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 Noboru Kirishima. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Noboru Kirishima. Show all posts
Autumn is finally upon us - if you’re living in the northern hemisphere, that is. Otherwise, happy spring to y’all in the south. Autumn is best season in my opinion. The temperatures are now at habitable levels and a little chilly, and the foliage is starting to turn into vibrant shades of red, orange and gold. There’s also Halloween and the cute and zany ghouly and pumpkiny decor that come with it. Overall, it’s a cozy time.
Going in line with the season, I’ve decided showcase my collection of songs that reflect autumn. To preface, I don't think most of them are directly be about autumn. Rather, some have imagery synonymous with it, and others simply conjure up the cozy feeling I associate with the season. As such, I have labelled the songs accordingly: Spider lilies (manjushage), the moon (o-tsukimi (moon viewing)), autumn foliage (maple leaves, falling leaves), Halloween, jazz-inspired tunes. If you're wondering about the last category, it's just that certain types of of jazz convey autumn in my head. I don't know why, but they just do.
Anyway, similar to the summer playlist I did in 2024, I won't provide info on the songs and will only list them with short, sometimes unhinged comments, if at all. It's a brain-off piece that'll hopefully get you in the autumn spirit. With that, here's my list of autumn songs.
Spider lilies: Koi no Manjushage (恋の曼珠沙華) -- Akiko Futaba (二葉あき子)
I know autumn is finally on its way when I see stalks of these popping up in the most random of places. I've read that red spider lilies have some sad tales and macabre meanings attached to them, which sort of makes its striking appearance rather intimidating. Still, there is a sort of forlorn beauty to them, which Futaba's wistful number encapsulates.
The moon: Tsukiyo no Sanpo (月夜の散歩) -- Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴)
If there's one event that marks the start of autumn in Japan, at least, it's o-tsukimi (moon viewing) during mid-autumn on the lunar calendar (around mid-September). While it's meant as a festival to appreciate the moon at its roundest and show appreciation for a bountiful harvest, I only see this as the time of limited edition egg and dango foods at all F&B joints. That aside, if this tune sounds familiar to you, that's probably because this is Nakano's rendition of Side by Side.
Strolling down the avenue, moon shining up above, holding Mr. Nakano's arm... *Ahem* Great song.
Leaves: Tasogare no Hakage ni (たそがれの葉陰に)-- Katsuhiko Haida (灰田勝彦)
Not necessarily relating to autumn foliage, but the warm atmosphere in Haida's bossa nova tune about a rendezvous under the soft shadows of the trees at twilight somehow feels perfect for autumn at golden hour.
Hai-Katsu waiting under a gold ginkgo at golden hour, waiting to hit the town together... *Ahem* Nice song.
Maple leaves: Momiji Oiwake (もみじ追分) -- Duke Aces
Perhaps the image most synonymous with autumn is the maple leaf, and it just so happens that Duke Aces has a song related to it. It's based on Tochigi - I'm not familiar with the prefecture, but I'm guessing it's one known for its maple trees (momiji) and, by extension, its autumn scenery.
If you were to ask me for a kayo I'd equate to autumn, my first answer would be Ochiba Shigure at least 80% of the time. It's simply because of the image of falling leaves I get just from its title, literally meaning "Fallen leaf showers" (showers as in rain).
Halloween: Yurei wa Odoru (幽霊は踊る) -- Columbia Rhythm Boys
I feel like you can't talk about autumn without Halloween, so here's a spoopy little ditty from the Columbia Rhythm Boys.
Jazz-inspired tune: Mune no Furiko (胸の振子) -- Noboru Kirishima (霧島昇)
Now we've entered the part of the list where the songs have no autumn imagery, but just feel autumn. Mune no Furiko is hands-down my favourite song by Kiri-san. It's so sweet and warm, and listening to it feels as though you're being wrapped in a fuzzy blanket.
Rounding things off with Hachi. The song in question is the last in the compilation and comes in at the 24:28 mark. If you're like me and you think you're about to hear enka because you saw the title, you'd be wrong. This is a snazzy jazzy number, and it has me imagining a Hachi skipping down an avenue lined with red maples on a clear autumn day without a care in the world.
Hana mo arashi mo fumi koete (Pushing through, in good times and bad)
I have this core memory of watching this one ryukoka medley back when I was just starting to wrap my head around what the genre was. If I got 100 yen for the amount of times I re-watched that, I would probably be able to buy a Mr. Nakanoshikishi (autograph) priced at 55,000 yen. Because of that constant repetition, I still vividly remember what the four songs in the medley were almost a decade down the road. There was a jolly Minoru Obata (小畑実) singing "Kantaro Tsukiyo Uta" (勘太郎月夜唄) in his soft lilt, an elderly Dick Mine in a tux with a pair of shades belting out "Tabi Sugata Sannin Otoko" (旅姿三人男) in dramatic fashion, and the ever exuberant Batayan and his trusty guitar with "Otone Tsukiyo" (大利根月夜). These were instant favourites and would continue to be in the years to come. However, there was one song that was markedly different in style to the rest of these heroic-sounding matatabi mono. The man singing it also gave completely different vibes to the aforementioned gentlemen. He was awkward, standing ram-rod straight, and his slight frown behind those glasses gave him a look of mild annoyance; it's as though someone got that last tuna mayo onigiri before he could. This awkward gentleman was Noboru Kirishima (霧島昇) and the song he sang was "Tabi no Yokaze" (A Journey's Night Breeze).
This performance here is probably the exact one I saw from that medley, if not very similar. Because of that impression I had of him, I just saw him a stiff and grey natsumelo singers. I didn't take to "Tabi no Yokaze" either, it being in a minor key and having a comparatively sadder sound despite its jaunty rhythm. Just as aside, I actually prefer songs in the major key, like the earlier mentioned matatabi mono, which are generally more uplifting in sound. Stuff in the minor key like "Tabi no Yokaze" and many enka songs, on the other hand, usually take me some time to get used to. Having said that, the reason why I went from cold to lukewarm to it was because of the constant replays of that medley.
Years later, I would re-encounter "Tabi no Yokaze" and its recognizable accordion-filled intro via the Asakusa Bois, Tokyo Taishu Kayo Gakudan (東京大衆歌謡楽団). I quickly learned from their concert videos and live performances that this tune was not only a staple in their repertoire, but often sung as an introduction. Considering the song's theme of travel, it's rather characteristic of the band that often seemingly appears at random places out of thin air. Just like the medley from my teens, hearing "Tabi no Yokaze" from the Takashima brothers eventually made it go from lukewarm to a comfortable warm. Through that process, I'd find it on loop in my head and I'd be humming bits of it ever so often, especially that oh-so-familiar first line.
The Asakusa Bois were also the reason why Kiri-san became another early Showa kayo figure I warmed up to, alongside his wife Misao Matsubara (松原操), also known as Ms. Columbia.
The original
On the note of Matsubara, "Tabi no Yokaze" wasn't just a Kirishima song, it was originally a duet Kirishima recorded with her. It was created as such in 1938 by Yaso Saijo (西條八十) and Tadashi Manjome (万城目正) and served as the theme song for the romantic somewhat-tragedy "Aizen Katsura" (愛染かつら), which was based on Matsutaro Kawaguchi's (川口松太郎) serialized novella of the same name. It featured movie stars Ken Uehara (上原謙) and Kinuyo Tanaka (田中絹代). Basically, nurse-turned-musician Katsue (played by Tanaka) first encounters young doctor and heir to the hospital she worked in Kozo at a company organized party. Kozo, smitten by Katsue, introduces her to the Aizen Katsura (Katsura tree of love) at a temple; lovers who touch the tree together will find eternal happiness together, even if not immediately. The two touch the tree, professing their love for each other. Unfortunately, that's where the problems began and a whole wave of misunderstandings and will-they-won't-theys ensue, with Kozo having to battle family tradition and Katsue balancing her duties as a single mother and a nurse. Saijo's lyrics illustrate the feelings and struggles of both characters via Kiri-san and Ms. Columbia. And I believe that the "Tabi" (journey) part of "Tabi no Yokaze" comes from how our star-crossed lovers constantly travelled to different places yet always happened to barely miss meeting each other.
As the film was a massive sensation, "Tabi no Yokaze," arranged in multiple ways and played throughout the movie, became a smash hit, propelling Kirishima and Matsubara to musical stardom. Since the movie did so well, it spawned two sequels titled "Zoku Aizen Katsura" (続愛染かつら) in 1939 and "Aizen Katsura Kanketsu hen" (愛染かつら完結編) in 1940. Naturally, Kirishima and Matsubara were behind the theme songs as well, "Aizen Yakyoku" (愛染夜曲) and "Aizen Soushi" (愛染草紙) respectively. Both the sequels and their theme songs were just as popular as fans pursued the Katsue-Kozo saga. Since it's been more than 80 years, I think spoilers are acceptable: They FINALLY tied the knot at the Aizen Katsura by the end of the last movie. After two long years, the Katsue-Kozo union everyone wanted came to fruition. But even greater news to the fans was when Kirishima and Matsubara tied the knot as well on 17th December that year.
I actually watched "Aizen Katsura" for myself just last night and, for a movie from that era, I actually thought it was pretty good! But honestly, if the books I'd read didn't spoil me, I would've gone insane because the sequels aren't available (from my knowledge) and the first one ended on a cliffhanger. If you'd like to watch it for yourself, you can do so here. There's English subtitles if you hit the captions button.
The interview starts at the 1:50 mark.
95 points, huh, Mrs. Kirishima? That's very generous.
On the note of our ryukoka power couple, the Kirishimas were interviewed and asked about how they became an item. It was really cute to see the both of them stare blankly at each other and go, "Who made the first move, again?" However, Kiri-san mentioned that they just naturally drifted closer to each other since they were made to work together almost everyday since "Aizen Katsura." However, Columbia Records vehemently objected to the union. Just like the situation with Katsue and Kozo. I can see why, though. From the company's standpoint, it would be a huge loss if one of their most popular stars retires and become a housewife upon marriage (it was that sort of time... Still kinda is). Nevertheless, the couple still went ahead with it.
Here is where I would like to introduce a more potential spicy drama on the Kirishima-Matsubara situation from Kiyomaro Kikuchi's"Showa Enka no Rekishi": When "Aizen Yakyoku" was due to be recorded in 1939, Kirishima was in northern China participating in record company-organized morale boosting concert trips (imon katsudo) for the soldiers stationed in those areas. As a result, Columbia's other, more senior star Akira Matsudaira (松平晃), was set as a replacement and slated to record the duet with Ms. Columbia. Kikuchi further stated that "Aizen Yakyoku" would have been pivotal for both Matsudaira and Kirishima in respectively maintaining or solidifying his popularity. So, catching wind of his replacement, Kirishima made up his mind: He was going back to Japan come hell or high water. Cancelling the performance in Qingdao, he rushed back on a military plane at the speed of light and made it just in time for the recording, ensuring Matsudaira wouldn't steal his thunder. We can look at it from this perspective, but from the way I understood Kikuchi's writing, it seemed like it was more than just competition over popularity... It sounded like a jealous Kirishima who refused to let Matsudaira take his place beside Matsubara. Food for thought.
Fan conspiracy theories aside, after Kirishima and Matsubara wed, the latter did retire from show business, and together they had four kids. Kirishima would continue to perform many of their duets either on his own or with other singers on music programs. The couple remained together for the rest of their lives, and when Kiri-san passed away in April of 1984, Matsubara followed just shy of two months from him. Oddly enough, she also left just a few days before Kiri-san's 70th birthday ;-;. Considering the circumstances that led to their union and how not even death could keep them apart, Kiri-san and Matsubara's story could easily rival Katsue and Kozo's! Someone should make a drama out of it. I would 100% watch it. Chips and soda ready - I'll watch it. NHK, please. I'll subscribe to your service.
If the one who took that last tuna mayo onigiri was Ms. Columbia, I'm sure that Kiri-san frown would be turned upside down.
Mateba kuru kuru Aizen Katsura (Just hang on, spring will come)
Yagate me wo fuku haru ga kuru (And the Aizen Katsura will finally blossom)
The above is a video provided by the YouTube channel JAPAN TRAVEL & WALK for nature, landscape, flower and it shows Mt. Akagi in Gunma Prefecture. As with many mountains in Japan, it's a revered object for worship under the Shinto religion and a World War II Japanese battlecruiser was named for it. Plus, if memory serves, I think that a number of kayo kyoku have referred to the mountain in past decades.
Such is the case for Noboru Kirishima's（霧島昇）"Akagi Blues" which was recorded in 1940. Written by Shoji Kubota（久保田宵二）and composed by Yashio (or Yasuo?) Okuno（奥野椰夫）, it's a melancholy if determined kayo regarding a soldier waiting for the day that he can return to his home at the foot of Mt. Akagi. The rhythm makes me wonder if the soldier were dreaming of home while he was marching on some plain somewhere.
Maybe it's something to ask Noelle Tham about but considering the recent revelation to me that enka, officially recognized as a genre no earlier than the early 1970s, retrofitted a lot of different types of kayo kyoku to come under its umbrella between 1955 and 1970, I wonder whether that retrofitting applied to music before 1955 including the wartime songs. "Akagi Blues" seems to have that familiar enka feeling but maybe officially, it is considered a bokyo kayo（望郷歌謡）or a yearning-for-home song.
By now, those close to me are keenly aware of the term "Asakusa Bois" and are all too familiar with the subsequent raving reactions from me that follow this term. For the general audience, "Asakusa Bois" is my abridged and colloquial nickname for the ryukoka band Tokyo Taishu Kayo Gakudan (東京大衆歌謡楽団). Most of my good friends at school have had the opportunity to see the early-Showa-era-inspired band in action on the occasion when I invite them for a free showing in the Tokyo area. One such occasion was two Sundays ago. A friend (let's call him Lad A), had been wanting to see the Asakusa Bois he's heard so much of from yours truly, so, together with another fellow (Lad B), we planned to meet at Kameido to see them, with me arriving first at 1pm for the first showing and them for the second.
A rainy forecast put a snag in the plans when the Gakudan decided to hold their performance indoors at the Kameido Umeyashiki, turning a free-to-watch-for-all into a free-to-watch-for-the-few-who-got-their-hands-on-the-waiting-tickets. The lads and I did not have the tickets, not even for the third and last surprise performance. Mentally defeated after hours of waiting and a lacklustre week, I was ready to throw in the towel. Lad B (much credit to him) was not having it, insisting we ask if we could slide into the venue despite having no tickets... it was that or pretend we were a bunch of impertinent grandchildren looking for their grandmother. Perhaps it was because it was already 5pm, dark and rainy and we were the last poor souls in line, we were allowed entry with no fuss along with a few other ticketless oldies.
And so, we three hapless folks somehow managed to see the Asakusa Bois, with Lad A impressed and Lad B with temporary hearing issues. We three hapless folks from different lands somehow ended up on foreign grounds with varying goals and personal hardships. Not wholly unlike our three disparate characters in "Namida no Sannin Tabi", if I do say so myself.
"Namida no Sannin Tabi" was the first instance of a trio in old Japanese music I've come across, I think. Originally sung by geisha Otomaru (音丸), the stage-fright-struck Noboru Kirishima (霧島昇), and the crooner Akiko Futaba (二葉あき子) in 1937, I was introduced to this tune by none other than the Asakusa Bois with their penchant for showcasing hidden gems of the early Showa era. As with many of the numbers they introduce, what drew me to "Namida no Sannin Tabi" was its rather intense bouncy beat amplified by Ryuzaburo's (龍三郎) bass, bearing similarity to determined footsteps filled with purpose. Keishiro's (圭四郎) plucky banjo was reminiscent of the shamisen. Then Kotaro's (孝太郎) resounding vocals becoming the voice of each character really caught my attention, spurring me to explore further and discover the original.
The original take
Yoshi Eguchi (江口夜詩) turned out to be the one behind this forlorn melody. Complementing this is Yaso Saijo's (西条八十) narrative which tells of an encounter between three travellers at the docks one moonlit night waiting for a boat. Realising they're headed towards the same destination, they proceed with self-introductions. Getting the ball rolling is a shamisen-playing singer aptly played by Otomaru, who roams the lands showcasing her craft and trying to forget a past love. Hearing this, Kirishima in the form of a homesick travelling actor speaks up, telling how his pursuit of the roving yakuza lifestyle led him to abandon his family. The last of the boat's passengers is an orphan on an arduous journey with the hope of finding her family, whom Futaba took the role of. In typical later-day enka style, the three find kinship through their shared anguish.
I don't believe the lads and I are in such depressing circumstances and rather than shared anguish, we have shared monke brain. That said, we are, indeed, three characters who converged at this point in our respective journeys. And even though I usually do enka-related stuff on my own, I appreciated watching the band with them.
To explain what this is, it's part of the repertoire list where I record the Gakudan's selection for the performances I catch. I was trying to recall a song from the encore when Lad B decided to help... I mean, he's not wrong. I did say I felt like I was going to have a heart attack when I saw the band members up close after many months.
P.S. Recently, the Asakusa Bois has grown to include three more members in their early and mid-20s. I believe their names are Tomoya, Naruki, and Kanta, but they also go by the stage names Tomigoro, Sairoku, and Shichibei respectively. Very apt to be called "five", "six" and "seven", when the original literally go by "one", "two", "three" and "four". They're nice additions to the Gakudan, with Tomigoro and Sairoku on guitar and Shichibei with the tamborine. Even better, they usually make their entrance with a buyo (traditional Japanese dance) number accompanying the main four.
P.S.S. I just went to see the Asakusa Bois for their Tori no Ichi festival performance near the Otori Shrine and they actually did "Namida no Sannin Tabi"! It's one of my favourites from them but it's relatively uncommon to hear it at their shows, so I was really glad to hear it this time - with the rarer "China Tango", even! At that moment, the pressure of final assignments dissipated.
Last Tuesday on "Uta Kon"（うたコン）, there was a tribute to the late kayo composer Masao Koga（古賀政男）through one of his classic creations, "Niizuma Kagami"(The Bride's Mirror) which was the theme song for a melodramatic motion picture of the same name released in 1940.
Initially from the title, I had assumed that the song would relate the sufferings of a newly-married woman due to the long absences of her husband and an imperious mother-in-law. However, looking at the lyrics by Sonosuke Sato（佐藤惣之助）, they themselves tell of the strong love between husband and wife, although the movie itself as seen above in the karaoke video has the main character indeed suffering when she is blinded by what seems to be a stray bullet.
"Niizuma Kagami" was a duet originally performed by Akiko Futaba（二葉あき子）and Noboru Kirishima（霧島昇）. According to her Wikipedia profile, the Hiroshima-born Futaba was once one of the most popular female singers in Japan and participated in the first 10 years of the Kohaku Utagassen making the transition from radio into television. Along with the duet performed on last Tuesday's show, I've also enjoyed this original version as an enka/kayo waltz which has that mix of melancholy and devotion.
Futaba debuted in 1936 and retired in 2003 at the age of around 88. She passed away in 2011 when she was 96.
Chiyoko Shimakura（島倉千代子）performed a cover version of "Niizuma Kagami" at the 1965 Kohaku Utagassen, although I'm not sure whether her recorded take came out in the same year. From listening to it a couple of times, her "Niizuma Kagami" seems to have that more traditional enka flair. I could imagine cherry blossom petals frittering away in the wind, for example. Interestingly enough, Futaba herself never performed the song herself on the NHK New Year's Eve special in her decade's worth of appearances.
Y'know...I look at that performance of the Kohaku in the year of my birth and I wonder what it must have been like to view the show back in those relatively early days.
No "Uta Con"（うたコン）last night so I kinda need my dollop of enka right now. There's been quite a lot of articles going up on the relatively modern music recently so I want to swing the pendulum to the old days.
So, heck, let's go back to the 1940s and revisit the duo of Noboru Kirishima（霧島昇）& Misao Matsubara（松原操）, aka Miss Columbia（ミス・コロムビア）. Husband and wife got together again after their 1939 "Ippai no Coffee kara"（一杯のコーヒーから）to sing "Mennai Chidori" (Blind Plover) in 1940.
Masao Koga（古賀政男）composed the very cheerful song about what I believe is a newlywed bride learning the hard ropes of being a wife with Hachiro Sato（サトウハチロー）providing the lyrics. In fact, I think the song is so cheerful that I can envision a Japanese Snow White happily trilling these words away while Prince Charming is out slaying dragons or something on that order.
"Mennai Chidori" was created for the 1940 Toei movie "Niizuma Kagami"（新妻鏡...Bride's Mirror）starring Isuzu Yamada（山田五十鈴）. Although there was the official theme song with the same title, "Mennai Chidori" was used within the movie itself.
In 1965, Chiyoko Shimakura（島倉千代子）released her own version of "Mennai Chidori". Like the original version by Kirishima & Matsubara, Shimakura's cover was a B-side to her take on "Niizuma Kagami" on the A-side.
Then a few years later in 1969, Eisaku Ohkawa（大川栄策）gave his own rendition which sounds a bit more contemporary for the times. The bass beat provides a bit more of a slow gallop to the melody. However, although composer Koga tried to make this an A-side for Ohkawa so that the young singer could gain some success, the record company ultimately decided that it probably wouldn't sell, so the powers-that-be placed his "Mennai Chidori" as the B-side for someone else's A-side! There was a happy ending of sorts for Ohkawa as everyone soon discovered that his rendition was starting to gain fans, and it was then marketed as a hit B-side.
Frankly speaking, it's hard to believe hearing Ohkawa's silken and crystal voice that the record company would just dust him off like that in the first place, but then again, I don't know how Ohkawa sounded back in his early days.
From the new collection of old 45s that I received from Steve some weeks ago, I found this donut-ban by actress-singer Mieko Takamine（高峰三枝子）. Looking at the cover, I had imagined that the songs involved were produced sometime in the 1960s being unaware how far back Takamine's career started.
Actually, the first song on the 45, "Junjou Nijuusou" (Duet of Innocence) was sung by Takamine and Noboru Kirishima（霧島昇）all the way back in 1939 as the theme song for the movie of the same title which starred Takamine. I don't know anything of that film but judging from Yaso Saijo's（西條八十）lyrics, it must have been a bittersweet production as the words talk about two young lovers who started out as orphans missing their mothers.
Even though I categorized the song as an enka tune, I'm not quite sure whether it would be considered as such by kayo fans. The melancholy/jaunty melody by Tadashi Manjome（万城目正）perhaps could be equated with the sweet music that had been popular at the oh-so-dainty evening parties back in the United States at around the same time. Some folks in the States back then probably would have seen jazz as being a little too raunchy.
In any case, "Junjou Nijuusou", both movie and song, brought Takamine to everyone's attention according to the J-Wiki article on the film.
Took me more than a year to finally get around to it, but here's a tribute to the great composer with his trademark square glasses and neat mustache, Masao Koga (古賀政男), via a Creator article.
This'll be my first entry under this label - I'd always wanted try my hand at a Creator article ever since J-Canuck started it this sort of write-ups, and I wanted to do one on a composer whose works I could more or less pinpoint easily, so who better than this legendary Showa era songwriter? All the more I thought he was a good and fitting candidate as I got the opportunity to visit his museum in Tokyo in 2016. However, I knew that this would be a big undertaking, considering Koga's title of Father of Kayokyoku and the fact that there are numerous famous pieces of music under his name. One article wouldn't suffice - it might, but it would be an extremely lengthy one. As such, I had to wait until I had the time and the will (the most important) to consolidate what I know about him into a couple of articles, and so, I thought now would be good since my schedule is pretty free, and "Uta Kon" paid their annual tribute to him this week, and his 113th birthday is coming up.
As mentioned, Koga had an extensive discography, so I'll try my best to put down what he was known for, as well as some interesting ones I'd come across. In this first part, I will include Koga's bio and his early works from when he began his composing duties in the 1930's to the post war period in the late 1940's. Sorry if something you're looking for doesn't show up - it might in part 2 though.
The picture on the right shows Koga when he entered Meiji.
Alright, let's begin with some background information. Koga was born on 18th November 1904 and his real name 古賀正夫 was the same as his stage name, with only a slight change in the third kanji character. He hailed from a village by the name of Taguchi Mura, now known as Ohkawa city, in Fukuoka. After the death of his father, Koga moved to Korea where his brother worked and spent most of his adolescence there. In that period of time, he got acquainted with the taishogoto, or the Nagoya harp, as well as the instrument he was often associated with, the mandolin.
In 1923, Koga returned to Japan and attended Meiji University, where he joined the school's mandolin club (明治大学マンドリン倶楽部). However, a few years later in 1928, it seemed like he hit quite a rough patch as he actually planned to kill himself at an onsen town in Miyagi. Fortunately, after being inspired by watching the sun setting in Zao, he decided to release his frustrations in a less morbid way by creating his first piece of music, "Kage wo Shitai te" (影を慕いて) - I can now see why this song is so depressing.
Sato's version.
In 1929, he would play "Kage wo Shitai te" at one of the mandolin club's performances and caught the attention of a popular singer at the time, Chiyako Sato (佐藤千夜子). As a result, she recorded the song a year later in 1931 with Koga, then using his real name, on the mandolin and guitar. It did not sell very well, but this marked the start of Koga's path as a composer. Once he graduated from Meiji in 1931, Koga went to Nippon Colombia Records, which from what I've been seeing was the record company back then, in hopes of being a regular employee under the company's literary section due to not having confidence in his songwriting abilities. But he got signed on as a contract composer instead. From there on out, by collaborating with prolific lyricists and the early showa era's shining stars, multiple hits that are still being remembered today were spawned.
At the moment, I am able to pick out two of Koga's distinctive songwriting styles, the first of which is what I call the quintessential Koga Melody where you can hear the eerie notes of the mandolin clearly in the midst of a brooding score. The other was a bit difficult for me to pick out and it's not really guaranteed that having these traits in the music means they were made by the man himself, but when Koga creates jolly tunes they seem to have a very festive, exuberant, and light quality, and I tend to hear crashing cymbals in the background from time to time. With that being said, I shall go on to talk about the songs that brought him fame and status.
One of Koga's frequent collaborators was the classically trained Ichiro Fujiyama (藤山一郎), who had encountered the new composer when he was still in music school (Tokyo Music School). "Oka wo Koete" (丘を越えて), "Sake wa Namida ka Tameiki ka" (酒は涙か溜息か), and "Aoi Sebiro de" (青い背広で) are just some of the Koga-composed works from Mr. Fujiyama's (it's my nickname for him) discography, but I think their most successful hit was "Tokyo Rhapsody" (東京ラプソディ) from 1936. As I had mentioned not too long ago, this optimistic tune about the wonders of Tokyo is quite the ear worm. If I'm not mistaken, Koga came up with the melody to "Tokyo Rhapsody" with the idea of exploring the metropolis by car, where one drives around and gets to take in the sights and sounds of the different parts of the city. Perhaps those in the car are new to the bustling city, which would explain the excitement conveyed. Fujiyama had also recorded his version of "Kage wo Shitai te" in 1932 which then became successful and probably became the de facto version of it.
Another artiste whom I always see having mustachioed composer's name pop up when the title flashes on screen is Noboru Kirishima (霧島昇), who was quite the contrast to the almost constantly grinning Mr. Fujiyama. Kirishima's Koga-collaborations included "Reijin no Uta" (麗人の歌) and "Shin Tsuma Kagami (?)" (新妻鏡), which was a duet with Akiko Futaba (二葉あき子), but they seemed to be most well-known for "Dare ka Furusato wo Omowazu" (誰か故郷を想わざる). Koga had written this bokyo tune from 1940 with the equally renowned Saijo Yaso (西條八十) after he returned from a cross-cultural sharing program of sorts in the US. It's got a rather jaunty melody to it to accompany the premises of a fellow far away from home fondly reminiscing the good times spent in his village hometown. Not surprisingly, it was very well received by soldiers at war at the time who could relate. Koga had drawn inspiration for "Dare ka Furusato wo Omowazu" from his time at his own hometown in Fukuoka.
Going a bit on a tangent to give you some trivia I uncovered not too long ago since I have mentioned Yaso: The Lyricist Award at the Japan Record Awards were known as the Yaso Saijo Award at one period of time. I found it nice that they named that award after the songwriter - it was a good way to honor him. On another note, Koga and Ryoichi Hattori (服部良一) were the ones who started the Japan Composer's Association (日本作曲家協会).
Alright, moving on. The two contributions Koga made for Mr. Fujiyama and Kirishima that I shared were showcased his livelier side, so the next few tunes will bring the spotlight on to the melancholic side, which he was probably most noted for.
Koga's own life experience played another role in the making of "Jinsei no Namikimichi" (人生の並木路), sung by actor and jazz singer Dick Mine (ディック・ミネ) in 1937. Early in the article, I mentioned about Koga's move to Korea after his father had passed on - well, the songwriter had translated the suffering and pain he felt at that time to a melody for this bleak song about a pair of siblings having to support each other away from home. The reason for the siblings' departure from home didn't seem to be specified in Sonosuke Sato's (佐藤惣之助) lyrics, but it does remind me of the Studio Ghibli film "Grave of the Fireflies".
Up next is a piece that, to me, is the definition of Masao Koga: "Jinsei Gekijo" (人生劇場). While the original take was recorded by Shigeo Kusunoki (楠木繁夫) in 1938, whose version I have put up, it was made popular by Hideo Murata (村田英雄) in 1959. This was where I got to know Koga's typical unnerving musical styling - especially in Murata's version where the use of the mandolin is obvious.
Although actor and movie director Toshiro Omi's (近江俊郎) hit "Yu no Machi no Elegy" (湯の町エレジー) is more about pining for love lost at an onsen town, I can't help but wonder if the wistfulness in the music from this 1948 hit was influenced by that incident Koga went through two decades ago. The melody of "Yu no Machi no Elegy" also focuses on the acoustic guitar rather than the mandolin, and that brings to mind similarly melancholic compositions from Toru Funamura (船村徹) years later. Y'know, I never really liked this song for the longest time, but with the number of times I have been listening to it over and over again recently on my own accord and while writing this section, I'm quite glad to say that it has grown on me... unfortunately that means "Izu no yama yama..." will be stuck in my head for the weeks to come.
Now that I've covered the more depressing works from early in Koga's career, I would like to end off this first segment of my tribute to the great songwriter on a silly note with "Uchi no Nyobo nya Hige ga aru" (うちの女房にゃ髭がある). Yep, Koga created comical stuff too, even for something titled "My Wife Has a Mustache". This aMAzing song was the theme song to the movie of the same name starring Kyouji Sugi (杉狂児) that featured a timid salary man who is ruled by his wife. It's a happy-go-lucky tune that amusingly undermines the guy's fear of his wife - he's clearly bothered by her facial hair (probably grown after they got hitched and he's got no where to run), but is beyond terrified of telling her and facing the consequences, as you can hear from Sugi's stammering when the wife, played by Geisha singer Yakko Michi (美ち奴), confronts him. Man, I would love to hear Hachiro Kasuga's (春日八郎) version of this. Speaking of Michi, Koga had also created a successful song for her called "Ah, Sore nanoni" (あゝそれなのに) for the same movie.
Sudden epiphany from 16/11/17: Although I find that it might be unlikely that "Uchi no Nyobo nya Hige ga aru" might have a deeper meaning as it was meant for a comedy, I just realised that what if the wife having a mustache is another figurative way for saying that she runs the house? It could be a twist on the saying "The one who wears the pants in the household", just that instead of pants it's having a mustache. I mean, madame here could may as well have a solid handlebar too while wearing the pants (mustache).
Okay, that's all for this half. I hope you've enjoyed this so far and would look forward to Part 2.
P.S. I would love to have a T-shirt with that caricature of him in this photo.
Whenever a song were to be firmly wedged into my brain, I realise, more often than not, the song in question would be a pre or post war song. Could be a new discovery or an old favourite, be as it may, the moment I listen/hum along to/think of a ryukoka, it would linger in my head for days. I believe that's what J-Canuck calls an ear worm. I'm not sure why music from that era sticks to me like industrial strength super glue. Probably it's because they're simple and catchy, which explains why a good number of them are still popular over seventy years down the road.
This brings us to what I shall be sharing today: My list of some of my favourite ryukoka at this point in time that were spawned during the 1930s and 1940s. I had initially planned on including stuff from the 50's as well but decided against it after some thought. The reason being, if I did so, the list would inevitably comprise of Hachi, Michi, Muchi and Minami. Now, as much as I like them, I feel that I've been talking about them a lot, and adding the four here would then make the list rather predictable and therefore... boring. That being said, there is one fellow here that, I feel, won't be much of a surprise either.
In this article, I've narrowed my picks down to one song per singer for simplicity's sake, and I'll also be highlighting the lines from each entry that always comes to mind. For the latter, it's not necessarily because I fully understand what the words mean, but mostly because I like how it sounds when sung - strange, but it is what it is.
Well, anyway, let's get to it, shall we? The songs aren't listed in any particular order.
Ichiro Fujiyama -- Tokyo Rhapsody (1936)
Tanoshii miyako koi no miyako (楽しい都 恋の都) Yume no paradise yo hana no Tokyo (夢の楽園よ 花の東京)
Tanoshii miyako indeed, Mr Fujiyama.
Oh boy, the chorus has been on repeat in my brain for the past few weeks. Out of all the tracks on this list, "Tokyo Rhapsody" (東京ラプソディ) is the most recent addition to my ryukoka favourites. Although I've been a fan of Ichiro Fujiyama's (藤山一郎) other evergreen classic, "Aoi Sanmyaku" (青い山脈) for a much longer period of time, I couldn't get enough of the faster pace and exuberance portrayed in "Tokyo Rhapsody". The video above has the newer version as well as the original. I really enjoy the new take of it for the cool and funky arrangement - just makes the song ten times catchier!
Hana wo ukabe te nagareru mizu no (花をうかべて 流れる水の) Asu no yukue wa shirane domo (明日のゆくえは 知らねども)
"Soshu Yakyoku" (蘇州夜曲) is a tune that has been covered dozens upon dozens of times in Japanese and Mandarin. I've put down the very first recorded take of it here by Noboru Kirishimaand Hamako Watanabe (霧島昇・渡辺はま子), but frankly, I'll always be happy to hear this song sung by just about anybody. While it's definitely the softest entry here, I do enjoy it for its beautiful melody - especially so in ASKA's atmospheric and languid version, which I listen to most - and romantic set of lyrics.
Dick Mine -- Tabi Sugata San'nin Otoko (1939)
Mita ka kiita ka ano tanka (見たか 聞いたか あの啖呵)
Wouldn't be list of pre and immediate post war ryukoka without something from the matatabi (股旅) label. Apparently, that's the proper term used to call songs featuring those wandering ronin. Coming back to the topic, there are a couple of matatabi enka from the late 30's that I'm always listening to - actually, I believe they're the ones that solidified my love for matatabi enka/ryukoka - but the one I tend to pick first is Dick Mine's (ディック・ミネ) "Tabi Sugata San'nin Otoko" (旅姿三人男). It's jaunty music is mainly what draws me to it... but I think that's about it because some of the lyrics still have me scratching my head and trying to figure out how they relate to each other.
Y'know when I mentioned that there's going to be a predictable artiste featured here? Yup, it's good ol' Batayan. There are also many works by Yoshio Tabata (田端義夫) that I favour but as with the aforementioned self-imposed rule, I can only choose one. So, I chose "Genkai Blues" (玄海ブルース). It was between this or the other matatabi tune I implied earlier, "Otone Tsukiyo" (大利根月夜), and the former was picked as I tend to find myself singing/humming this slightly bluesy madorosu entry more often.
Katsutaro Kouta & Issei Mishima -- Tokyo Ondo (1933)
Haa hana wa Ueno yo (ハア 花は上野よ) Choito yanagi wa Ginza (チョイト 柳は銀座) Tsuki wa Sumida no tsuki wa Sumida no yakatabune (月は隅田の 月は隅田の屋形船)
Here we have another entry dedicated to Tokyo, but this one has a Japanese flavour to it rather than Western. The festive bon odori melody and the constant "yoi yoi yoi" of "Tokyo Ondo" (東京音頭) is really quite hypnotic and catchy, latching on to me the moment I heard it at Kiyoshi Hikawa's (氷川きよし) event in Ikebukuro. As with "Soshu Yakyoku", I've put down the original version of "Tokyo Ondo" here by Katsutaro Kouta and Issei Mishima (小唄勝太郎・三島一聲). However, I normally listen to Hikawa's abridged version with it's updated score and five verses instead of the insanely long ten stanzas in the original - I'm fond of the song, yes, but there's only that much of a bon odori song I can take in one sitting before I call it quits.
Haruo Oka -- Akogare no Hawaii Koro (1948)
Hare ta sora soyogu kaze (晴れた空 そよぐ風) Minato defune no dora no ne tanoshi (港出船の ドラの音愉し) Wakare tape wo egao dekireba (別れテープを 笑顔で切れば) Nozomi hatenai haruka na shioji (希望はてない 遥かな潮路) Ah ah ah akogare no Hawaii koro (あゝ 憧れのハワイ航路)
Coming to the end of the article (thanks for sticking around), the last ryukoka that has been a perennial favourite of mine is Haruo Oka's (岡晴夫) "Akogare no Hawaii Koro" (憧れのハワイ航路). Ah, that was a time when I thought the mannerisms of the likes of Oka when performing were utterly amusing - honestly, I still find it quite funny now.
As you've probably noticed, I've highlighted the entire first stanza of "Akogare no Hawaii Koro" instead of simply a line or two. My reason for this is that firstly, I have it so firmly implanted into my brain that it doesn't take much for me to utter out the whole thing; secondly, this one stanza from the optimistic lyrics, combined with the jolly melody, gave me my first taste of what music was like in post-war Japan when I was still happily listening to just Chage and Aska. It was weird at first, but it was hard not to like it after a few listens.
That's the end of this article. I hope you enjoyed listening to these ancient classics. I might do one on my favourite songs from the 50's and/or 60's sometime, but we'll see how it goes... When I do, I promise I will be objective in my choices and the article won't just be filled with Hachi's works.
Had the usual talk with my anime buddy last night over the phone. It's not new news but he complained again about the poor quality of coffee in Japan. My taste buds aren't nearly that refined so I am perfectly fine with the Japanese java, and frankly that was good, since especially when I became a freelance English teacher in my later years there, those coffeehouses were absolutely necessary for places to teach. I was pretty good with any place ranging from the 80s-style Renoir franchise to the newest Starbucks branch.
However for the discerning palate, I think, really, folks like my friend will need to go to the Mom & Pop places in Tokyo operated by coffee connoisseurs. They look like very fashionable bars with shelves of many kinds of coffee beans, and they serve their cups starting from about a little under a thousand yen. Good coffee, good atmosphere...they cost.
Now, that I've got you in the mood for a cuppa joe perhaps, I can talk about the song du article here. Actually, I got the idea to talk about it from doing the previous article regarding the lineup for the 1982 Kohaku Utagassen earlier today. One of the customs for the Kohaku shows from way back is that both the Red and White teams got together during one segment in the broadcast to do some of the beloved old kayo from decades past. You might say that it's like a mini-version of the regular NHK kayo shows.
Although I remember such a segment from the 1981 show, I don't remember the kayo segment from the 1982 edition. But J-Wiki has diligently put up the schedule for that show and apparently there was that segment. Naoko Ken & Hiroshi Itsuki（研ナオコ & 五木ひろし）along with Harumi Miyako & Keisuke Kuwata（都はるみ & 桑田佳祐）did their bit by singing the ditty "Ippai no Coffee kara"(Over A Cup of Coffee).
The original "Ippai no Coffee kara" was released in March 1939 with the singers being Noboru Kirishima and Misao Matsubara（霧島昇・松原操）who at the time was known as Miss Columbia（ミス・コロムビア）since her record company, the current Nippon Columbia, was trying to promote the young singer from Hokkaido. Written by Koh Fujiura（藤浦洸）and composed by Ryoichi Hattori（服部良一）, the song told a story about love blossoming for a couple while enjoying the java at a café. "Ippai no Coffee kara" may have been rather prescient since Kirishima and Matsubara would end up getting married to each other the same year. It's also interesting to note that Matsubara passed away less than 2 months after Kirishima's death in April 1984.
The above video has Kirishima performing the song with actress/singer Chieko Baisho（倍賞千恵子）.
According to J-Wiki, when Hattori was coming up with the melody, it had been titled as "Ippai no Beer kara"（一杯のビールから）which was fine with him as someone who appreciated the golden brew. However, lyricist Fujiura who wouldn't touch a drop of alcohol was far more of a coffee fan, and somehow the title got changed to the final "Ippai no Coffee kara". Just my opinion, but I think there is something more romantic and right about love over a cup of coffee rather than a mug of beer.
Also I found out from the J-Wiki article that the song stood out for its modern, jazzy beat that was unusual for the times. No other details were given but I can guess that at the time, the Japanese government was probably pushing more for military marches with a nationalistic bent.
J-Wiki even pointed out as a final piece of trivia that in 1939, a cup of coffee cost a whopping 15 sen, and there were 100 sen in 1 yen. I could imagine folks back in the early Showa era doing a spit-take on their cuppa on finding out the costs of a cup of coffee in Tokyo in the late Heisei era.
A couple of weeks back, the topic of this singer-actress, Yoshiko Yamaguchi (山口淑子) a.k.a. Lee Xianglan/Ri Koran (李香蘭) was brought up by Mom after I pointed out that a guest on "Uta Kon" sang "Soshu Yakyoku" or "Suzhou Yequ" (Suzhou Serenade). While she's normally not particularly enthusiastic when it comes to ryukoka, things were different when it came to this song as she so happens to know it and actually likes it - its Chinese version, that is.
Personally, I was able to recognize "Soshu Yakyoku" as many singers have done covers (which was how Mom got to know it too) of this old-but-gold tune, including ASKA, and was somewhat aware that it was originally a duet with Noboru Kirishima and Hamako Watanabe, but that was about it. That was where Yamaguchi came in. Via Mom I got to know some basics about the China-born Japanese woman with a turbulent past who had sang "Soshu Yakyoku" as well, and some research afterwards showed that she was technically the first one to sing it when she played as the lead in the 1940 film, "Shina no Yoru" (支那の夜) - she also happened to be a politician in the 70's, and vice president for the Asian Women's Fund. Apparently the characters for "Shina", which are pronounced as "Zhi-na", mean China. Initially I had no idea why that was the case until Mom shot me a death stare and said that this "Zhi" is read as the "Chi" in "China"... She almost wanted to knock me on the head. I think she would have if I had sat nearer to her.
Yamaguchi's version.
Head-knocks aside, listening to "Soshu Yakyoku", I can see why it is such a popular song despite being in a Japanese occupation propaganda film. The mellow music with that tinkling that pops in from time to time makes me envision what a night scene in old Suzhou would have been: calm waters of the canals that flow through the area gently lapping at the banks, reflections of some small light sources dotted on the dark surface, a little boat or two gliding along, old-style buildings sitting by the water's edge silently. I can also imagine someone sitting by the window of one such old house staring at his/her view. Very nice and comfortable. While in my mind I only pictured there to be a lone figure with his/her thoughts, "Soshu Yakyoku" seems to depict a couple enjoying each other's company in said town. In that case, the duet feels like the companions are talking to each other. Putting the track together were Yaso Saijo (西條八十) on the lyrics and Ryoichi Hattori ((服部良一) on the music.
"Soshu Yakyoku" was officially made into a single in August 1940 when Kirishima and Watanabe recorded it, two months after "Shina no Yoru" came out in theaters. Yamaguchi did come to record her version more than a decade later in 1953, and it got used as the theme song to "Hoyou" (抱擁), a film that also starred the lady herself. Being a coloratura soprano, Yamaguchi's voice was really high when she sang the song, but somehow I found it quite pleasant, and it reminds me of some of those old Disney movies like "Snow White" when the titular character sings.
As I had mentioned above, there are also Chinese renditions of "Soshu Yakyoku", or should I say "Suzhou Yequ", and I managed to find one rather easily. This one's by a popular Taiwanese singer by the name of Fei Yu-ching (費玉清). I do like his version - fuller, smoother arrangement, plus that delicate voice of his.
I'm not sure why, but over the past few days I had the urge do an article on a ryukoka that I wasn't that familiar with and one that was not by a ryukoka artiste I favour, like Yoshio Tabata (田端義夫). Consulting the J-Wiki pages of composers of the pre/post-war era Yoshiji Nagatsu (長津義司) and Masao Koga (古賀政男) for ideas, nothing tickled my fancy then and there when skimming through their works, and so I decided to re-watch a medley of ancient kayo which you can see up there to choose the song that either the bespectacled Noboru Kirishima (霧島昇) or the beatific Minoru Obata (小畑実) had sung. As you can see from the title, I went with the latter whose name I never knew how to pronounce until recently, with the reason being - I had not covered anything by him before.
"Tabiyakusha no Uta", which was what the frowning, sad-faced Kirishima sang at that time, isn't as jovial as Obata's "Kantaro Tsukiyo Uta" (勘太郎月夜唄), and I actually did not like this post-war song (released in 1946) the moment I heard it. But with the ryukoka medley on constant replay (I think I've mentioned this in one article before), Kirishima's forlorn delivery and the fast-paced haunting melody of "Tabiyakusha no Uta" slowly grew on me, eventually becoming a tune that would get stuck in my head from time to time... Yup, it is doing just that right as I'm writing this and won't go away for another day or so.
Anyway, remember me saying that nothing on Nagatsu or Koga's J-Wiki articles caught my attention? Well, I only found out when selecting "Tabiyakusha no Uta" that Koga was the one who had composed it. Another look at the great composer's repertoire after that revealed that Kirishima was one of his frequent collaborators, and "Tabiyakusha..." was one of the multiple works produced from this collaboration. I guess I did not see that sooner due to never looking at the song's title whenever it came up and its melody not having the high-pitched notes from the mandolin (still not sure) that I can easily associate with Koga.
In the title as well as Yaso Saijo's (西條八十) lyrics, the words "Tabiyakusha" are mentioned. I did some research on it - turns out that "Tabiyakusha" are basically actors from this genre of Japanese theater called taishu engeki, or theater for the masses. The actors move from theater to theater to act, hence the "Tabi". So I think "Tabiyakusha no Uta" had Kirishima singing about the journeys of the roving thespians.
About a few days ago, I had written about Ringo Shiina's（椎名林檎）Latin swan song of sorts (or so I thought) "Ringo no Uta"（りんごのうた...Ringo's Song）. Well, today will be about the original "Ringo no Uta" (Song of the Apple), a jaunty song that I've heard off and on since I was a baby and has been considered to be the first postwar kayo kyoku hit, according to the Wikipedia entry. Wiki explains the history about the song so without having to repeat it, you can take a look at the article here.
Written by Hachiro Sato（サトウハチロー）and composed by Tadashi Manjome（万城目正）for release in January 1946, less than 6 months after the end of World War II, it was sung initially as a duet with actress Michiko Namiki （並木路子）and singer Noboru Kirishima（霧島昇）who also later sung another kayo classic,"Mune no Furiko"（胸の振り子）. Although the official release of it as a 78 rpm single was in that January, its reputation had already grown a few months earlier through its use in the movie "Soyokaze"（そよかぜ...Soft Breeze）which also starred Namiki. In fact, its popularity translated into a then-unheard-of sales record of over 100,000 copies sold.
I'm not sure whether my father's collection includes "Ringo no Uta" although I know that there are several 78s in there, but I have been hearing the song on tape and through some of those old retrospectives on TV over the decades which included the recent airing of the 46th annual "Omoide no Melody"（思い出のメロディー...Melodies of Your Memories）on NHK. For a people who really love their nostalgia, "Ringo no Uta" has been one of the crowd-pleasers among the older set and perhaps even some of the younger generations.
Tonight on NHK's"Kayo Concert"（歌謡コンサート）, singer Rimi Natsukawa （夏川 りみ）performed a wonderful jazzy rendition of an old kayo standard from decades back titled "Mune no Furiko"(Pendulum of My Heart). I liked the song so much that I decided to take a look for it on YouTube and found out that, true to its nature as a standard, it's been covered by a number of singers over the ages.
It was written by Hachiro Sato（サトウハチロー）and composed by Ryoichi Hattori （服部良一）in 1947 (Hattori would also create another fine kayo standard,"Tokyo Boogie-Woogie"), and it was first sung by popular singer Noboru Kirishima （霧島昇）who started his career in the 1930s. The lyrics and the music as it was sung back then by Kirishima reminded me of some of the love songs that the big bands played back in America. It was probably a fine song to listen to under the stars before bedtime.
The freeze image for the above video was one that I have seen leafing through the pages of "Japanese City Pop", since it was the cover for Izumi Yukimura's （雪村いづみ）album "Super Generation" from 1974. Now, I've seen Ms. Yukimura a number of times on TV programs such as "Kayo Concert" and had never thought that she would end up in this book. But apparently, singer-actress Yukimura, who had debuted in 1953 when she was around 16 and became one of Japan's big 3 female singers alongside Chiemi Eri （江利 チエミ）and Hibari Misora （美空ひばり）, collaborated with the hot New Musicians of the 1970s such as Masataka Matsutoya （松任谷正隆）and Haruomi Hosono （細野晴臣）to give an updated spin to the music of Ryoichi Hattori with the help of his son, composer Katsuhisa Hattori（服部克久）.
I was glad that I could finally get an "in" to "Super Generation". Yukimura's version of "Mune no Furiko" doesn't really strike me as being City Pop but more of a New Music take. In a way, there's something pretty Akiko Yano-ish about it. The album also includes the aforementioned "Tokyo Boogie-Woogie", so I'd like to hear that as well.
Of course, when I found the video of The Big Man himself, Yujiro Ishihara（石原裕次郎）, performing "Mune no Furiko", I also had to include this one although I'm not sure whether this was an official entry in his discography. However, his version is the closest to the one I heard by Natsukawa earlier tonight since it has that late-night bluesy jazz sound to it. And what better way to finish an evening than with some great mind-blowing sax?
