Rikōran/Hamako Watanabe/Akira Matsudaira — Hōrī Jun Zairai/Heri Jun Zailai (何日君再来)

Disclaimer: Because this is an extremely well-known song internationally with many covers in various languages, I have chosen to only feature the versions from the Showa teens by Japanese* ryukoka singers to narrow the article’s scope. Also, I'll use the Chinese and Japanese titles relatively interchangeably, but will mainly refer to it in Japanese, unless I'm talking about the Mandarin version.

Oh, boy, “Heri Jun Zailai”, or “Hōrī Jun Zairai” (its Japanese pronunciation). It takes me way back to my formative years. I was always told about how its title was a seed of controversy during the 2nd Sino-Japanese War because of how the character 君, meaning something like “young gentleman” sounds the same as 军/軍, meaning “soldier”. Put 日 and 军 together and you get “Japanese Soldier”. The rest of the title translates to “When will ___ return?” You see why it was/is a spicy subject? Yet, from what I’ve briefly read recently, it was a sentimental love song originally written by Chinese songwriters (Bei Lin and Yen Lu) for a Chinese audience in Shanghai without this twisted meaning.

Anyways, as an empty-brained child far-removed from the terrors of history, the title controversy was just a tidbit of song trivia from Mom. In hindsight, I wonder if that trivia did unwittingly stain the song in my mind unconsciously. Still, I also never really thought to listen to “Heri Jun Zailai” even though I had an inkling about its vast popularity. I, however, have this very, very vague memory that I may have checked out Aska from Chage and Aska’s version. My impression was that it was a slow ballad and I wasn’t too into it. And so this impression stuck for over a decade. I only reconnected with the tune just last year when reading "Songs of the Empire: Continental Asia in Japanese Wartime Popular Music" (2003), a dissertation by Edgar Pope on Tairiku songs/Tairiku mono (大陸もの)/China Melody, and Chinese exoticism in Japanese pop music during the early 20th century. For context, Tairiku mono was a term used for kayo featuring mainly the theme of China from around the late 1930s to the early 1940s. Pope mentioned that it eventually came to include other parts of Southeast Asia when Imperial Japan moved down into the region. However, I think it’s generally understood that Tairiku mono equals China-themed kayo. 

Same, Akira-san
From "松平晃、ミス・コロムビアらが参加した、
コロムビア芸術団の慰問風景を収めた貴重映像！"

I have a strange affinity for Tairiku mono, hence my excitement in reading a full-blown dissertation on the topic. My grandfather, however, would probably give me the stink eye because, as Pope very clearly showed in some songs, many of them were pieces of exoticism that were produced as a result of Imperial Japan's further encroachment into the Chinese continent. Some of them were meant to enchant/convince Japanese listeners about the potentials of the new lands and contained a truckload of (racist) stereotypes. That’s not to say that there weren’t songwriters who wrote Tairiku mono because they were truly impressed by the culture and hoped to actually bridge the gap between China and Japan via music, though. Many were made to fit current events and were a likely way to ensure safe passage through the censors. I think many of these Tairiku mono are wonderful songs as they are, so it is regrettable that they have a dark history attached to them.

But, tangent aside, when you talk about popular “Chinese” songs in Japan at the time, one can’t do without “Hōrī Jun Zairai”. What I most vividly remember reading in Pope's was him describing the melody as having a tango flavour. Another thing about me is that I really enjoy kayo/ryukoka that are tango-inspired (tango-cho). Its snappy rhythm often giving a more dramatic flair and romantic atmosphere to the song. Combined that with a Tairiku mono? *Cue Takehei Hayashiya (林家たけへい)* Tamaranai. I mean, one of my favourite songs is literally called “China Tango”. So, learning that prewar “Hōrī Jun Zairai” was of tango-cho piqued my interest greatly and shattered the impression of it being a slow ballad. 

Ohama-san's version

Since I was reading about Tairiku mono, I figured I go with the Japanese version for Japanese audiences. The version I first picked to (re)listen to “Hōrī Jun Zairai” was the version from none other than the Queen of China Melody, Hamako Watanabe (渡辺はま子). In the Japanese version, the song's words were mostly translated into Japanese save for the titular, "Heri Jun Zailai" at the end of each stanza. This translation was done by Tsuneo Nagata (長田恒雄). Ohama-san's delicate soprano expresses our protagonist's bittersweet memories of the lover with whom (she) parted with, and hoping that (he) would soon return. The beautiful and languid accordion-filled tango-inspired melody makes (her) longing even more palpable. Minus the historical context, this perhaps feels like your typical long-distance relationship angsts fit for any time period. With the historical context, I reckon it could be read as a soldier leaving his loved one after being sent off to war. I have a darker interpretation to fit the period's situation, but I do not want to mar this song any more than it already has been, so I will leave it at that.

Excerpt from "Byakuran no Uta"

Anyways, Ohama-san's version actually came a little later as Japanese-Chinese film and music star Rikōran (李香蘭), a.k.a. Yoshiko Yamaguchi (山口淑子), had recorded it in Mandarin first for a Japanese audience. Even earlier, it was originally recorded by Chinese songstress Zhou Xuan (周璇), but for the domestic Chinese market. According to Pope, Ri's rendition was released in Japan in April 1939 and seemed to be quite the sensation. From the video above, even popped up in the Japan-Chinese "friendship" *ahempropaganda* film (Kokusaku eiga) "Byakuran no Uta" (白蘭の歌) which starred Ri and Kazuo Hasegawa (長谷川一夫) from November 1939, the former playing a Chinese woman who fell in love with a Japanese railway engineer played by the latter.  

Ri's original recording

Ri, known for her fluency in both Japanese and Mandarin, was the poster girl for Japan-China relations back in the day (at least), so it was not surprising that she was made to sing "Heri Jun Zailai". The video here features her fully Mandarin version from 1939. As Pope also noted, the original lyrics by Bei Lin differed slightly from Nagata's Japanese translation, wherein the couple in the song have yet to part and are having one last night together. It includes Ri's spoken dialogue which is actually the protagonist's lover happily telling her to not be upset and offers her drinks/a toast over dinner. However, the singer's soft delivery going, "When will you return?" just shows that the jolly toasts are simply a façade. Comparing the versions I've talked about so far, putting aside the language difference, Ohama-san's version somehow gives off a more angsty edge, as compared to Ri's, whose gives off a slightly more melancholic vibe. Perhaps its the even slower tempo and a simpler arrangement similar to the very first recording by Zhou.

Ri's latter day (?) recording

I also came across this version here that I reckon could be a postwar recording since Ri's silk-like voice sounded more mature. But, correct me if I'm wrong. I especially like this version because Ri sang it in both Mandarin and Japanese. It really feels like she continued that Japan-China ambassador role, but without a fascist government's puppetry. Also, the arrangement feels somewhat similar to Ohama-san's take.

Akira-san's recording

Now, you must be wondering why I bracketed "she" and "he" in my earlier descriptions of "Hōrī Jun Zairai". Well, that's because we also have a male Japanese version from the prewar era, from Akira Matsudaira (松平晃) at that. So, I assume that the roles in the lyrics in his version are reversed, wherein it's the man who is pining for his beloved.

Now, Pope had also mentioned Akira-san's involvement in bringing "Hōrī Jun Zairai" to Japan. Soon after Ri's version was released domestically in Japan, Matsudaira had returned from an imon katsudo (Consolatory activities) trip to China arranged by Columbia Records. One thing he brought back was the sheet music to "Hōrī Jun Zairai" and wanted to record it since it was popular in China. And so, Columbia agreed, preparing two Japanese versions: a female version by Ohama-san of "Shina no Yoru" (支那の夜) fame, and a male version by Matsudaira himself. Unfortunately, the powers that be in Columbia thought the song fit a female voice better and thus released Ohama-san's version in August 1939. Nevertheless, since Akira-san's rendition is available in CD albums now, it must've been released at some time in later days, or the original recording was dug out of the archives and digitalized. (Noelle from 11/3/24: According to the J-Wiki, Akira-san's version was dug out in 1970 and released in the LP album "Matsudaira Akira wo Shinonde" (松平晃を偲んで... Remembering Akira Matsudaira) as part of Columbia Records' 60th anniversary.)

Honestly, Akira-san's take genuinely surprised me because I was not expecting him to have also sung "Hōrī Jun Zairai". I uncovered it on my Akira-san appreciation drive a few days back when looking at the song list for one of his Best albums available on Spotify. Without hesitation, I gave it a listen. As suggested above, this take has the exact same arrangement as Ohama-san's, and he similarly employed the vocal gymnastics that are meant to be reminiscent of Chinese singers at the time. Contrary to Columbia's decision and probably a hot take, I thought "Hōrī Jun Zairai" fitted a man's voice quite well. And Akira-san, whom I usually thought to be quite stiff in his vocal delivery, was able to bring forth much emotion to appropriately carry the song... I liked it way more than I expected... Oh, could this actually be my favourite version? Oh. ( ´艸｀*) Nah, Akira-san will, at best, be around Mr. Fujiyama's level and no higher. I'm quite certain of that.

Ohama-san and Akira-san's "duet"

To wrap up this article, here is something I think is amazing. Someone on YouTube (channel 古今東西昔昔今今) did us the greatest service by meshing both Ohama-san's and Akira-san's versions together to create a duet. It personally feels like a play on the idea present in Zhou's original, where both halves of the couple are expressing their love and pining for each other to each other. Ah, the wonders of technology. This is the version we don't need but deserve. 

Akira-san and Ohama-san 
From "松平晃、ミス・コロムビアらが参加した、
コロムビア芸術団の慰問風景を収めた貴重映像！"

I believe my grandfather enjoyed Zhou Xuan's songs. If he were still around, I would make him listen to all these versions of "Heri Jun Zailai"/"Hōrī Jun Zairai". Just because... Although, I wouldn't put it past him to go, "This is a Chinese song. Why are you listening to a Japanese man (I won't say the term he would've used) sing this in Japanese?"

Hamako Watanabe/Yoshiko Yamaguchi/Tokyo Taishu Kayo Gakudan -- Itoshi Ano Hoshi (いとしあの星)

From the moment I unwittingly uttered an "Ah, Ko-san!" when the scrawny, pale fellow stepped up onto the Noh stage at the Asakusa shrine, I knew that the Takashima Brothers from Toyama prefecture have officially become my muse for this Autumn. In hindsight, I should've seen it coming: Smart-looking, Kotaro's (孝太郎) mellow vocals, high definition versions of ryukoka tunes, and having them constantly in my ears as I hack away at my readings. It was only a matter of time. Don't know how I feel about associating the Liberal Democratic Party with the likes of  "Midori no Chiheisen" (緑の地平線), though, but here I am. 

Anyway, a while ago I wrote about the pre-war piece that was "China Tango" which Tokyo Taishu Kayo Gakudan (東京大衆歌謡楽団... lit: Tokyo public music group) had covered. And today I bring you another one of their remakes, this time "Itoshi Ano Hoshi". 

Similar to "China Tango", what first caught my interest in this song was its rhythmic beat albeit at a much quicker tempo. In fact, the frenetic pace at which the bass and banjo are plucked and the blaring notes of the accordion are almost reminiscent of a steam train chugging away, or even the rumbling of a horse carriage headed off to some far off town. Either way, I wonder if this rousing melody was what made "Itoshi Ano Hoshi" somewhat of a mainstay in many of the quartet's performances. 

Since I was able to fish out the title from the comments, I didn't have to dig deep to find the original take of "Itoshi Ano Hoshi". Hamako Watanabe (渡辺はま子) had first recorded this in January 1940. Hearing her falsetto lightly dance over the words written by Hachiro Sato (サトウハチロー), the image of a girl infatuated by her special one and yearning for him can be envisioned a lot easier in comparison to Kotaro's hearty warbling. Watanabe was known as the purveyor of hits with connections to the Chinese continent and this song is no exception, made obvious by the Chinese sound in its melody, courtesy of Ryoichi Hattori (服部良一). 

In fact, "Itoshi Ano Hoshi" was actually the theme of the movie "Byakuran no Uta" (白蘭の歌) from 1939. It starred Chinese-Japanese actress-singer Yoshiko Yamaguchi (山口淑子) a.k.a Li Xianglan (李香蘭), who also had her rendition of this tune. Incidentally, Watanabe was supposed to be something like the Japanese mainland counterpart to Yamaguchi, who was active in China in the time before all hell broke loose... again. 

I believe the video here is Yamaguchi's version and it shows snippets from that film. The plot, set in the 1930s in Imperial Japan's annexed Manchuria, revolves around a love story between a Chinese girl of elite Manchurian descent, played by Yamaguchi, and a Japanese fellow who's working as an engineer at the South Manchurian Railway Company, played by Kazuo Hasegawa (長谷川一夫). But, really, in true propaganda film fashion, our main character here is really the railway being built. Why? Well, while our main characters do end up together, they end up sacrificing themselves to protect the railway's construction progress during the Marco Polo Bridge incident... Sarcasm aside, "Itoshi Ano Hoshi" does illustrate how our leading lady feels as she awaits letters from her engineer beau.  

On an end note, even though I hoped to hear "Itoshi Ano Hoshi" during my first viewing of the Gakudan's regular Asakusa Shrine performances on 31st October, it wasn't on their setlist for the day or, at least, during the 2nd of their 2 showings. Ah, well. I have many more opportunities to hear it and other favourites of mine in time to come... In fact, I intend to be doing so very soon on November 10th. 

Welcome to the wall, fellas.

Y'know, the Gakudan members do look like 4 copies of a product with some variations that make them relatively discernable. They're all great and I like them all. But. Admittedly. I do have a very, very marginal preference for Yujiro (although it does regularly shift to Kotaro). If you haven't read the "China Tango" article, I'll have you figure out which of the 3 instrumentalists Yujiro is. 

P.S. A few friends had accompanied me to see the quartet in action that afternoon, and it did amuse me that they seemed fascinated by the band's get-up and instruments. It then made me realise that in not usually seeing such an image and hearing such a sound regularly or ever, it would indeed be fascinating. I did greatly appreciate their willingness to take it all in. Rain and ryukoka.

Rentaro Taki -- Kojo no Tsuki (荒城の月)

Instrumental version

At this point in time, I'm aware of a few kayo that are meant to be odes to ancient Japanese castles, namely Michiya Mihashi's (三橋美智也) "Kojou" (古城) and Kiyoshi Hikawa's (氷川きよし) "Haku-un no Shiro" (白雲の城). I'm a fan of Michi's biggest hit and I'm in the midst of getting used to Hikawa's iconic single, but I hadn't yet got formally introduced to their spiritual predecessor "Kojo no Tsuki" until now.

"Kojo no Tsuki", which translates to "Moon Over the Ruined Castle", has a forlorn and haunting atmosphere, created by long drawn out strings and, in some versions I've heard, the tinkling notes of the koto (adds a more Japanese flavour). This eerie composition, written by the short-lived Rentaro Taki (滝廉太郎) in 1901, highlights the fact that these fortresses, once grand in their time, are now nothing but moss-covered ruins and remnants of the past. This brings to my mind the phrase "If the walls could talk, what would they be saying?". Perhaps the cobblestone walls must be lamenting over their fate of being forgotten or having been turned into a tourist attraction after being the epitome of power in their prime.

Yoshiko Yamaguchi's version

I digress. Moving on, the inspiration for the two aforementioned hits by the huge enka stars actually started out as a tune for music lessons in school. After Taki passed on, one thing led to another and some changes to his score were made and the lyrics were added by poet Bansui Doi (土井晩翠). Eventually, it did become popularized nationally as well as internationally in the 1920's, although I'm not very sure who was the first to record it. The English Wiki stated that operatic singer Yoshie Fujiwara (藤原義江) recorded it in 1925, but the J-Wiki has no mention of it. That aside, it was covered a number of times by a myriad of artistes, like the venerable Yoshiko Yamaguchi (山口淑子), Ichiro Fujiyama (藤山一郎), and of course, Michi and Hikawa. I'm not able to find Michi's take, but I've put up the others. I don't have a favourite, but I feel that Yamaguchi's soprano gives "Kojo no Tsuki" an extra layer of loneliness and eeriness.

Mr Fujiyama's version

Between "Kojou" and "Haku-un no Shiro", I think the latter resembles "Kojo no Tsuki" more in terms of its music. You can hear it in the video below. The score of "Kojou", on the other hand, sounds like it has slightly more modern touch to it.

Hikawa's "Haku-un no Shiro"

A little tidbit of information here: The castles the words and the music were based on were different. Taki had Oita prefecture's Oka Castle in mind, while Doi pictured the Aoba Castle in Miyagi and Aizuwakamatsu Castle in Fukushima.

Personally, I've not visited many castles in Japan. The only one I've actually gone up to for a look was the Osaka castle about 4 years back. T'was a majestic sight against the night sky and it's nowhere near ruin, but to be frank, I was more interested in this enormous Siberian Husky or Alaskan Malamute (probably the latter) that was stationed inside a photo shop. I really wanted to give it some love but I was advised not to - the elderly shop owner seemed sour over people going into the shop for the dog and not for the photo services. Well, lady, what do you expect when you've got a dog big enough to be ridden into battle? I wonder if Fido is still there.

Yoshiko Yamaguchi/Noboru Kirishima & Hamako Watanabe -- Soshu Yakyoku (蘇州夜曲)

Kirishima and Watanabe's version.

A couple of weeks back, the topic of this singer-actress, Yoshiko Yamaguchi (山口淑子) a.k.a. Lee Xianglan/Ri Koran (李香蘭) was brought up by Mom after I pointed out that a guest on "Uta Kon" sang "Soshu Yakyoku" or "Suzhou Yequ" (Suzhou Serenade). While she's normally not particularly enthusiastic when it comes to ryukoka, things were different when it came to this song as she so happens to know it and actually likes it - its Chinese version, that is.

Personally, I was able to recognize "Soshu Yakyoku" as many singers have done covers (which was how Mom got to know it too) of this old-but-gold tune, including ASKA, and was somewhat aware that it was originally a duet with Noboru Kirishima and Hamako Watanabe, but that was about it. That was where Yamaguchi came in. Via Mom I got to know some basics about the China-born Japanese woman with a turbulent past who had sang "Soshu Yakyoku" as well, and some research afterwards showed that she was technically the first one to sing it when she played as the lead in the 1940 film, "Shina no Yoru" (支那の夜) - she also happened to be a politician in the 70's, and vice president for the Asian Women's Fund. Apparently the characters for "Shina", which are pronounced as "Zhi-na", mean China. Initially I had no idea why that was the case until Mom shot me a death stare and said that this "Zhi" is read as the "Chi" in "China"... She almost wanted to knock me on the head. I think she would have if I had sat nearer to her.

Yamaguchi's version.

Head-knocks aside, listening to "Soshu Yakyoku", I can see why it is such a popular song despite being in a Japanese occupation propaganda film. The mellow music with that tinkling that pops in from time to time makes me envision what a night scene in old Suzhou would have been: calm waters of the canals that flow through the area gently lapping at the banks, reflections of some small light sources dotted on the dark surface, a little boat or two gliding along, old-style buildings sitting by the water's edge silently. I can also imagine someone sitting by the window of one such old house staring at his/her view. Very nice and comfortable. While in my mind I only pictured there to be a lone figure with his/her thoughts, "Soshu Yakyoku" seems to depict a couple enjoying each other's company in said town. In that case, the duet feels like the companions are talking to each other. Putting the track together were Yaso Saijo (西條八十) on the lyrics and Ryoichi Hattori ((服部良一) on the music.

"Soshu Yakyoku" was officially made into a single in August 1940 when Kirishima and Watanabe recorded it, two months after "Shina no Yoru" came out in theaters. Yamaguchi did come to record her version more than a decade later in 1953, and it got used as the theme song to "Hoyou" (抱擁), a film that also starred the lady herself. Being a coloratura soprano, Yamaguchi's voice was really high when she sang the song, but somehow I found it quite pleasant, and it reminds me of some of those old Disney movies like "Snow White" when the titular character sings.

As I had mentioned above, there are also Chinese renditions of "Soshu Yakyoku", or should I say "Suzhou Yequ", and I managed to find one rather easily. This one's by a popular Taiwanese singer by the name of Fei Yu-ching (費玉清). I do like his version - fuller, smoother arrangement, plus that delicate voice of his.

fujiura.com/fgod/songs/zsoshuyakyoku.htm