems to have plenty of puns in there but the gist of the song looks like it's a playful if cynical statement on love. As for the melody, it's unclear who composed that.
"Matsu no Ki Kouta" is performed by Tokyo-born singer Yukiko Ninomiya（二宮ゆき子）who had been singing children's songs since she herself was a child, according to her J-Wiki file. She debuted in 1964 with "Watashi wa Nakanai"（私は泣かない...I Won't Cry）, and in the same year, she recorded "Matsu no Ki Kouta" and it most likely became her biggest hit since the record ended up selling 1.5 million copies.
Apparently, Ninomiya had a number of hits afterwards as well, but she retired from the industry in 1972 and has been running a small bar of her own in Yotsuya, Tokyo since 1996.
The record cover among the pile of old 45"s that has remained in my memory the longest is in the picture above. At the time that I had first seen it, I had no idea what it was about and why the old guy in the photo needed to expose his right shoulder like that. I couldn't read the kanji at the time but seeing some of the old videos at the Wednesday night VCR showings at the former site of the Toronto Buddhist Church on Bathurst had me thinking that this guy was some samurai warrior without the chonmage.
Well, as I would later find out much later, that rather dramatic-looking fellow was singer-actor Koji Tsuruta（鶴田浩二）. Noelle has already started the Tsuruta file with his 1953 song "Machi no Sandwich Man"（街のサンドイッチマン）, the ballad about the working man in postwar Japan. As my fellow writer would put it, the song had that certain jauntiness that was reminiscent of a score on an old-fashioned Walt Disney picture.
Tsuruta's biggest hit would come some 17 or 18 years later with his 16th single"Kizu Darake no Jinsei" (A Life Filled With Scars) which was composed by Tadashi Yoshida（吉田正）, the same man who had created the melody for "Machi no Sandwich Man", and written by Masato Fujita（藤田まさと）. Supposedly when Fujita had first come up with some of the lyrics, he had Tsuruta in mind.
On that above point, I have to say that I barely know anything about the life and career of Tsuruta (1924-1987), but the lyricist must have seen in the late singer a time of struggle and hard work in his life. According to the Wikipedia bio for the Shizuoka-born/Osaka-raised singer, his parents had divorced and he ended up as an underachieving delinquent before getting drafted into the Imperial Army. When he entered show business, he gained a reputation as one of the hardest-working thespians around.
I'm not sure whether Tsuruta's life had been as tough but "Kizu Darake no Jinsei" certainly has its protagonist crying some major blues. Perhaps the hero was a world-weary warrior in the Edo Era or the Showa Era but Fujita's lyrics made it rather clear that he was pretty much at the end of his rope and wanted to relay his story to someone who would listen...maybe at some bar or at lonely stand serving oden. There were a couple of lines which particularly intrigued me:
It's said that the old guys in particular want to have the new things. Well, where are these new things?
I wonder if Fujita had been bearing in mind a certain group of people at a major change in Japanese history. Would it have been the tumult that accompanied the opening of Japan when Commodore Perry and his ships sailed in or was it when the nation went through its high-growth period after the war. Perhaps there were people who had felt left behind with the change in society. And especially considering the title, did the protagonist wonder if all of his efforts were for naught?
Although I'm not sure whether Tsuruta had done this with every performance on stage and/or in front of the camera, but according to J-Wiki, it was his habit whenever he sang to have a handkerchief in his right hand when holding the mike while his left hand would go to his ear. Apparently, his right hand got very sweaty during performances and his left ear had been injured while serving in the army so he needed that left hand in helping to hear the music.
"Kizu Darake no Jinsei" was not a happy ballad at all but it struck a huge chord with fans since it was his first song to break into the Top 10 when it was released on Christmas Day (of all days) 1970. In fact, it hit No. 2 on the Oricon weeklies and was the No. 4 song of 1971 as it stayed in the Top 10 for 3 months straight, selling close to a million records. Tsuruta also earned a Japan Record Award. And furthermore, two movies were made based on the song, both with the same title.
You would think that such a hit would have gotten Tsuruta a place on NHK's Kohaku Utagassen in 1971. However, all the national broadcaster got at the time was enmity from Tsuruta. For some reason, someone at NHK decided to make up a list of "Songs Not Preferred for Public Broadcast" and "Kizu Darake no Jinsei" was included. The singer was said to have become furious when he heard about this and boycotted any future appearances on the network for about 6 years. When Tsuruta and NHK finally buried the hatchet though, the former did perform the song on the various music programs.
Hiroshi Itsuki（五木ひろし）would perform a cover of the ballad on one of his albums in 1988.
And Keiko Fuji（藤圭子）also gave her version.
Even the crusty Dad from venerable anime "Tensai Bakabon" (天才バカボン...Genius Bakabon) addressed those two lines that I'd mentioned before launching into his cover of the song on a "Nodo Jiman"-like program. And he won a prize, too!
Even before the Japanese started getting that reputation of traveling in group tours while armed with cameras back in the 1970s and 1980s, they did and still love to travel even within the country, it seems, at least according to the enka genre. There is a large legacy of regional enka paying tribute to a certain city, prefecture, river or other geographical feature but ballads of traveling for the pure heck of it have also abounded, often with history in mind involving nomads during the feudal era of Japan.
One hit song with that them in mind was released in 1935 titled "Tabigasa Dochu" (Traveling Hat Journey) as originally sung by Taro Shoji（東海林太郎）. I read Noelle's write up of his "Meigetsu Akagiyama"（名月赤城山）and the description of the late singer which was confirmed when I actually saw ancient footage of him on a TV show singing "Tabigasa Dochu" on tonight's "Uta Con"（うたコン）. With those round glasses and tailcoat that Noelle described, along with that very earnest delivery, Shoji reminded me of a dusty university professor who had literally spent years in a classroom but was going to make the most of his 15 minutes on the stage.
Regrettably, I couldn't find any footage of Shoji singing "Tabigasa Dochu" but here are a couple of far more contemporary enka singers to fill in. One is Mika Shinno（神野美伽）who hails from Osaka and debuted back in 1984. I've seen her often on "Uta Con" and its predecessor program "Kayo Concert"（歌謡コンサート）so I was surprised that she hadn't been covered by either Noelle or me. She has also appeared on the Kohaku Utagassen twice in her career, in 1987 and 2003.
Going back to the song itself, "Tabigasa Dochu" was written by Masato Fujita（藤田まさと）and composed by Nosho Ohmura（大村能章）, and it's a jaunty song of vagabonds who go where the wind takes them while they live on the fringes of society. They don't mind the journey but they also hope someday to settle down. However, Ohmura's melody as arranged for Shinno's performance above seems to carve out a certain pride in this trek of itinerants which alternates between a romantic sweep during the sung portions while the intro, bridge and outro contain a certain manly staccato which may represent the proud don't-hold-me-back steps of the travelers.
(shortened version)
The other singer is the Prince of Enka himself, Kiyoshi Hikawa（氷川きよし）. I found the arrangement for his take on "Tabigasa Dochu" as being a lot softer and more wistful although Hikawa puts in a good amount of brio for his performance.
Well, whaddaya know? I did find a video with Shoji's original take via this old 78 rpm. In contrast to those earnest performances by him on stage, his recorded version of "Tabigasa Dochu" sounds quite serene. Plus, I can make out an interesting plucky guitar in the background there...or is it a Japanese instrument?
Finally, you can take a look at this empty karaoke version of the song since the movie here can give some illustration to the lyrics.
In my article regarding Ikuzo Yoshi's (吉幾三) "Kadode" (門出), I mentioned that I had discovered that song via a video of part of Kouhei Fukuda's (福田こうへい) concert. Another song that had been introduced to me through this concert was Hiroshi Itsuki's (五木ひろし) "Tabigarasu" (Travelling crow). However, this time I was fully aware that Fukuda was doing a cover, but as I listened to the original afterwards, I must say that there is a stark difference in their delivery that gives the same song contrasting qualities - Fukuda's power-packed vocals gives the song a manly edge, while Itsuki's gentler voice makes it a little more refined.
So far, I think "Tabigarasu" is one of the grander-sounding and dramatic songs about the wandering ronin especially in the newer, live version thanks to the trumpets blaring away in a deeper tone that come after the husky shakuhachi. This was brought to you by the great Minoru Endo (遠藤実) - he's one composer whose style I have yet to recognize. Masato Fujita (藤田まさと) was responsible for the lyrics, and it involves our masterless samurai hitting the road and going where the wind takes him, like, well, a travelling crow.
"Tabigarasu" was one of Itsuki's earlier works being released on 5th November 1972, and it did well on the Oricon charts peaking at 19th place. It was also used at the theme song to a period drama called "Hasegawashin Series" (長谷川伸シリーズ). As for Fukuda's rendition, it can be found in his cover album, "Kirameki" (煌), just like "Kadode".
To wrap up this post, here's the March-Itsuki-calendar picture. According to it, Itsuki's birthday was on the 14th... Happy belated Itsuki! He's now 68. I like the colours of this one and all, but I feel that he should've worn a plain shirt instead of one with stripes.
For the longest time I had wondered who this guy was. Occasionally I'd see him on really old song medleys or a still of him on a video thumbnail, and I must say he was a rather peculiar spectacle with a contorted expression on his face, his electric guitar that never left him and that was way up to his chest. Then I did an article of Takeo Fujishima's (藤島桓夫) "Otsuki-San Konbanwa" (お月さん今晩は) not too long ago that had me digging around for a full version of that song, only then did I find out who Yoshio Tabata (田端義夫) was after encountering his rendition of the haunting, forlorn hit.
The clip above to "Otone Tsukiyo" - I've also seen the title to this song attached to his name countless times - was the first suggestion I saw as I got a taste of and began to appreciate Tabata's delicate vocals during "Otsuki-San Konbanwa", so I thought I'd finally give it a go since the guy doesn't sound half bad.
Looking at the title and the fact that Batayan sung with his eyes barely open, I had thought that "Otone Tsukiyo" was one of those slow, melancholic songs that may either bore or lull me to sleep. Little did I know that it is in fact a jaunty and pretty grand (probably due to the newer, beefed up score) sounding tune about the wandering warriors... Hearing the MC say "San do gasa" (三度笠) which are the straw hats, and this line said by Haruo Minami (三波春夫) as well in his enka-rokyoku hit "Otone Mujou" (大利根無情) during the first monologue, "Ima jya yakuza no yumojinbo" gave me an idea on what "Otone Tsukiyo" is about. I realise a lot of songs with "Otone" in it usually revolve around this particular topic.
"Otone Tsukiyo" was written by Masato Fujita (藤田まさと) and composed by Yoshiji Nagatsu (長津義司), and again because of its newer arrangement, I never thought that this song was Batayan's 2nd single released in 1939! Well, so much for telling Mom that I would stop at the 50's. There have been quite a number of covers for this song, like this powerful one by Madame Hibari Misora (美空ひばり).
"Otone Tsukiyo" is at the 3:20 mark
Just some background info on Tabata: He was born in Mie prefecture in 1919 and was really poor, which was probably why he had trachoma as a boy, making him blind (or lose most of his sight, not entirely sure) in his right eye. When he was 13, he got inspired by the guitar-playing Dick Mine and decided from then on to become like him - a singer and guitarist. Batayan eventually made his debut in 1938 at the age of 19 with "Shima no Funa Uta" (島の船唄). Surprisingly, he had only passed away a couple of years ago in 2013 at the age of 94! Hardly ever see singers like him live to such an old age... they're usually gone by their 70s or 80s.
