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.

Michiya Mihashi -- Muteki (霧笛)

Hello! It's hard to believe that we're in February already. I hope this new year's been going well for you guys.

I, though, didn't have the best start to 2026. I'd come down with a horrendous case of the flu since New Year's day. Perhaps it was all the residue fatigue from 2024 and stressors of 2025 compounded with a particularly serious flu season this winter, but I was put out of commission for almost two weeks. My sinuses were the main source of grief; that in turn caused my ears to become rather sensitive, so much so that I couldn't stomach listening to music. The dynamic rhythms and the emotive voices of the singers I ordinarily listened to caused me discomfort. That's saying a lot, because I can't remember a day where I didn't listened to a single song. It was two kayo-less days before I finally had the desire to listen to something. This song was Michiya Mihashi's (三橋美智也) Muteki (Fog whistle). 

Yes, only Muteki. 

Muteki is an 80's enka written by prolific lyricist Hiroshi Yokoi (横井弘) and composed by Toshiyo Kamata (鎌多俊与). According to the J-Wiki, it first surfaced in Michi’s 1982 album, Furusato Zessho (ふるさと絶唱), before being sold as a single in December 1983. Admittedly, I came across this just a few months ago while sampling as many of the Toshi-san-composed Michiya bushi (みちや節). Based on the comprehensive discography in Hiroshi Ogino’s (荻野広) Michiya Mihashi: Sengo kayo ni miru Showa no sesou (三橋美智也: 戦後歌謡に見る昭和の世相), Muteki seemed to be their final collaborative piece. 

As for why I could stomach this singular song (I must've listened to it at least 6 times on the day I broke my music fast), it's because it's an extremely easy-listening enka. Toshi-san's melody of a medium-ish tempo is pleasantly jaunty, yet not too intense; the plucky notes of the acoustic guitar and whistling flute making it lively enough. Even the dramatic segments were arranged in such a way that isn't too jarring while still working as intended. Later-day Michi's more subdued delivery still holds a level of despondence that carries the sadness within Yokoi's story - that of an ill-fated pair whose tragic love story began at a foggy wharf. Every aspect of Muteki just melded together so seamlessly, ill me could enjoy it without a shred of discomfort. Even after recovering, I still listen to Muteki fairly frequently since it fits almost any mood I'm in. I guess I found my kayo equivalent to chicken soup, although I wouldn't have foreseen it being a Michiya bushi.

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!

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.

Michiya Mihashi — Fuyu no Hanabi (冬の花火)

 

Summer’s almost over - or, technically, it should be but the extreme heat over here in Japan is saying otherwise. Over in the Kanto area, we’re still getting highs of 36-39 degrees (Celsius), and being Southeast Asian is no longer a buffer against these insane temperatures in this country. And so, I decided to go north (again) to cool off for my summer break. 

It’s been about a decade since I last visited Japan’s northernmost prefecture of Hokkaido, and I’d never been to its southernmost major city, Hakodate. My parents, having been there fairly recently, had said good things about this quaint, historical locale and its sumptuous seafood, so I thought it was high time I paid it a visit. But, you know me, my vacation choices within Japan are governed by one thing: the presence of anything kayo-related. Hokkaido is one of the most enka-centric locations, and Hakodate alone has connections to the venerable Saburo Kitajima (北島三郎) and prolific lyricist Kikutaro Takahashi (高橋掬太郎). However, there was one figure from that area in particular whom I wanted to "see": Michiya Mihashi (三橋美智也).

Hi, Michi

I tend to choose flying for their short durations when I travel domestically (it's actually cheaper too), but this time, I specifically chose to go by bullet train. Why? Because I wanted Michi to welcome me to Hokkaido.

The 北海道 Man

Mihashi, hails from the town of Kamiiso (上磯郡), which is now under Hokuto City (北斗市) jurisdiction. Thus, a memorial plaque dedicated to the legendary min'yo kayo singer had been constructed outside the Shin Hakodate-Hokuto shinkansen station in late 2015. Additionally, a chic painting of the man strumming his shamisen decorates the brick-lined walls at a rest area within the station. Seeing those dedications to him upon setting foot in Hokuto, it felt as though I were reuniting with an old friend, and nostalgia hit me like a Hakodate-manufactured brick.

Because I had planned for this to be a Michi-centred* trip in terms of oshikatsu, part of the prep had included digging for Mihashi tunes which were Hokkaido or, at least, north country-themed. In the process, I uncovered Fuyu no Hanabi (Winter Fireworks). Fireworks, as far as Japan is concerned, screams summer, what with all the massively extravagant fireworks shows in August nationwide. But there's also "winter" in the title, which conjures up frigid conditions and snow-blanketed streets. Hokkaido/Tohoku generally is far cooler than most regions in the country, and I was going there in summer. 

Fuyu = Winter = Cold/Cool 

Hanabi = Fireworks = Summer

Fuyu no Hanabi? Cold place in summer? 

... Yes, I'm aware of how ridiculously thin I was stretching my imagination, but it was a fine song I wanted to bring to Hokkaido, so I rolled with my half-past-six logic.

Fuyu no Hanabi was released on 15th October 1982 as the B-side to Echigo Zessho (越後絶唱). This single was meant to mark the 30th anniversary of Michi's professional singing career, and its sales allowed Michi to become the first Japanese singer to hit one hundred million in record sales, according to the J-Wiki. An incredible milestone indeed. 

Looking at the titles of both songs, they do radiate ENKA, don't they? But doesn't Echigo Zessho just feel more like an enka A-side and looks right as the fronting tune to this single? Michi, in recounting the production process of this single in his autobiography Michi no Jinsei Enka (ミッチーの人生演歌) (1983), mentioned how he liked Echigo Zessho from the get-go, being in a buoyant mood during its recording and even assuming it to be the A-side. However, unbeknownst to him, it was Fuyu no Hanabi, which had been recorded earlier, that had been set as the A-side. After much discussion, Michi's insistence won out and the song order was switched to what we see now. 

Having listened to both, I thought both were pretty good enka and I'd be fine with either being the lead song. But I'm a bigger fan of Fuyu no Hanabi. The lyrics were written by Hiroshi Yokoi (横井弘), one of Michi's long-time collaborators. Yokoi painted a picture of a snowy hot spring town deep in the mountains in the midst of a winter festival. Our protagonist arrives by steam train (of course) after a long journey, and he searches high and low for the one that got away ages ago, hoping to make things right. But this is enka, so of course his efforts are in vain and he feels nothing but regret and sadness. Michi's voice is, to me, usually cold and hollow-sounding, so it certainly amplifies the despondence of the protagonist feels here.

Classic enka storyline aside, it was the music that got me hooked. Toshiyo Kamata (鎌多俊与) was responsible for the pop-like melody with a funky rhythm. The rhythmic guitar rifts, however, are my favourite part as they feel reminiscent of snow swirling in the wind and falling heavily. This, combined with the dramatic strings, seem to articulate the protagonist's anxious yet hopeful state of mind in his search.

The winter imagery in Fuyu no Hanabi was a good enough fit for my stereotypical view of Hokkaido, and so it was a tune that was constantly in my ears during my whole trip there. It was undoubtedly cooler than Saitama, being around 8 to 10 degrees lower in general. But instead of snow, I got rain. A lot of rain. That photo of Michi at the very top is a fairly good visual of what it was like to walk around town on most of the days, but I was certainly less composed as I fought the wind and horizontal sheets of rain that came with it. That said, it was still an enjoyable trip and I would revisit Hakodate. I reckon that if I were to head there again during winter, Fuyu no Hanabi would been even more fitting. 

Say "Cheese"!

During my tour of the Hakodate region, which included a stop at the town of Esashi, I was predominantly listening to Michi songs, something I hadn't done in several years. I mentioned the nostalgia upon "meeting" Michi earlier, but it actually also came with a hint of sadness and even guilt for practically almost forgetting about him for a very long time. This trip, while mostly meant for me to completely shut out the stressors of school and work for a bit, had helped me to reconnect with the singer I used to admire greatly. And that only took me, like what - 8 years? Better late than never, eh, Michi?

I'm trying to imagine another time line where, at that fork in the road about 8 years ago, I chose Michi over Hachi (Hachiro Kasuga... 春日八郎). I think things would've turned out quite differently. Then again, it may turn out more or less the same, just with a different fellow.

* I say "Michi-centred", and for the most part that is true, especially in terms of the music aspect. But the photos I brought along included Hachi and Muchi. Admittedly, I didn't have the confidence to tote "just Michi" photos yet. I still needed my support Hachi.

Hachiro Kasuga -- Ore wa Nora Inu (俺は野良犬)

Arnie

Back during my internship at AVA (Singapore's Agri-Food & Vet. Authority), because of my constant trips out to the boondocks with my colleagues for ornamental fish farm inspections, I got more than my fill of dogs in the span of four and a half months. There were a couple of hyper-excited corgi mutt-things, both taught me what it meant to be play bitten and had my friend Mr J. tutting at my ability to be bullied by the little rabid creatures; there was also trio of dobermans who were intimidating at first, but they turned out to be affectionate. However, I have a soft spot for the giant brindle mastiff Arnie who, despite his size, wouldn't hurt a fly. I mean, look at the derpy face! Any intruder would get to experience being lovingly leaned on or licked... before getting viciously chomped on the butt by the ferocious resident cane corso.

Those were some of the canines whom I had successfully made a rapport with - all owned by the farmers and at some point were meant to be guard dogs. However, there were also a number of strays hanging around the quiet roads and skulking about in the tall grass. I can't say that sentiments towards them were particularly nice, and they were being frowned upon or shooed. And unlike the likes of Arnie, I was constantly being told to stay away. Cut to late last year (and how this anecdote relates to anything in this article) when I got introduced to Hachiro Kasuga's (春日八郎) "Ore wa Nora Inu" (I'm a stray dog), I couldn't help but wonder if the main character in the song was being subjected to the above mentioned treatment.

As I mentioned in my list of Hachi songs, "Ore wa Nora Inu" is one of my favourites from the enka veteran. With just the melody alone, the strings and slow waltz-like rhythm makes for an elegant albeit dated sound.This contrasts with the words that feature a fellow who's the complete opposite of elegant. I'm guessing he could be a hobo-nagashi or hobo-ruffian, drunkenly wandering around the dark and dank uramachis, and thus being shunned by the masses as if he were a stray dog. An interesting juxtaposition, but what made it latch on to me, besides its surprisingly catchy tune, is how Hachi's forlorn and tender vocals convey Mr Hobo's possible loneliness and hopelessness of being stuck in his current predicament. I feel that it sounds more obvious in the original take of "Ore wa Nora Inu", which is in the video above, when the singer had a higher and shriller voice. His self-cover in his 3rd Deluxe album (春日八郎デラックス第3集) from 1972 (video below), had him sounding more lax.

"Ore wa Nora Inu" was written by Hiroshi Yokoi (横井弘) and composed by Toshio Kamata (鎌多俊与) - I think that's how his name is pronounced? - and was originally released as the B-side to "Gomen yo Kanbenna" (ごめんヨかんべんナ) in 1957. I think it was decently popular, considering Hachi's character sang it in a film (as with many singers of that time, he had roles in some movies too), which I think is called "Aoi Umibara" (青い海原) from the same year that starred Hibari Misora (美空ひばり) and Ken Takakura (高倉健).

(Sorry but the video has been taken down.)

Dang, he was cute when he smiled... ...

OKAY, on an ending note, I'd like to wish everyone a Happy Chinese New Year! And wouldn't you know it, it's the year of the dog. :)

Hachiro Kasuga -- Izakaya （居酒屋）

Japan taught me a number of things. One of the biggest things was learning how to drink, since during my JET days and nights the seasonal drinking parties pretty much forced me to imbibe the chu jokkii (medium mugs) of beer at the izakaya (Japanese pubs) almost on a nightly basis. I even learned how to partake in the ochoko and tokkuri of sake. However what kept me going without gagging or going completely drunk was the pub food....I just loved the stuff whether it be grilled hokke, sashimi, saikoro steak and my personal love, karaage. Sure, this wasn't exactly health food (although salad and other forms of vegetation were on the menu); it was pure comfort food to be enjoyed among friends in an atmosphere of camaraderie.

It's ironic then that a number of drinking songs involving the quintessential izakaya focus on the lonely and depressed drinker down on his luck. The izakaya lifestyle is usually quite a happy experience but in the world of kayo kyoku, it's often cry-in-your-beer. Case in point: Hachiro Kasuga's（春日八郎）"Izakaya" from 1958. It's as shibui as a glass of very dry shochu as Kasuga warbles about the trials and tribulations of life as a sad sack makes his way to the backstreet watering hole for some liquid comfort. Despite the sad lyrics by Hiroshi Yokoi（横井弘）, I still found a layer of defiance under Kasuga's mournful delivery. The man may be wallowing but he's not totally down and out. By the way, Toshikiyo Kamata（鎌多俊与）was responsible for the music.

I'm not sure when Naomi Chiaki（ちあきなおみ）covered "Izakaya" but her delivery seems very concerned and reassuring as if she were the owner of that pub consoling that distraught customer. Where Kasuga was vibrant, Chiaki has that extra sultry smokiness.

In my city, the izakaya has been the latest gastronomic craze to take up residency for the last couple of years. The Toronto variation though has a bit more rock n' roll in the decor and jazz in the dishes compared to the enka of the original pubs in Japan, but both versions still provide a nice little niche for folks to enjoy food, drink and camaraderie. However at my favourite izakaya, Kingyo, I have found myself ordering the freshly-made ginger ale instead of alcohol. So much for my career as a barfly.

It's really a Tokyo okonomiyaki restaurant
but the feel of an izakaya is there.

Michiya Mihashi/Aya Shimazu -- Aishu Ressha (哀愁列車)

People back in the 50's must really have a thing for trains. Here we have another train song, this time by Michiya Mihashi (三橋美智也), the last of the trio of reputable Enka singers I've been covering - the other two being Hideo Murata (村田英雄) and Hachiro Kasuga (春日八郎). Murata had this aura of intimidation, Kasuga had this little smile with dimples and Mihashi had this stoic and sometimes even blank look on his face.

Anyway, 'Aishu Ressha' or 'The melancholy train' was Michi's 13th single and was released on June 1956. And since its a melancholic song, he sings the first few words of the song like he is crying out in anguish.

Its lyrics were done by lyricist Hiroshi Yokoi (横井 弘), who also contributed the lyrics to quite a number of Michi's songs. And the music was composed by... something... Kamata (鎌多俊与). I think it did pretty alright, there wasn't any write up on this song either. All I know is that it was a million seller and landed him his first Kohaku appearance in 1956, and he sang it again at the 25th Kohaku in 1974 after 11 years of respite.

Mihashi, a Hokkaido native, actually kinda began his singing career in 1942 at the age of 12 after winning a Minyo (folk music) singing competition a year before. But he officially debuted in 1955 as an Enka singer with 'Onna Sendo Uta' (おんな船頭唄) after moving to Tokyo to find work, and working at an onsen as a boiler engineer in Yokohama while teaching Minyo. Oh yeah, and Takashi Hosokawa (細川たかし) was a student of his.

Aya Shimazu (島津亜矢), another Enka singer whom I always see doing covers of Saburo Kitajima's (北島三郎) songs  also did her own rendition of 'Aishu Resha'. She conveys the anguish well, too.

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