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.
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.
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`).
On a recent trip to Fukushima, I visited famed ryukoka composer Yuji Koseki's (古関裕而) museum, and on display were some of the composer's own home videos. One of such Koseki "vlogs" was essentially a "Day in the Life at Columbia Records 1937" and featured the song recording process. This was an extra sweet treat as it allowed me to see some singers and composers in motion for the very first time. I momentarily died upon seeing some of it, but that's okay... Dramatic reaction aside, without a doubt, Akira Matsudaira (松平晃) was in the footage - Koseki sensei filmed his rehearsal session. I figured that I've now come to enjoy Akira-san's presence quite a bit since I couldn't stop a grin from forming while watching his part.
That grin I did kinda looked like the one above, actually.
One of the songs that made me warm up to Akira-san further was "Yoru no Ame" (Night rain/Rainy night). I just happened to pick this at random when going through the singer's best albums not too long ago. Perhaps I was curious as to how this one went because the title looked similar to "Minato no Ame" (港の雨), his early-day piece that I've come to like very much. But while titles looked similar, their sounds have never been more different. "Minato no Ame" sounds more like Japanese kayokyoku of the early enka (艶歌) style, whereas "Yoru no Ame" sounds as jazzy and Western as you can get. It'd be of no surprise if it'd been an imported Western piece he covered, but we'll get to that discussion in a bit.
Considering the jazz bug hit the early kayo industry in the 1930s, especially at Columbia Records, I shouldn’t be surprised that Matsudaira dabbled in jazz songs. And by “jazz songs”, I don’t necessarily mean just American jazz, but the umbrella term the record industry used at the time to basically refer to any foreign Western song brought into the Japanese market. Anyways, perhaps it's because of Akira-san’s hits being mostly koya mono (曠野もの... A genre of songs featuring Manchuria/inner China/Mongolia that were hot in the early to mid-30s after the 1931 Manchuria Incident and the later creation of the Manchukuo puppet state) and darker-sounding kayokyoku, so I never equated Akira-san to the more Western side of things. It's also probably because my image of male Japanese jazz singers of that time from Columbia and other record companies was wildly different from the image I had of our man himself. So, hearing something like "Yoru no Ame" from him was quite the surprise.
"Yoru no Ame" kicks off with some ominous-sounding strings that feels as though you got caught in a gnarly storm in an old Disney film, but quickly clears into an oddly cheerful ditty. It gives off a similar bright tone to "Singin' in the Rain", as even though our downtrodden protagonist has grey clouds over his heart, he revels in the night's downpour which washes away all his worries. We can feel our protagonist becoming lighter, having been cleansed of his troubles, when the music swells after the first chorus. In Akira-san's booming delivery in the second chorus, one can sense a feeling of liberation, especially when he's egging on the rain to soak him through and through. (Noelle from 18/6/24: I think one could also interpret the rain as tears/crying. In that sense, the protagonist may have gone to a quiet sob to bawling his eyes out, but the relief he gets from letting out his emotions allows him to finally feel liberated/at peace.)
On the note of Akira-san's singing, a thing I had with it was that I thought his tenor with a slight nasally twang tended to be on the stiff side and not showcased much emotion nor vocal prowess - compared to his music school-trained contemporaries, at least. But here was where I finally felt that I got the full extent of what Akira-san was capable of.
That said, I’m actually unsure of a number of stats on “Yoru no Ame”. For one, I don’t know who composed it. According to the Showa Museum (昭和館) archives and Spotify, stated as the lyricist was a Tsuneharu Fukuda (福田恒治), which was Matsudaira's real name. The composer was not shown, but the arranger was: Takio Niki (仁木他喜雄), who was renowned for creating and arranging many a jazz song from Columbia throughout the 1930s. It could be that it was a cover of a Western song and the original composer wasn't really known. Or maybe I'm just overthinking and that Akira-san also did the music. (Noelle from 12/4/24: J-Canuck mentioned that "Yoru no Ame" is a cover of Fats Waller's "Ain't Misbehavin'" from 1929, its score written by Waller and Harry Brooks. So, it is, indeed, a Jazz song. I'll put the Waller's version below.)
That brings me to my next puzzle, which was when this song was released, as the above sources and the 78Music website garnered no results. I attempted to look up the song in the JASRAC database, but it produced no such song by Akira-san, which is strange considering it has a record label number. I might try looking it up at the National Diet Library’s physical archives when I have the time. But if it really doesn’t draw up anything either, I wonder if it's like Akira-san’s version of “Hōrī Jun Zairai” (何日君再来), it was recorded but never reproduced or released after recording, but dug up decades later to be digitalized. It's very possible. A theory I have if, indeed, this scenario was the case, I wonder if the song was made in the late 30s/early 40s, but shelved because of the Pacific War and the domestic battle against all Western music come 1940, and never saw the light of day until now... But then again, even the once shelved “Hōrī Jun Zairai” is logged in the JASRAC website... "Yoru no Ame" is a strange one. (Noelle from 14/4/24: Early Showa culture enthusiast Tadaaki Kitagawa (@anakuro69) from the Twitter grapevine noted that the record number of "Yoru no Ame" makes it very likely that it was released some time between December 1939 and January 1940.)
Akira-san singing "Yoru no Ame" is at the 1:16 mark.
Noelle from 14/6/24: Akira-san appeared as a minor character (the music teacher of one of the main characters) in the film "Junjou Nijuusou" (純情二重奏) from August 1939. He even showed up in the very first scene playing the piano while crooning "Yoru no Ame." I've never heard him speak until this very scene, and his voice was way higher and softer than I imagined it to be.
Finding more songs of his I enjoy was a major factor in allowing me to see Matsudaira in a better light. But I think calling him "Akira-san" and that kinda awkward/goofy smile (that’s honestly pretty cute) of his helped considerably.
When not even a plant stirs in the deep of the night
Out come the ghosts, bitter and anguished
Spooky.
Personally, I'm one of those folks who's terrified of the paranormal but with a curiosity for the macarbe. Unfortunately, it traps me in the loop of regret over listening to that one scary story that was a little too creepy, then immediately moving on to the next one. It was with this curiosity that "Yurei wa Odoru" (Ghosts dance) caught my eye when I was checking out some of Tadaharu Nakano's (中野忠晴) prewar works. Thankfully, rather than something that would keep me up at night, he and the rest of the Colombia Nakano Rhythm Boys had me grooving to and chuckling at the silly yet morbid jazzy ditty.
I'd actually wanted to save "Yurei wa Odoru" for Halloween season, but I thought now would be just as good a time for a *insert wavy effects* spooky tune. Obon may be over, but its Chinese counterpart, the Hungry Ghost Festival a.k.a. Zhongyuan Festival a.k.a. The Seventh Month (of the lunar calendar), only just began last week, so it's rather fitting.
If only there was a version with the Nakano Rhythm Boys as ghosties doing the Swing.
The best way I can describe "Yurei wa Odoru" is that it's essentially the Japanese version of the "Spooky Scary Skeletons" song with a theatrical touch featuring ghosts and a nod at Buddhist afterlife beliefs. It begins on a dark and ominous tone with crashing gongs and tolling bells, sounding more like it's your time on earth that has ended rather than announcing the arrival of the dead. But the moment the fellas start cackling like a bunch of mischievous poltergeists, the mood takes a complete U-turn. This is where the Nakano Rhythm Boys give us a quick rundown of what to expect in the Buddhist hells and ask fundamental questions like, "Why aren't ghosts fat?" (Doushite yurei nya futoranai?) to a playful tune with some sinister undercurrents. Never has such a line been more apt for the Hungry Ghost Festival. I'm not of the Buddhist faith so I'm not sure of the details, but, like Obon, this is the period where those who have left us will come back for a visit, and family and believers will provide offerings of food and other random items (iPhones, anyone?) for the visitors. I think this is also the one time they get to actually "eat." So, even though Nakano and the Bois cite the lack of food in hell for the reason ghosts aren't packing on the pounds, fret not, they can finally get their sustenance and hopefully be less salty. (Noelle from 18/12/2023: Just a little mistake on my part, but I found out that this tune was sung by just the Rhythm Boys themselves without Mr. Nakano. So, the one on lead vocals was most likely Rhythm Boys' leader Akiyama.)
"Yurei wa Odoru" was created by Hideo Akiyama (秋山日出夫) in 1939. Akiyama was the tenor in the Colombia Nakano Rhythm Boys, together with fellow tenor Reisuke Harada (原田礼輔), baritone Shinichi Tezuka (手塚慎一), and bass Matsuzo Yamakami (山上松蔵). Members came and went, but these were the main bunch. This was actually a replacement for the original Colombia Rhythm Boys, Colombia Record Japan's answer to American jazz quartet, The Mills Brothers, as they had moved to Polydor Records. And so, a replacement was needed, thus came the Colombia Nakano Rhythm Boys in 1935. So, how does Nakano fit into this? From what I gather from the J-Wiki and the record company's group introduction, Nakano, enamored with American jazz, was behind the move to form a jazz quartet in the first place, and he frequently collaborated with the original Rhythm Boys until their move. So, in the formation of the second group, the quartet was rebranded as the Colombia Nakano Rhythm Boys, and continued mainly performing as Nakano's backup. Later in 1936, a female jazz quartet, the Colombia Nakano Rhythm Sisters, was also created.
On an ending note, about the Hungry Ghost Festival: In Singapore at least, there are these open-air, free-to-watch concerts called getai (song stage) that are held all over the country during this period. Singers dressed in glitzy and gaudy outfits (very enka, when I think about it) perform Chinese hit songs and may do some comedy sets for a mostly alive audience. Yes, mostly. These performances are meant for the visiting dead, which is why the first row of seats are always empty. The video above will give you an idea of what this annual phenomenon is like through the eyes of a pair of getai performers. Seeing as to how lively the shows can get, the folks must be having the time of their lives jiving to the tunes - literally Yurei wa odoru :).
Recently, I met a fellow early Showa kayo enthusiast I got to know on the 'gram in person while he was on vacation in Tokyo. I brought him record hunting and introduced him to my favourite record haunts in the Jimbocho area. The topic of conversation amid vinyl viewing was, naturally, the musicians of the time and the technicalities of records - fascinating stuff. One of the artists we touched upon was none other than the great Ichiro Fujiyama (藤山一郎). My natsumelo acquaintance did comment that I seemed kinda "late to the party" on the Fujiyama train despite doing deep dives into the world of Japanese prewar and postwar popular songs. In a way, I do agree with that.
On one hand, Mr. Fujiyama had been one of the very first ryukoka characters I'd encountered nearly a decade ago. I enjoyed some of his spunky evergreen hits and thought he was a pleasant presence with that crystal clear voice. I've also always respected him as one of the kayo greats, all the more so when I came across a video of an elderly Fujiyama fiercely asserting that having a cold was no excuse for not being able to sing. This made me see him as that intimidating music teacher who strives for nothing less than discipline and excellence. In fact, it's the reason why I call him "Mr. Fujiyama" rather than his nickname of "Pin-chan". But that was about it and I never bothered to pay much more attention to him despite his omnipresence in old kayo shows and VTRs.
And then "Shanghai Yakyoku"(Shanghai Serenade). Specifically, this live performance on the music program "Natsukashi no Utagoe" (なつかしの歌声) from 1969.
In Kiyomaro Kikuchi's (菊池清麿)"Showa Enka no Rekishi"(昭和演歌の歴史... History of Showa Enka) from 2016, Taro Shoji (東海林太郎) described his "Murasaki Kouta" (むらさき小唄) as having an ethereal, eerie air to it. I felt the exact same way about "Shanghai Yakyoku" when I watched the this clip. Maybe it was the black and white footage that accentuated the haunting nature of Takio Niki's (仁木他喜雄) score. Maybe it was Toshio Nomura's (野村俊夫) lyrics that seem to relay a mysterious love affair in the enigmatic bayside city. Or, perhaps it was the singer himself, smartly-dressed as always, effortlessly gliding towards the camera just as the music sounded most foreboding with its bellowing strings and deep, menacing trumpets. Strangely ethereal. Wonderfully eerie. Combined with his hearty, textbook perfect delivery and crisp enunciation, Mr. Fujiyama had never seemed so... alluring.
The original take.
Anyway, while the 1930s were chock full of China-centric songs and I can think of a couple that are of a similar dark atmosphere as "Shanghai Yakyoku," I can't help but compare it to another entry from 1939 that falls on the complete opposite end of the ambience spectrum, Tadaharu Nakano's (中野忠晴)"China Tango". They're like different sides of the same, tango-inspired, romantic tune coin. The fantastical "China Tango" feels as though you're about to be treated to a wonderful night on the town with a playful Nakano leading you by the hand. And then we have "Shanghai Yakyoku", its intense atmosphere making it feel as though you've just stepped into a 1920s Shanghai Noir film. Who committed the murder in that alley? No one knows. Maybe the suave Mr. Fujiyama does, and he'll take you by the hand to show you who did it - if you can trust him *cue Niki’s dramatic music*.
But at the end of the day, the image I hold of Mr. Fujiyama remains more or less that of a strict classical music teacher who does “moral”, appropriate-for-the-whole-family rajio kayo. “Shanghai Yakyoku”, however, finally enabled me to see him as a pop singer who can be fun to tune in to. Would I get invested into Mr. Fujiyama? I'd be surprised if I do, because I think his singing's "too perfect" and not much feeling gets conveyed as a result (compared to the fellows I love, at least). For now, though, I'm just happy to listen to more of his works with a renewed appreciation for him.
