Hachiro Kasuga — Izakaya (居酒屋)

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tadaharu Nakano -- Seishun Rumba (青春ルムバ)

I feel like I'm playing a word association game but with themes with the past couple of articles I wrote. First, it was "Isao Hayashi" (林伊佐緒) with Sogen wo Yuku Otoko (草原をゆく男) and Kurashiki no Hito (倉敷の女). From the latter, I am carrying over the theme of a singer's voice to this article.

Quite a while back, I was reading something on the line of how a singer's voice can be highly attractive to its listeners, even without the presence of their physical being - think radio, records, CDs, etc. - as we can fill in the blanks ourselves. The mind is a powerful tool. Seeing as how Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴) never showed up on TV postwar, and prewar footage of him even just moving is exceedingly rare, I let my imagination take the reins with what it has: his photos and his voice (via his songs).

So hot｡ﾟ(ﾟ´艸`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

Mr. Nakano is essentially my antithesis to Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎). During his tenure as a recording artist, he often appeared to be either chipper with his cheeky grin or suave with a smolder. His jazz covers and western music-inspired songs often match either version of him, and his expressive deliveries would sound a little different depending. If its something like a silly or sentimental jazz song, he would ordinarily come equipped with a bright tenor. But if its a more dramatic number, he would lean into the lower register of his vocal range and showcase its richness. The latter, in particular, gets the heart racing. 

Seishun Rumba belongs to this latter category. Released in June 1939, it's actually a cover of Tabú, originally created musician Margarita Lecuona. The Cuban number has a heady air of sensuality about it with its languid rhythm. However, to fit Nakano's dynamic energy, Showa's other jazz song arrangement whiz Takio Niki (仁木多喜雄) sped up the tempo a little and made it sound theatrical with more dramatic percussions and blaring horns, yet still retained the sex appeal of the original. It makes the perfect space for Nakano's chesty delivery in this instance to shine; and despite its boldness, the singer manages to add a tenderness to his voice that makes it even more alluring. 

Taking care of the Japanese lyrics was Ko Fujiura (藤浦洸), who was already making a name for himself making several hit western-inspired numbers. His words seem parallel the rumba and its vitality to youth, which explains the title that literally translates to "Youth Rumba." To be completely honest, I'm not super fond of the title they gave the Japanese version. Somehow, the thought that this could be considered one of those "odes to youth" (seishun sanka) that were popular during the 30s does kind of diminish the more mature vibe the Niki's arrangement and Nakano's delivery give to me. Nevertheless, Seishun Rumba was the song where, upon first listen, had me texting one of my good friends that I thought the man "[sounded] so hot." The blend of the music, his voice, and those suave images sends my imagination into overdrive and has me forgetting to breathe. I would be transfixed seeing Hachi sing Kurashiki no Hito live, but I think I'd pass out seeing Nakano do Seishun Rumba live.

Isao Hayashi -- Sogen wo yuku otoko (草原をゆく男)

 

Last year, I had the honour of meeting Isao Hayashi's (林伊佐緒) eldest son, Masao Hayashi (林眞佐緒), during a mini fan club gathering in commemoration of the singer-songwriter's 30th death anniversary. It was so surreal - the octogenarian was almost a mirror image of his father, so it was like meeting Hayashi sensei, but also not really, but also really. We had lunch after visiting the Hayashi family grave, and among the several things discussed over sushi, we got a better glimpse into Isao Hayashi the man.

But first, my general impression of Hayashi sensei. He just looks like a chill guy. In photos, he's got this rather laidback, sometimes a little sleepy look. In video clips, he gives off a rather friendly, unaffected air, albeit still looking rather sleepy. His fun little ditties also had me assuming that he would've been fun-loving, and perhaps on the somewhat chattier side. Hypothetically speaking, aside from my Hachiro Kasuga, I think Hayashi would be a singer I would be less afraid to approach. 

Perhaps I'm not completely off the mark in terms of the "working outside" Hayashi as other singers have testified to him being rather easygoing. However, according to Masao, "at home" Hayashi was essentially silent. On the rare occasion he wasn't on regional recital tours (so, probably less than 10 days per month at his peak), he'd be quietly unwinding at home. The man wouldn't even hum a tune! This revelation surprised us all at the fan club luncheon, but in hindsight, if I had to be out and about for most of the month, the last thing I want to do when I get home is expend more energy. I already get like that after a single day of activity, let alone several weeks. I also recall someone saying that even in later-day TV appearances, he tended to leave the talking to others. I guess Hayashi was just a way quieter figure that I (we) had once assumed.

Anyways, let's poorly segway into the song I'll be featuring this article, Sogen wo yuku otoko (The man wandering the plains) from 1957. Hayashi composed and arranged this himself, and his partner in crime Ryo Yano (矢野亮) took care of the lyrics. It's a Western-themed tune that catches a cowboy on an aimless journey as the sun sets over the plains. It's slow, steady pace is not unlike the walking gait of the horse he's on. Our protagonist is probably a stoic lone wolf who sheds nary a tear, but something about the twilight hours has him feeling sentimental and maybe a little homesick. Hayashi's softer, more emotive vocals here, which is a departure from his usual hearty style, captures the cowboy's blues. Yet, the tender strings still somewhat hold that sense of adventure present in Wild West-themed works, so despite feeling a little down, it seems like our cowboy still looks to tomorrow for his next adventure.

 

Although Sogen wo yuku otoko has an overall forlorn quality, it encapsulates an amalgamation of my earlier impression of the singer-songwriter with what his son shared: relaxed and easygoing; somewhat reticent, but still warm and kinda fun. I like this song quite a lot - it's great during golden hour - and I guess it's why I'm starting to like Hayashi a little more than before (from the point of coming across Tokyo Serenade (東京セレナーデ), that is).

The Kasuga Bushi with Isao Hayashi, Toshiyo Kamata, and Tadaharu Nakano (林伊佐緒、鎌多俊与と中野忠晴の春日節)

It's hard to believe that another year is coming to a close. Looking back on 2025, I did a lot, especially in the realm of ryukoka and kayokyoku, so much so that I’d mistaken some events for having taken place the year before. That said, I’m exhausted. I don’t know what’s in store for 2026, but I look forward to it.

Anyways, during some Decembers, I usually put up an Author's Picks article that summarises all or some of what I like. I ended up going with the latter. What theme did I go with? Well, for the main ingredient, we have my favourite Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎). That is to say that all the songs featured will be his. They are commonly called Kasuga Bushi (春日節… Kasuga Song). And then, we have 3 different spices to add to this main ingredient: Isao Hayashi (林伊佐緒), Toshiyo Kamata (鎌多俊与), and Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴). These 3 men worked as composers in postwar King Records and spawned a plethora of hits for the artists they wrote for, including Kasuga. Other King Records composers are most known for creating the Kasuga Bushi with its signature plaintive sound, and I may talk about them in an article similar to this another time. But here, I will only highlight a Kasuga Bushi made by the aforementioned 3. 

Why Hayashi, Kamata, and Nakano specifically? Because their faces make my heart melt. It's really as simple as that. Well, there is also the fact that I have been looking into their works on my own volition, so it’s easier for me to curate an article about them. I actually got this idea when coming up with a theme to my song selection at the bi-monthly Kasuga Enka Denshokai (春日艶歌伝承会) karaoke circle. Dubbed the "Handsome Boy Composer" theme, each of the 3 songs I picked were composed by these 3 guys. With the context out of the way, let's begin.

Catching Both Rabbits with Isao Hayashi: Rozario no Shima (ロザリオの島) (1964)

Getting the ball rolling is Hayashi sensei. Among the 3 composers here, he had made the most number of Kasuga Bushi (about 24, give or take, excluding unreleased and made-to-order external requests), and can be considered one of the fan favourite Kasuga Bushi producers. An old guard of King Records, he had been wearing both the singer and composer hats since the early 1930s, and would often be singing his own works. Apparently, he had been advised to focus on one path and not double dip, using the proverb "If you run after two hares, you will catch neither." The man himself even admitted that he might have been more successful if he stuck to just singing or music-making. But he felt that he was most happy doing both, even if it costed the (relatively) reduced fame, and so that's what he did until the end of his life. Considering his list of successes in both fields, though, I think it's safe to say that he managed to catch both rabbits.

The very first song Hayashi made for Hachi was Nigate Nanda yo (苦手なんだよ) (1957), and the last was Kunashiri no Hito (国後の女) (1982), making him one of the composers who worked with Hachi fairly consistently the longest. To me, the Hayashi Kasuga Bushi tend to sound rather exotic and raw. The atmosphere created by his melodies and arrangements makes it feel as though I'm in the location featured in the song, be it a grimy alley, a lonely harbour, or somewhere outside the major cities in Japan. However, another feature I've now been looking for is if the Hayashi Kasuga Bushi was a recycled Hayashi original. It was something noticed upon delving deeper into Hayashi's self-composed postwar releases, as some of them sounded remarkably similar to some of the songs he made for Hachi. Putting two and two together, it became fairly obvious that Hayashi likely reconfigured his own songs that never became hits and sent them back out into the field to be sung by artists popular at the time (50s & 60s), like Hachi, in hopes of scoring a hit.

Hayashi as a special guest at the unveiling of Rozario no Shima in 1964.
From Shinobu

Anyways, one of Hayashi-made Kasuga Bushi which I suspect could've been one of Hayashi's originals is Kasuga’s revival hit Rozario no Shima from August 1964. Rozario… with its dramatic yet somewhat foreboding atmosphere is easily one of my favourite pieces Hayashi made. It allows Hachi’ signature forlorn delivery to shine, all while also enabling him to showcase the extent of his vocal prowess. Its unique melody fits Hachi so well that I was inclined to say that nothing like this had been made prior, and then I stumbled upon Hayashi’s own Nangoku no Yo wa Fukete (南国の夜は更けて) from May 1956. The latter had a much lighter arrangement, but there was no mistaking that intro with the deep, rhythmic thrumming of the guitar (?) and the melody’s dark yet exotic tone. As far as I know, Nangoku… never became much of a hit, likely overshadowed by other incredible releases at the time. Perhaps Hayashi refused to let this interesting piece go to waste, and so he passed it on to someone who might be able to bring life into it. Hachi had already saw a resurgence in popularity with Hayashi’s Nagasaki no Hito (長崎の女) in 1963, so maybe Hayashi saw this opportunity for another of his works about southern Japan to finally shine. Shine it did.

Hayashi recycling Nangoku no Yo wa Fukete to make Rozario no Shima theory is pure speculation on my part, but it does give a new meaning to Hayashi being able to catch both the rabbits he was chasing after.

Toshiyo Kamata's Got That Fight in Him: Ruten Garasu (流転がらす) (1957)

Next up is Toshi-san. Based on what I know, he made the least Kasuga Bushi among our 3 (about 11 or so). Like Hayashi sensei, Toshi-san can also be considered one of King's old guard, having been one of the company's stars as the shadow of war loomed over Asia in the mid-30s and early 40s. Unlike Hayashi, Toshi-san solely stuck to composing music once the Pacific War ended.

The very first Kasuga Bushi Toshi-san made was Yuhi wa Moete (夕陽は燃えて)(1956), the last was Magokoro Sakaba (まごころ酒場) (1962). I believe he moved to Toshiba (records) from about 1963. I'm not sure how long he stayed at Toshiba, but he may have moved back to King in the 80s for a little bit, but I'm unclear on that. To be completely honest, I struggle to identify any distinguishing traits in the Kamata Kasuga Bushi, especially when compared to the other 2 composers. I’m by no means saying that they’re not good, though. They’re rather simple in melody and arrangement, but are nevertheless catchy and capable of striking a chord with listeners; a few of them even seem to be fan favourites and are staples in any Hachi compilation album. So, Toshi-san’s gems do find their way among the other well-loved Kasuga Bushi.

My personal favourite Toshi-san Kasuga Bushi is Ruten Garasu. It's an easy-to-listen-to matatabi mono about a down and out wanderer drifting through life. The gentle peaks and dips of the tune allows you to enjoy the smoothness and richness of early Hachi's maturing vocal quality. For some reason, I can't get Ruten Garasu out of my head, and I'd been listening to it so often this year that it became my most played song on Spotify for 2025. Apparently, in the span of 7 months, I listened to it almost 150 times. Fair play to you, Toshi-san.

Tadaharu Nakano's Butter Miso Soup: Ruten no Yoru (流転の夜) (1955)

Finally, we have Mr. Nakano to wrap up the article. I've talked about Nakano's postwar escapades and Nakano-made Kasuga Bushi extensively over the past couple of years, since I love this snazzy jazz man almost as much as I do one of the pioneers of enka. But here's a consolidated cliff notes version of what I'd talked about over several articles:

Unlike Hayashi and Kamata, Nakano, originally affiliated with Columbia Records, joined King Records in mid-1952 as a contract composer. He had left the music world in 1947, but returned after a business venture turned south. He made a mini attempt to re-debut as a singer under the moniker of Young Nakano (geez, why you gotta be so cringe, Nakano?), but that didn't really work out either; he didn't seem satisfied with his diminishing vocal abilities at the time as well, and so he stuck to making music behind the scenes, where he rediscovered success.

Nakano made about 20 official Kasuga Bushi singles, the first being Jirocho Tabi Shigure (次郎長旅しぐれ) (1953), and the last Kore ga Jinsei (これが人生)(1964). As with Nakano's other postwar compositions, the Nakano Kasuga Bushi's main attraction are the refreshing arrangements derived from snappy rhythms and a variety of instruments, often times making them sounding extremely western or (traditional) Japanese-sounding. Even for the more ordinary kayokyoku, the arrangements make sure you’re in for at least an interesting listening experience. This mostly attributed to his main collaborator, arranger Masao Ueno (上野正雄). That said, Nakano's Kasuga Bushi tend to be overshadowed by those from other composers, including the above 2, and were only middling hits at best. If I were to be completely honest, there is just something in Nakano's melodies that don't exactly match Kasuga, but I just don't know what it is. On the contrary, they fit Kasuga's junior and rival Michiya Mihashi (三橋美智也) to a T. Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoy how Nakano’s works take Kasuga into territory I ordinarily wouldn’t expect from him.

A Nakano Kasuga Bushi I would love to feature is Sogen no Okami (草原の狼), a thrilling cowboy Western with nods to prewar Kōya Mono. Alas, this is such a deep cut that it’s not available online, and so I will have to hold off on it until its audio file magically appears on the internet. So, in the meantime, I shall feature a number where Ueno’s arrangement shines the brightest, and where Hachi sounds the most at home singing: Ruten no Yoru. I’ve already written an article about it, so you can read more about it there. I have cherished memories attached to it, and suffice to say, I love this song dearly. I think this is a good place to end off my last article for 2025.

Here's to a smooth-sailing year ahead. See y'all in 2026!

Noelle's Autumn Playlist (秋のうた)

 

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.

Falling leaves: Ochiba Shigure (落葉しぐれ) -- Koichi Miura (三浦洸一)

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.

Jazz-inspired tune: Otoko janaika (男じゃないか) -- Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎) 

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.

Tadaharu Nakano -- Haru wa Hohoemu (春は微笑む)

Nakano in 1949 during the  in-between period when he
took a break from the music world.
Fromアサヒグラフ (22/6/1949) 

Feels like it's been a while since I've done a solo piece on Jazz Daddy Dandy Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴), what with me predominantly sniffing around for any crumb of information about his postwar activities as of late. But in between unearthing such random tidbits, such as him playing for the King Records baseball team in the 50s, and sampling a variety of his postwar compositions, I would have evenings where I'd dig around good ol’ YouTube for works from his stint as a singer. 

With the exception of gunka and school/company songs, Mr. Nakano the singer was most known for covers of an assortment of western music, particularly jazz, and ryukoka with strong western flavours. But this trend seemed to have only began once he began dabbling in American jazz and putting together the Rhythm Boys & Sisters chorus groups from about 1934 onwards. Prior to that, as a new face of Columbia Records, he mainly did the standard ryukoka and the then-trending shin min'yo between 1932 and 1933. The jumps from 1932 Nakano to 1937 Nakano, and then back to 1933 Nakano, for instance, is pretty jarring, and can make you wonder if it's the same man singing all those songs.

A tune that I came across earlier this year from one of these expeditions was Haru wa Hohoemu (Spring smiles). This spring-themed jazzy number was released in March 1939. It’s got a cheerful melody with a chic piano solo that has a warmth like a spring breeze. To match the light tune, Nakano had also toned down his ordinarily powerful and resonant voice into a gentle lilt, conveying a protagonist reveling in the joys of spring and his youth - haru/spring seems to be a fairly common metaphor for youth in ryukoka.

Anyway, to me, Haru wa Hohoemu sounded like something one would hear on the other side of the Pacific, so much so that I had assumed that this was yet another of Nakano’s covers. So, seeing the names of Columbia Records (Japan) employees Toshio Nomura (野村俊夫) for the lyrics and Hideo Hirakawa (平川英夫) for the music on the record label had me doing a double-take - it’s a locally-produced original! Then again, Takio Niki (仁喜他喜雄) was on arrangement duty. If you ever see the name of this aloof-looking musician, especially under “Arranger” (編曲家), you're more often than not going to be hearing a cover of of western tune (a.k.a. jazz song), or a ryukoka that sounds uncannily like western music. As you'd expect, he's handled a number of both for Nakano, including this one.

I like Haru wa Hohoemu quite a lot as it showcases a side of Mr. Nakano I don't hear as often. As mentioned, he has a strong and bright voice, which lends well to the super upbeat ditties or dramatic numbers he's synonymous with. But I appreciate his softer, more intimate crooning as well. Honestly, though, Nakano could sing in any style and it'd still make my heart flutter (*´艸`).

Hachiro Kasuga -- Kaze ga Yobu kara (風が呼ぶから)

Today (22nd October) is Hachiro Kasuga's 34th death anniversary, and just a couple of weeks ago, on 9th October, was his 101st birthday. Since I had nothing planned for this Hachi-filled month, I shall commemorate it with a Kasuga Bushi that I've been resonating with as of late: Kaze ga Yobu kara (Called by the Wind).

This one was a slow burn for me. I encountered Kaze ga Yobu kara some time last year and thought it was a pleasant enough listen, especially with the distinctive shifts between the major and minor scales in each of its 3 stanzas. I've also always thought that the phrase "I'll go where the wind takes me" was really cool. It's probably because a lone wolf character I admired from a super sentai series I watched as a kid. This song's title, as it is, already sounds like said phrase. Yet, the song as a whole never really stuck around in my head. That was until I began to sing it at the Kasuga Enka Denshokai karaoke gatherings, which had me paying greater attention to it, and eventually gaining a greater appreciation for it.

Let's take a closer look at Kaze ga Yobu kara. It was released as the B-side to Ore to Kageboshi (俺と影法師) in November 1956. Its lyrics, penned by Takashi Umemoto (梅本たかし), has Hachi singing from the perspective of a wanderer who, seemingly on a whim, found himself in parts unknown in vague pursuit of something - a dream, someone to love, kindred spirits... A carefree vagabond-like figure with just an acoustic guitar on his back (he's likely a drifting nagashi), he seems to have hope in fulfilling these abstract goals, as the swelling strings and accordion played in the major scale Susumu/Shin Yamaguchi's (山口進) composition suggest. Yet, the dramatic dips in mood, caused by the abrupt, albeit temporary, shifts to the minor scale seem to show that our protagonist has his moments of sadness and loneliness. It ain't all sunshine and rainbows. Hachi, with his emotive high tone, effortlessly conveys both of the protagonist's contrasting states of mind.

As one of the Denshokai members aptly put, it can be seen as a song about hope (kibo no uta). Kaze... was released during a time when young hopefuls from all over Japan flooded the major cities for work, play, perhaps, to achieve big aspirations. So, it's possible that some of said demographic might've found some resonance in the tune should they have come across it. Perhaps Hachi may have related to it on some level too, considering he himself was one such figure who came to Tokyo for school and work, and eventually to pursue his dream in spite of the hardships. 

Despite coming into contact with Kaze ga Yobu kara almost 70 years after it hit the shelves, I feel like I see a part of myself in it. Often times, I wonder how I got here. More than being called by the wind, it feels as though I'm a tumbleweed being tossed around by said wind, sometimes going forward, sometimes going backward, sometimes getting caught in trees and rocks. But amidst the trial and tribulations, I guess I never really lost that desire and hope to pursue what I thought were abstract dreams and to encounter kindred spirits. For now, I'm glad that I managed to find some of what I came in search of. Naa, Hacchan?

Hachiro Konoe (Toshiyo Kamata) -- Hanami Dochu (花見道中)

I've shone the spotlight on several composers who had written melodies for Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎) in my articles on the Preeminent Enka Singer, but one whom I don't think I've ever really talked about was Toshiyo Kamata (鎌多俊与).

Kamata was born Toshio Kamata (釜田俊雄) on 16th November 1913 in Sado, Niigata, and passed away in 1995. He was graduate of Musashino Academia Musicae, and he was a originally a ryukoka singer during the prewar era but shifted career tracks and became just a composer at King Records. There, he would spawn several hits for the contract singers. He's probably best known for Michiya Mihashi's (三橋美智也) Aishu Ressha (哀愁列車). 

To my surprise, Kamata only composed 11 songs for Hachi, which is on the low end. Indeed, I feel like I barely see his name, but I believe he's most recognised for Izakaya (居酒屋), Charumera Jinsei (チャルメラ人生), and Ore wa Nora Inu (俺は野良犬). Ruten Garasu (流転がらす) is also a personal favourite of mine. 

Let's talk about his prewar singer days. There is barely any easily accessible information on him, even less so on his early career. But what I do know is that he debuted under King Records in 1936 under the stage name Hachiro Konoe (近衛八郎). As Konoe, he was known for gunka and gunkoku kayo (military songs, wartime songs), like Otoko nara (男なら), sung with Isao Hayashi (林伊佐緒) and Shizuo Higuchi (樋口静雄), and Aa, Waga Senyu (あゝ我が戦友). However, Konoe seemed to have a rocky time during the war(s), having been sent to the frontlines in late 1937 when the Second Sino-Japanese War erupted. He returned safely in mid-1940 and continued his singing career for a bit. I'm not too sure what happened after, but a publication in 1947 suggested that he may have been shipped off to the frontlines again, and his whereabouts up to that point were unknown. Thankfully, as we see from his long tenure as a composer at postwar King, he was fine - lucky man!

He's so cute (*艸)

Even though there is little on Kamata, there are some pictures of him, mostly from his Konoe days. And, by golly, that puppy dog face had me instantly star-struck! I'd be lying if I said that that didn't spur me to look into his prewar works. I don't like gunka, so I searched high and low for anything not of that sort. I was able to dredge out a whopping three songs. What a lovely variety.

Among the three, I went with Hanami Dochu (Sakura-viewing Travels).

Renowned composer Nosho Omura (大村能章) crafted a melody with a strong traditional Japanese flavour, filled with what sounds like the ko-zutsumi drums accompanied by the shamisen. Kazuharu Matsuki's (松木一晴) - I'm not sure about how the name is pronounced - lyrics present the joyous atmosphere of spring and the rowdy festivities that come with admiring the sakura in full bloom. Indeed, Omura’s tune is upbeat and celebratory, but it somehow also has a certain elegance to it despite the raucous sound.

Despite the popularity of his aforementioned representative hits, I actually didn't know how Konoe sounded, so Hanami Dochu served as my introduction to the voice of one of the men whose names I saw so often. True to his debut introduction in a 1936 magazine, he had a booming baritone that rattled my insides. A wild contrast to that golden retriever-like appearance. However, it was more his delivery that had me raising my eyebrows. What made it hard for me to swallow initially was the fact that he sounded so unlike several classically-trained pop singers from the 30s when singing traditional Japanese-sounding ryukoka. They just sounded “normal.” Why did I think Konoe sounded so “weird”?

During a discussion some time ago, my prof had brought up a niche genre that surfaced for a short time during the nascent years of the Showa era. This was about when the push to modernise (Westernise) and  “improve” the condition of local music (among other things) by imbuing it with Western elements was still strong. For the life of me, I cannot remember what this genre was called, but it was essentially singing traditional music like min’yo utilising Western classical singing methods. While the combination seems hard to reconcile, it vaguely sounded like current-day enka but with a stronger opera-like quality to my ears. It also reminded me of the great tenor Yoshie Fujiwara (藤原義江) when he were to sing ryukoka back in the late 20s. 

Then it dawned on me: Konoe singing Hanami Dochu felt somewhat like this, as though he wasn't compromising his classical foundations even though he's tackling a traditional-sounding pop song. Then again, maybe Konoe just had a highly idiosyncratic vocal style. Whatever it is, I still think he sounds rather odd, but I was eventually able to somewhat appreciate the warbling I was hearing. It's kinda endearing. Sort of. 

I'm not sure when this song was released, but going by the record number and label, it was probably sometime in early 1936. A little tidbit on SP record technicalities, I reckon you might have noticed in the video that the record label is that of Polydor Records and not King. Well, that's because this record seemed to have been made when King Records was still under a joint initiative with Polydor Records, which lasted from 1931 to 1936. Hence, the record label has Polydor on it instead of King, but recorded by Konoe, who was affiliated with King. Apparently, you can tell by the record numbers: If it was released between 1931 and early 1936, and it had a “K” leading a set of numbers, it’s King; if it’s just numbers, it’s Polydor.  (I'm by no means an expert on the record medium itself, I only just learned this recently and thought I'd share the knowledge of deciphering cryptic record numbers from one company.)

As per tradition, I had come up with a nickname for Kamata/Konoe. For a while, I jokingly called him "Hachi 2", but I felt terrible - for both Kamata and my Hachi. In the end, I settled on Toshi-san.

(*艸)
From 78MUSIC

Oh geez, it's as if you merged the adorableness of Bin Uehara (上原敏) and Akira Matsudaira (松平晃), and plastered it on to Kasuga. Had I liked his voice more, it'd be over for me.

Hachiro Kasuga -- Tasuke Mago Uta (多助馬子唄)

My Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎) Centenary Project may have ended, but I’ve been almost exclusively listening to Hachi songs for the past few months so, of course, I’m going to do another Hachi feature.

(Unfortunately the video has been taken down.)

Sometime earlier this year, I’ve had the privilege to receive what is perhaps the first ever and, perhaps, only album containing all of singer-songwriter Tadaharu Nakano’s (中野忠晴) compositions for Hachi. I cannot thank Hachi fan club vice president Fukui-san for creating what is the physical manifestation of my love for both the Enka veteran and the jazz dandy. There were my familiar favourites, entries I know by title but have never heard/not thought of listening to, and works I’d never seen before. Out of the latter categories, some eventually became constants on my current everyday playlist. One of them comes from the second category and is the tune of this article: Tasuke Mago Uta (Tasuke's Horse/Horse-leading Song).

Tasuke Mago Uta was released in March 1957, and accompanying Mr. Nakano's music was Jusaburo Tojo's (東條寿三郎) words. I was made aware of its existence via a mini Kayokyoku Shu (歌謡曲集… Pop song collection) from 1957 I got many years ago. This booklet contained the lyrics and music scores of some of a season's releases from various artists, Kasuga included. Tasuke... was one of those tunes that floated around YouTube, so I could've easily checked it out. Yet, I had this assumption that it was some sort of redux of Tsumakoi Toge* (妻恋峠), but infused with more Komoro Mago Uta (小諸馬子唄) min'yo. The fact that the same men made both songs reinforced this invisible barrier. It was only upon receiving the aforementioned Hachi-Nakano album when I was proved so very wrong.

Oh... Hachi...
From Kayokyoku Shu (1957)

For one, Tasuke... had nothing to do with the Komoro Mago Uta and I wouldn't say it has much/any min'yo flavour. But it still has to do a horses - more on that in a bit. The swelling strings and accordion, accompanied by the rhythmic thrum of the acoustic guitar and the flute whistling playfully produce a cheerful atmosphere and a sense of optimism. Said flute also adds a layer of rusticity; together with Nakano's melody that moves at a languid pace, it feels as though you're walking through a lush valley with the mountains towering overhead. On the note of tempo and Masao Ueno (上野正雄) arrangement, even though Tasuke… predates enka's birth by several years, it's a kayo which I feel, for the above reasons, most reminiscent of modern-day enka. I don't know if Tasuke Mago Uta will find its way into my Hachi Top 10, but I can say that I like it a lot.

Moving on to Tojo's lyrics. The main question I had was: Who is this "Tasuke"? A quick search online and confirmation with the Hachi club folks revealed that he was a real Edo-era businessman Tasuke Shiobara (塩原太助). Tojo based Tasuke Mago Uta's premise on the rakugo and rokyoku tales that were inspired by his life - the original tale was the rakugo Shiobara Tasuke Ichidaiki (塩原多助一代記), and the later-day rokyoku was simply called Shiobara Tasuke (塩原多助). It was the norm for kayo and, in later days, enka to derive its source material from other forms of entertainment. Among which was none other than the once ferociously popular rokyoku - which, in turn, derived much of its source material from even older types of entertainment, like the much-loved rakugo and kodan. So, I'd say Tasuke Mago Uta is one good example of this source material borrowing chain.

Coming back to Tojo’s lyrics on the tale of Tasuke Shiobara, the song zeroes in on the part of the story before the businessman’s rise to greatness where he had to leave his Gunma hometown for Edo. In doing so, however, he also had to part ways with his beloved horse, Ao, who had been his trusted companion for (I believe) over a decade. Tojo illustrated Tasuke's sorrow and even depicted him tearfully telling Ao to take care in his absence. To my knowledge, there aren’t many kayo that specifically depict the melancholy of parting with one’s horse, so Tasuke Mago Uta’s narrative instantly reminded me of what is perhaps the kayo with this scenario: Michiya Mihashi's (三橋美智也) Tassha de na (達者でナ). Oddly enough, this was also composed by Mr. Nakano, albeit in a considerably different style. You can have a taste of it in the video below.

* Tsumakoi Toge was from 1955 and the first hit Nakano produced for Kasuga. Its main draw was the inclusion of the Nagano variant of the horse leading min’yo, Komoro Mago Uta in each stanza. The fact that the min’yo and Tasuke... share the term “Mago Uta” you can see how my assumption arose. You can give it a listen in the video below. I sound as if I dislike Tsumakoi Toge, but I'm actually fine with it. It's just that it's not one of my go-to tunes.

Akira Matsudaira & Mamechiyo/Tadaharu Nakano & Noriko Awaya -- Koya wo Yuku (曠野を行く)

From the album "Matsudaira Akira
Eien no Utagoe" (2021)

 

I’d previously mentioned the Japanese record industry’s initial aversion to cover songs some time back. Allow me to introduce one of those exceptions: Koya wo Yuku. This was one I discovered while doing a bit of research on Akira Matsudaira’s (松平晃) Koya Mono in relation to Hachiro Kasuga’s (春日八郎) Bokyo Kayo for a class paper late last year. At the point of doing the paper, I'd only just developed a taste for Matsudaira’s songs of adventure and wandering in the vast Manchurian plains. That being the case, I was only most aware of his notable ones, i.e. basically, those easily found in his compilations on Spotify. The tunes that sparked the Koya Mono craze in the mid-1930s, “Isoge Horo Basha” (急げ幌馬車) and "Yuhi wa Ochite" (夕日は落ちて), were undoubtedly ever-present in the Kayo Prince's* compilations. But there were a few others which were less commercially successful, like "Koya wo Yuku".

"Koya wo Yuku" (Traversing the Plains (?)) was a duet Akira-san recorded with Mamechiyo (豆千代), and was released in late 1934. Mamechiyo, who debuted in 1933, was one of Columbia Records' uguisu geisha who hailed from Gifu prefecture. From my understanding of kayokyoku researcher Gyoji Osada's "Showa Kayokyoku" (2017), venerable composer Yoshi Eguchi (江口夜詩), a fellow Gifu native, was set on turning the geisha-turned-pop-singer into a star by giving her music lessons and conjuring up some songs for her. Without much success, she was paired with Matsudaira in hopes of scoring a hit. What came from this was "Koya wo Yuku". Matsudaira was in the limelight thanks to "Isoge Horo Basha" (also a Eguchi Melody), and that tune also made Koya Mono into the musical flavour of this period, making the likelihood of success for "Koya wo Yuku" high. While it didn't perform badly, it didn't perform great either. Mamechiyo recalled later that a likely reason was stiff competition from the great Taro Shoji (東海林太郎), who was also renowned for his Koya Mono (derived from Prof. Yoshinori Osakabe's "Showa Kayo Shi" (2024)). Luckily for Mamechiyo, she finally made a breakthrough about a year later in late 1935 with “Yuhi wa Ochite”, another duet with Akira-san. 

Having set the context of "Koya wo Yuku", let's take a look at the song itself. As with most Koya Mono, Suiro Nishioka's (西岡水朗) center on two migrants from Japan, wandering the Manchurian plains hoping to carve out a new life in this new land. Even though this is a duet, I'm not entirely sure if our travelers are a couple because there is mention of solo journeys (hitori tabi). Or, maybe (this just came to me while writing), they were travelling alone until they crossed paths, found that they are kindred spirits, and then started their journey together... I don't know. The relationship of the two characters aren't as clear cut (to me) as in "Yuhi wa Ochite".

That aside, what stood out the most to me was Eguchi sensei's melody. My initial impression of Koya Mono was that they were, more often than not, made using the minor scale. Instead, "Koya wo Yuku", for the most part, was made using the major scale and sounded rather cheerful, perhaps expressing the excitement and hope the couple feels. Yet, right after some stanzas, the melody briefly switches to the minor scale, as if reflecting our protagonists' weariness and pangs of homesickness after a period of being on the road far from home. The music quickly reverts back to its original cheery mood, however, as if their optimism in finding happiness in this new land overrides whatever pessimism they may hold. "Koya wo Yuku" is an interesting piece, for sure. I wonder if it would have been more successful had it been released at a different time.

The above video has Mamechiyo performing "Koya wo Yuku" and "Yuhi wo Ochite" almost 40 years after the songs were released in 1970 on the popular natsumelo program "Natsukashi no Utagoe" (なつかしの歌声). Sadly, she had to go solo because Akira-san passed on a decade earlier. Regrettably, Akira-san does not have any television program footage because of his early passing. He would've been such a joy to watch, I'm sure :').

https://open.spotify.com/track/1EGfLIPLsl9UH9GWVxR1N9?si=1aa1aced3de34954

(Seems like the video version is region locked, so I'm hoping Spotify can do the trick.)

Despite the lukewarm reception "Koya wo Yuku" received, it was covered by a pair of singers I least expected to cover it: jazz daddy dandy Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴) and blues diva Noriko Awaya (淡谷のり子). Chancing upon this in Mr. Nakano's compilation "Nakano Tadaharu onko chishin" (中野忠晴 音故知新) had me doing a double take because I knew both these artists primarily for jazz and jazzu songu (covers of Western songs that are not necessarily jazz). While singers were made to sing what’s trending, my impression was that the both Nakano and Awaya were hard-headed enough to resist singing stuff that didn’t really fit their image, i.e. Koya Mono. Hence my surprise to see both their names attached to one. In fact, it was so out of (my) left field that I didn't even recognise it to be the Matsudaira-Mamechiyo duet at first. 

Contributing to my ignorance, besides the fact that my brain was baked golden brown by several projects, was its arrangement. For one, it was significantly faster in tempo than the original. Then, despite similar instruments used, like the accordion and banjo, I perceived the Nakano-Awaya version to be more Western-sounding. It turns out that the Nakano-Awaya rendition was originally supposed to be just a dance music piece arranged and performed by French instrumental band Alexander Dance Orchestra (Orchestre de Dance Alexander). However, for one reason or another, it was never released, so vocals were added to it later so as to get some usage out of it. The manner of recording was unlike the usual method done at the time: The record containing the Orchestra's performance was played in the recording studio, and Nakano and Awaya simply sang to it. This accounts for why the music sounds weaker than the usual big band recording and why Nakano and Awaya sounded much clearer. This version would be released on February 1936. I wondered why Akira-san and Mamechiyo didn't reprise their roles for this recording, but it may as well actually be because of the ADO's Western-tinged arrangement making it more jazzu songu-like and, thus, more fitting for Mr. Nakano and Awaya. Nevertheless, for a music industry system that used to have an aversion to cover songs, this instance was certainly an oddity.

I actually quite like the Nakano-Awaya rendition for its lighthearted atmosphere. But it’s also partially because this is one of the rare instances I get to hear Nakano's baritone-tenor in almost-HD and my ears like that... ... I feel an intense glare coming from the Matsudaira photo I have displayed on my desk as I am writing this. (’°-°)

*This nickname was the brain child of Prof. Osakabe. I used to find that hilarious because of its juxtaposition to my friend Ms. C's comments about Akira-san being an adorable yet ditzy creature and I was still at that stage of clowning on the singer. But I now unironically call Akira-san my Kayo Prince, so joke's on me.

Hachiro Kasuga -- Jirocho Tabi Shigure (次郎長旅しぐれ)

From "Kasuga Hachiro Kayo Shi"

Happy New Year! I hope everyone is having a good start to 2025. 

One thing that I've started doing since the tail-end of 2024 was participate in the Kasuga Enka Densho Kai (春日艶歌伝承会).This is essentially the Hachiro Kasuga posthumous fan club's (Zenkoku Kasuga Hachiro Shinobu Kai… 全国春日八郎偲ぶ会) karaoke circle. The club is organised around the goal of ensuring Hachiro Kasuga's (春日八郎) songs will live on in the artist's absence and has been active since July 2000, its participants congregating every first and third Saturday of the month. Considering the frequency of the meetings and the regularity of which certain club members show up, I can only say that my love for Hachi is paltry compared to these veterans. To my knowledge, Kasuga Enka is exclusively sung at these gatherings. The neat thing about it is that ALL of Hachi's songs, from singles to albums to unreleased recordings, are available to sing thanks to the work of some of the members. 

Thus far, I've only participated in two meetings: the final one of 2024 and the first of 2025. Since this was organised by the Kasuga fan club, it was the perfect space for me to be as extra as possible with my oshikatsu shenanigans, i.e. bringing along a Hachi bromide and setting it on the table. I don't think the members expected the extent of my Hachi fangirling. On the other side of the coin, though, I didn’t expect the members to zero-in on my secondary fixation with Tadaharu Nakano (中野忠晴). If you've read some of my past Hachi articles, you'd know that Mr. Nakano was responsible for some of Hachi's moderate successes and minor works, a few of which I greatly enjoy. As such, the very first song I attempted was "Ruten no Yoru" (流転の夜) my current favourite entry among all the Nakano Melody. My explanation of choosing this tune partially for its composer and brandishing the Nakano photo card manufactured by one of my friends seemed to have bewildered the good folks. That incident seemed to have conditioned them to expect a Nakano composition when my turn comes around as one of them went, "Ah, of course it's a Nakano one!" when I picked "Jirocho Tabi Shigure" during my second attendance.    

Released in May 1953, "Jirocho Tabi Shigure" was Hachi's 4th single and the first song that Mr. Nakano composed for him. To my knowledge, this song has only been re-released as part of Hachi's 40th Anniversary super album "Kasuga Hachiro / Daizenshu Uta Koso Waga Inochi" (春日八郎/大全集歌こそ我が命) from 1991, though it is available on YouTube for easy access. Nevertheless, I would consider one of Hachi’s deeply buried gems considering how early in his career this was produced. This was also a Matatabi Kayo - while a perennially well-loved genre/sub-genre, it wasn’t Hachi’s specialty, so that may have accounted for the lack of attention to it, even after he became a national star. To be more critical, perhaps it’s also because it sounds too... orthodox. To Yuzaburo Wakasugi's (若杉雄三郎) lyrics featuring infamous yakuza ring-leader Shimizu no Jirocho (清水次郎長), Nakano provided a melody that sounds like one from your bog-standard Matatabi Kayo. This is pure speculation on my part, but it could be that the powers that be in King Records demanded that Nakano, then still a new King employee, make something that would sell, i.e. an easy to consume kayokyoku piece that fits the theme. And so, he did. Despite what my spiny critique suggests, though, it’s not a bad song at all, and I actually like it quite a lot… No, it's not just because Nakano made it… I think. 

Putting any biases aside, "Jirocho Tabi Shigure" is a jaunty song that is simply pleasant to listen to. The blaring horns and strings swelling grandiosely with a steady rhythm make for a heroic-sounding tune that I think conveys the masculinity and power of the titular gangster. I say it's orthodox because Matatabi Kayo, as with stories of chivalrous yet morally grey figures like Jirocho, generally portray their source material characters in such a light. Another running trope these characters express in this sort of narrative is the conflict between duty and compassion/humanity (giri-ninjo). While they may present themselves as stoic and duty-bound, these figures are still written to have a soft side hidden away from the public eye. I think Wakasugi’s portrayal of Jirocho conveys this aspect, which is wildly contrary to my impression of the gangster: fearsome and father figure to other infamous Shizuoka-based ruffians, namely Mori no Ishimatsu (森の石松). I suppose, in this respect, Mr. Nakano's melody represents Jirocho's giri tatemae (front), while Wakasugi's words disclose his ninjo honne (real feelings).

Cover Songs With Kasuga Hachiro (春日八郎のカバー曲)

Michi, Koga Sensei, Hachi
From "Shinobu"

Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎) recorded a lot of cover songs, ranging from Meiji-Taisho enka to early Showa kayo to 1980s pop enka. It's thanks to these covers that I got to learn a fair amount about a wide array of songs, some of which becoming personal favourites. But did you know, that the concept of covering pop songs, produced by record companies, wasn't as commonplace as it is now prior to the late 1960s? 

Feel free to correct me if I'm mistaken, but based on my understanding of sources like Yusuke Wajima's (輪島裕介) "Tsukurareta 'Nihon no Kokoro' Shinwa" (創られた「日本の心」神話) (2010), it was due to the old record company contract system from the late 1920s. What this system entailed was that a songwriter or singer, bound to a particular record company by contract, could not provide songs for a different company/sing songs made by a different company. There was also this concept of the mochi uta, where a song made for a singer was theirs and theirs only; to cover another's song (officially) was, I quote from venerable lyricist Kikutaro Takahashi (高橋掬太郎), "akin to betrayal", even if they were from the same company. For instance, Akira Matsudaira (松平晃) would not be able to cover Tadaharu Nakano's (中野忠晴) "China Tango" under most circumstances, even though they were both from Columbia Records. Or Columbia's Mr. Nakano would not have been able to cover King Records' Isao Hayashi's (林伊佐緒) "Kiso Bushi Bolero" (木曽節ボレロ). Rather limiting stuff. 

Miura, Hachi, Yukiko Nomura
From "Shinobu"

Of course, there were multiple exceptions and there were instances of insane loophole gymnastics. And one of these loopholes would change the record industry game for the better. This watershed moment that got rid of this limiting restriction was Shinichi Mori's (森進一) (Victor) cover album of Masao Koga's (古賀政男) (Columbia) works, "Kage wo Shitaite" (影を慕いて), from 1968. Initially seen as inconceivable, composer Kosho Inomata (猪俣公章) who was the album's director managed to do some insane contract red tape gymnastics and dodging Koga Sensei's initial wrath to get it done. This involved picking only the Koga Melody that did not "belong" to Columbia Records, i.e. those that were from the legendary composer's early Victor and Golden Age Teichiku days. The album's resounding success threw out the stigma around covers and cross-company collaborations. So much so that now it's essentially a given in at least the enka world. I'd go so far as to say that some past kayo have become "must covers"/a rite of passage for any modern day enka singer. Oddly enough, one of these enka rites of passages is doing a Koga Melody cover.

In terms of same company covers, assuming the producers at King Records weren't being hyperbolic, the first full-on same company artist collab album was Hachi and his junior Michiya Mihashi's (三橋美智也) "Ougon no Utagoe" (黄金の歌声) from 1970. That was where both artists covered about 14 of each others' mochi uta. I believe it was also in 1970 when Kasuga began recording cover songs in earnest. 

Anyways, this brief Japanese record industry history tidbit leads me to what I want to feature for my Hachi Centenary Project article: Hachi's cover songs I enjoy. I've always been picky about original singers, but sometimes covers just hit different, sometimes with better arrangements or better vocals. It's with these factors in mind that I share my picks of Hachi covers. At the same time, perhaps these songs may introduce you to some Taisho and Showa era classics, as they did for me. As a side note, I will also mention some of the albums each song is in.

Ochiba Shigure (落葉しぐれ) (1953) -- Koichi Miura (三浦洸一)

This song is difficult with some intense peaks and dips, but Hachi maneuvers them so effortlessly and smoothly in this classic nagashi/sasurai mono. Maybe folks are right in saying that Hachi is just good at these sort of enka style kayo.

Albums: Showa no Enka Kasuga Hachiro Fukyu no Meisaku wo Utau (昭和の艶歌 春日八郎不朽の名作を歌う) (1971), Kasuga Hachiro Enka Hyaku Sen (春日八郎 演歌百選) (1973)

Dotonbori Koshinkyoku (道頓堀行進曲) (1928) -- Ichiro Utsumi (内海一郎)

Hachi said that jazz doesn't fit him and some have said that he couldn't express that jazz feeling. I have to admit that there are some number where I felt that the jazz feeling was lacking a little. But not with this one. Also, it may be a hot take to fans of early Showa Japanese jazz, but this is the best version of "Dotonbori Koshinkyoku" with the best arrangement. I will die on this hill.

A point to note is that Hachi re-recorded this in his 1975 "Kasuga Hachiro no Osaka Jocho" (春日八郎の大阪情緒), but its arrangement was not as raw and... jazzy. The original cover from the 1962 "Taisho/Showa Hayari-uta" (春日八郎の大正・昭和はやり唄) album is the one I'm for.

Albums: Kasuga Hachiro no Taisho/Showa Hayari-uta, Kasuga Hachiro no Osaka Jocho, Kasuga Hachiro Osaka wo Utau (春日八郎 大阪を歌う) (2011)

Nagasaki Chanson (長崎シャンソン) (1946) -- Shizuo Higuchi (樋口静雄)

The song comes in at 24:24.

I praise the creative decision to have Hachi sing the chorus, "Batten Nagasaki __ no machi, mimase yokatoko yori masse" (But Nagasaki's the city of__, c'mon over and check out this fine place... The line is in the Nagasaki/Kyushu dialect), unlike Higuchi's original. Higuchi's wasn't bad, but it just felt lacking to have just the back-up singers handle that crucial bit.

Albums: Kasuga Hachiro no Nagasaki no Jocho (春日八郎の長崎情緒) (1976), Kasuga Hachiro Showa Kayo wo Utau (春日八郎 昭和歌謡を歌う) (2010)

Karisome no Koi (かりそめの恋) (1949) -- Machiko Sanjo (三条町子)

Fun fact: I believe this was one of the songs Hachi saw/hear Mrs. Kasuga, Keiko Watabe (渡部恵子), sing while she was working as a part-time singer at the same restaurant as him back in the day. On a side note, I feel that Hachi's soft, forlorn-tinged voice fits this sort of blues/Mood Kayo-like songs to a T.

Album: Nihon no Uta Meiji/Taisho/Showa Hayari-uta (日本の歌　明治・大正・昭和はやりうた) (1977)

Onna no Kaikyu (女の階級) (1936) -- Shigeo Kusunoki (楠木繁夫)

Of all the songs on this is one of the rare numbers where I enjoy both the original and the cover in equal measure. Anyways, I've read that Koga Sensei wanted "Onna no Kaikyu" to be of a slower pace, contrary to the brisk pace of Kusunoki's original. I think it's in covers like Hachi's where you can hear the composer's intended vision.

Albums: Kasuga Hachiro Koga Melody wo Utau (春日八郎 古賀メロディーを歌う) (1971/1975/1992), Kasuga Hachiro Koga Masao wo Utau (春日八郎 古賀政男を歌う) (1974), Showa no Enka Kasuga Hachiro Fukyu no Meisaku wo Utau, Kasuga Hachiro Enka Hyaku Sen 

Palau Koishiya (パラオ恋しや) (1941) -- Haruo Oka (岡晴夫)

Hachi's smooth delivery makes Okapparu's mochi uta more polished, and I think you can feel it in a relaxed tropical island number like "Palau Koishiya". Interestingly enough, even though Kasuga recorded this cover, it wasn't included in his 1977 Oka cover album, "Kasuga Hachiro Oka Haruo wo Utau" (春日八郎 岡晴夫を歌う). Rather it seems to have only been released decades later in 2010 via "Showa Kayo wo Utau". Perhaps they'd already hit the song limit for the 1977 one, so "Palau Koishiya" got dropped.

Fun fact: Okapparu, known for that strident and nasally delivery with large lung capacity, was said to have developed these attributes during his days as an enka shi/nagashi (street musician). Because of the cigarette smog in bars, he learned to sing in this manner to reduce the need for inhaling the smoke and damaging his vocals.

Albums: Kasuga Hachiro Showa Kayo wo Utau

Hoshi no Nagare ni (星の流れに) (1947) -- Akiko Kikuchi (菊池章子)

The hardship of immediate postwar Japan can be felt in this song about the realities of many women who had to turn to working the night to survive. Perhaps it would be more appropriate sung by a woman, but Hachi's voice is more filled with a pained longing than heavy melancholy, which fits the emotions expressed in this song.

Albums: Enka to wa Nandarou Kasuga Hachiro Show (演歌とは何だろう〈春日八郎ショー〉)(1973), Kasuga Hachiro Enka Hyaku Sen, Kasuga Hachiro Showa Kayo wo Utau

Epilogue

Something I noticed when studying the covers Hachi recorded was that he never covered any (Ryoichi) Hattori (服部良一) Melody save for one: Mieko Takamine's (高峰三枝子) "Kohan no Yado" (湖畔の宿) - correct me if I'm wrong. I wonder if it's because R. Hatter was known for jazz and "pop", and thus not fitting with the enka rhetoric in the 70s and 80s.

On a different note, among the other fellas I love, Hachi has covered Akira-san's, Bin Uehara's (上原敏), and Yoshio Tabata's (田端義夫) stuff. As I've said, I can be very picky with covers. As much as I love Hachi, originals win here, especially for Bin-san and Batayan. I'm more forgiving with the Akira-san covers, though. This is because Hachi and Akira-san vaguely share a similar vocal quality in that they are great at conveying forlornness - the difference is that Hachi sounds empathetic while Akira-san sounds needy (purely subjective). So, I thought the former's covers of the latter's hits, "Isoge Horo Basha" (急げ幌馬車) and "Circus no Uta" (サーカスの唄), were pretty good, but the arrangements just fell short. 

"Isoge Horo Basha"

But, y'know, a dream Hachi cover of mine is "China Tango". I know I'll regret it because, while I know it'll be good, Hachi has nowhere near the same level of sex appeal as Mr. Nakano to pull it off. But I just want to hear it. Not because it'll be hot, but because I think it'll be kinda funny.

Bin Uehara & His Fan Club (上原敏とその集い)

Mata kimashita yo, Bin-san. Genki ni shiteimashitaka?

In July 2023, I went to Odate, Akita, to pay my respects to Bin Uehara (上原敏) on my own. In July 2024, I went to see Bin-san again, but this time, it was with the Uehara Bin Tsudoi (上原敏集い). 

I was actually moderately on the fence about heading to Akita again for summer vacation this year for the Ruten Ki (流転忌). As much as I love Bin-san, it was, admittedly one of those soft "Yeah, I'll do it," situations, mainly because I've just been going to Tohoku so much and I'd been wanting to explore different parts of Japan. But as July 2024 drew nearer and having Bin-san grinning at me from my shelf, the idea of heading up north again became more tangible. And then came an update about the memorial and the Tsudoi's festivities from history researcher who'd done work on Bin-san, Yuta Inoue (井上裕太). Seeing that the memorial would start at 10 am, in other words, attendable if I stayed in Akita City or Aomori, and knowing that there are post-memorial activities, I knew I had to go. Or, rather, it cemented my resolve to go. 

"Oiwake Dochu" (追分道中) (1939)

And so, immediately after a movie-music event, I headed up to Tohoku once again. Actually, I even had to leave earlier, otherwise I'd miss my train... Oh, Bin-san, what I'd do for you.

Y'know, I'd chosen to stay in Hirosaki, Aomori, for its closer proximity to Odate - besides also wanting to see the famed Nebuta Festival, of course. I took one of the early trains and reached Odate station from Hirosaki on the morning of 29th of July with ample time to spare. But sometimes, things just don't work out as planned. Bus mix-ups and rain happened, so by the time I reached Keijo Park, it was about 10 minutes past 10 am. In other words, the Ruten Ki with its sing-a-longs just ended... I won't let myself live this down, but, there's always a next year. Bin-san, ireisai ni okurete gomenasai.

"Ruten" (流転) (1937)

I know "Ruten" is the theme for the memorial, but I didn't need a ruten experience of my own...

Mishaps aside, I still got to meet the wonderful Uehara Bin Tsudoi and its members. Leading the Get-Together was Matsuyama-san, a former high school English teacher, at a spritely 84 years-old. There were about 6 or so other members who'd been in the club since its establishment in the 1980s who showed up. As expected, most members were pushing or over 85. However, there were a few members who managed to bring the average age down a little by being below the age of 45. Besides Inoue-san, there was also Ogawa-san, both of whom I mostly knew as online presences - it was great to finally see them in the flesh and put faces to the names. But what surprised me the most was the attendance of Muroya-san, who was the same age as me and highly knowledgeable about Bin-san's discography. This was apparently his first appearance at the memorial as well.

"Toori Ame no Uta" (通り雨の唄) (1939)

It was raining in Odate and I'd mentioned rain songs, so Muroya-san recommended this. I ended liking this a lot.

Besides the Bin-san Tsudoi members, in attendance were also a couple of members of the from Bin-san's senior Taro Shoji's (東海林太郎) fan club, and Taro-san's museum chief Sasaki-san. It was an honor to be in the presence of not just the Bin-san club, but even the Taro-san one.

"Shunkoden" (春香伝) (1939)

After the self-introductions and news press interactions, it was time to pack up and begin the post-memorial events. As with this sort of memorials, Bin-san was showered with sake and beer (I read that he loved his alcohol), as well as some snacks on on the side. On top of that were a few bouquets of flowers. To not let these items go to waste, they were split among the members. I got one of the bouquets. Ordinarily, it's you who's supposed to bring the flowers for the dearly departed not receive them when you go to memorials. Plus, it was pretty obvious that the bouquet I received was one meant as grave visitation offerings (chrysanthemums). But I found that to be highly amusing. More than anything, though, I loved it very much. Why? Because I took it as Bin-san's way of showing his appreciation for visiting him again. A bouquet from him. Making that "Bin-san is my Muryu-sama" fantasy of mine a reality, HUH?

Sadameshi kimi wa tada hitori

Anyways, the post-Ruten Ki events included a visit to the next door Akita Dog Museum, followed by around of karaoke at a local karaoke box. I have to say, meeting fans of a singer you love IRL is one thing, but singing his songs with them is another. It was absolutely surreal when every single song was more a group sing-a-long than an intimidating solo. There was this member, this sweet and chatty grandpa (I am so sorry, but I forgot his name), whose favourite Bin-san tune was "Hatoba Katagi" (波止場気質). That also happened to be my favourite Bin-san tune. So, we sang it together, which was wild because I'd yet to meet someone who liked "Hatoba Katagi" and had bittersweet memories tied to it until that moment.

Namaji kakeru na usu nasake
Yume mo wabishii yoru no hana ~

Considering it was just a standard karaoke machine, Bin-san only had six songs in the system (including two duets). So, after Bin-san's numbers, there were some Taro-san tributes as well, and even an Akita prefecture anthem (??) But there was still some time remaining before lunch. I had made it clear early on that while I love Bin-san, Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎) is my main priority. The folks promptly registered that information and I was encouraged to do some Hachi numbers: "Otomi-san" (お富さん) and "Uramachi Yakyoku" (裏町夜曲). That was my first time being a Hachi ambassador, if you will, at such a music gathering and that was absolutely surreal.

When all was sung and done, it was time to adjourn for lunch. I went with a katsu don. Katsu don is generally uncharacteristic choice for me, but it's something I choose once in a blue moon for maximum energy replenishment, which I needed after the morning I'd had. This wasn't just a regular katsu don, though. It was Hinai Chicken (Hinai Jidori) katsu don... So, basically some chunky fried native Odate chicken slathered in sweet-savory egg. Bin-san looks like he approved of the choice.  

While it had been an incredibly fun morning of activities, after lunch was where things took on a more serious tone as the future of the club was brought to the table. A reason why I wanted to partake in the posthumous club's activities was to experience how these clubs functioned and better understand the problems they face in the new decade. The post-lunch meeting very clearly showed me that.

It was obvious from the few members in attendance, but membership of the Uehara Bin Tsudoi and its nationwide branch has been steadily shrinking. This is due in part to the members getting on in their years. Many have already left the mortal coil, or find it increasingly difficult to attend the Ruten Ki because of their age. As is, Matsuyama-san also admitted that it's getting harder for him to take charge of the festivities. And so, much of the responsibilities has also been shouldered by the much younger Inoue-san, who'd been in the club for quite some time.

"Otoko Hare Sugata" (男晴れ姿) (1941)

Also, Bin-san has been gone for 80 years at the writing of this article and had a short career of eight years with comparatively fewer objects to remember him by. The passing of time thus making it more and more difficult to keep him relevant in current society. Inoue-san's research on Bin-san's and Taro-san's club activities, as well as his efforts to spread the awareness of these clubs via social media and the local press, and wrangling up us young fans, has been to ensure the survival of not just these clubs. It was also to also ensure that the achievements of these singers who contributed much to the world of Japanese pop music will not be forgotten. Still, it is an uphill task, and various methods of club survival and Bin-san awareness were discussed. I personally liked the Bin-san portrait plus QR codes of his background and hits at Odate station (or maybe the Akita Dog visitor center) idea.

But, despite the gloom and the worry over Uehara Bin Tsudoi's future activities, Grandpa Hatoba Katagi said something that tugged at my heartstrings. It went something along the line of:

It doesn't matter if there are activities organised after the memorial. I will still go to [Keijo Park] every year on this day to pay my respects to [Bin-san]. Having activities isn't that important - I just want to be able to see everyone. The activities aren't a must. I'll just be happy to see if everyone's doing well.

My professor at school mentioned that music plaques (in Okinawa) have the capability to facilitate community building, among other uses. Going by Grandpa Hatoba Katagi's words and having now experienced the Tsudoi's activities firsthand, I believe Bin-san's plaque serves the same purpose. I believe that, on top of preserving the memory of the long-deceased but well-loved singer, the Get-Together brings people together. Not just long-time fans and folks who grew up with the music, but new fans, younger fans in search of a community built around an artist who plays a big role in their lives.

I cannot thank the Uehara Bin Tsudoi for allowing me to join their activities and Inoue-san for spreading the word and the invitation. If you're wondering, yes, I did become a member of the Uehara Bin club. The entry procedures were easy: Just say that you are a member of the club, and there you go - Bin-san club member.

"Hatoba Katagi" (1938)

This year, Bin-san had two fans below the age of 30 visiting him. This is despite the fact that that he had been gone for 80 years. I would like to think that he is happy, where ever he is.

Honni ano (hito) no shiawase wo
Ureshi namida de inoru no sa

P.S. I'd wanted to get this out on Bin-san's birthday (26th August), but I ended up not finding the time to do so... Because I was at Kasai Rinkai Koen looking at fish and doing oshikatsu instead. Also, that photo card was made by none other than PC maker Ms. C.

Happy belated 116th, Bin-san!