Crafting the Showa Dream in Popular Song: “Hachi-Roku” and the Invention of Modern Kayokyoku, 1959-65

Home , 2009 in Japanese music, Enka, Group sounds

Michael FURMANOVSKY Ryukoku University

要旨

大衆向け歌曲に託された昭和の夢ーー「八六」と現代歌謡曲の発現(1959-65) 本稿では、昭和 30 年代後半(1959-65)に、歌謡曲と呼ばれる現代日本のポピュラー・ソングの礎が築かれる中で、永六輔と中村八大という伝説に名高い作詞家・作曲家のコンビが果たした役割について考察する。当時都会に暮らす日本人の夢や欲望、そして挫折を明確にし、それを歌に織り込むことにおいて、早稲田が輩出したこの 2 人の作詞・作曲家が、いかに同業者たちを凌いでいたかを指摘する。 2 人が生み出す楽曲は、単調だが安定の得られる事務職に就き、核家族家庭に身を落ち着け始めた、いわゆる新しいサラリーマン世代の心を捉えたのである。さらに本稿では、この 2 人の作詞・作曲家たちが活躍した時代の社会・文化的背景にも着目し、テレビ番組「夢であいましょう」に２人が提供した楽曲の歌詞を分析することを通して、時代精神を捉える能力において、この２人がいかに秀逸を極めていたかを明らかにする。

Introduction

In recent years, cultural studies scholars working in the field of post-war Japanese popular music, have made great strides in uncovering a history that just ten years ago was largely unexplored. While still considered somewhat obscure, this rich history is gradually reaching a new audience of younger Japanese who have developed a nostalgic interest in mid-Showa-era culture, both material and artistic (Sand, 2007). This article aims at adding Japan’s post-war songwriting to the contributions and analysis made by scholars writing in English in the area of jazz (Atkins 2001, Molasky, 2006); enka (Yano, 2002); kayōkyoku and Group Sounds (Bourdaghs, 2012); rokabiri (Furmanovsky, 2008); folk (Tachi, 2009); rock (Stevens, 2008) and hip hop (Condry, 2006). Of these popular culture specialists, the work of Bourdaghs deserves special merit since his recent Sayonara Amerika, Sayonara Nippon is the first detailed analysis of the main currents of Japanese pop music since the war. Bourdagh’s work, which is discussed later, builds on the pioneering studies of the pre- war years by Mitsui Toru (1997). Mitsui’s work, as well as that of Japanese scholar Kikuchi Kiyoshi (2008), has been especially useful in bringing attention to Koga Masao -1- and Hattori Ryuichi, the two leading figures in pre-war Japanese musical innovation. Koga is generally regarded as being the father of modern day guitar-based enka while Hattori is acknowledged as the musician most responsible for the post-war melding of ryūkōka, (the generic word for Japanese popular song) with rumba, tango, jazz, Hawaiian and other genres. This combination would ultimately coalesce into what became known in the early 1950s as mudo kayōkyoku (a genre now generally labeled as “enka”), the single most popular genre of the decade and one that remains part of the cultural identity of the surviving pre-baby boom generation. Taken collectively Bourdaghs and Mitsui’s efforts to describe and explain Japan’s post-war musical development, allow for an increasingly nuanced understanding of the origin of the modern Japanese pop song. Yet one area still remains relatively neglected; namely the role of the songwriter in fashioning the songs that are the soundtrack to post-war Japan’s dramatic recovery and rise. This article focuses on the work of Nakamura Hachidai and Ei Rokusuke, a pair of so-called “free songwriters.” This term was given to the new 1960’s generation of songwriters whose output was not contracted to a specific record company.1 Both men were born in the early 1930s, and educated at Waseda University in the 1950s before and emerged in the early 1960s as the core of a handful of musical and cultural innovators. Working as a songwriting duo, much in the tradition of contemporaneous American songwriters such as Leiber-Stoller, Bacharach-David, King-Goffin and Weil-Mann, these two men would not only reinvent the Japanese kayōkyoku genre but, with a handful of contemporaries, go on to play a pivotal role in reshaping Japanese popular music as a whole.

2. Songwriting as Generational Statement: The 1930s Cohort

Given the huge diversity of songwriters responsible for creating the songs that are considered to define the first half of the 1960s in the U.S and U.K, it is surely remarkable that just a handful of individuals, could dominate the world of songwriting in Japan during a period of great social and cultural change. Yet, it is indisputable that composer-arranger Nakamura Hachidai and lyricist Ei Rokusuke (hereafter “Hachi-Roku”) achieved a level of musical ubiquity during these years that dwarfs any of their contemporaries in the west. Indeed collectively these two songsmiths played a role in writing many of the best-selling modern-idiom kayōkyoku that define the period from 1959-65 (see appendix). 2 Any explanation of the manner in which Hachi-Roku put their generational stamp on Japanese popular music, must give due attention to their early experiences in post-war Japan. Born in 1931 and 1933 respectively, the two men entered high school precisely at the time when occupation reforms were at their most experimental, namely 1947-52. As such they benefited from a greatly liberalized atmosphere in which pre-war, hierarchical and

-2- nationalistic attitudes towards western musical styles were being broken down and discredited. It would of course be simplistic to equate the songs that they would write a decade later with their experiences in high school and Waseda University. Yet as their own educational experiences, both in high school and university suggest, there can be little doubt that the optimistic, experimental and fertile post-war cultural environment that existed within many of Japan’s urban schools during these years, would be a factor in shaping the melodies and lyrics that remade Japanese popular culture (Nakamura, Kuroyanagi & Ei, 1992: 63-72; Ei, 2006, 14-17).

3. Nakamura Hachidai and the role of jazz during the U.S Occupation

Much has been written about the way in which the policies of the GHQ helped foster a cultural renaissance in occupation-era Japan. Building on the work of Yoshimi (2003), the first to discuss the role of Japanese musicians in entertaining American troops, Bourdaghs has greatly expanded our understanding of the early 1950s with his nuanced discussion of jazz singer Kasagi Shizuko and Misora Hibari’s divergent careers during the jazz boom that followed the end of the occupation in 1952 (31-46, 55-72). Lasting around five years, it drew on the abilities and interests of pre-war jazz musicians, but soon attracted a new crop of adherents from a perhaps unexpected source; students from elite universities in Tokyo and Kansai (Atkins, 170-74). While some of these students were aware of the pre-war association of jazz with the dance hall-based underworld of alcohol and prostitution, few seem to have had any compunction about embracing it in its exciting new incarnation. Indeed, having experienced firsthand the social revolution that the immediate post-war years had brought in almost every area of life while in their mid-teens, a number of students at elite private universities such as Waseda, Rikkyou and Aoyama saw jazz as an authentic and highly attractive art form that, because of the occupation, was within their reach. No individual in Japan’s post-war popular music history better encapsulates the post- war jazz musician turned composer, than Nakamura Hachidai. Working almost non-stop from his first hit in 1959 (age 26) until his illness and untimely death at age 61, Nakamura’s compositions with lyricist Ei Rokusuke, place him at the pinnacle of Japan’s songwriting hall of fame, rivaled only by Koga and Hattori. Because of the worldwide success of his “Ue o muite arukō” (sung by Sakamoto Kyu), Nakamura’s name appears in a number of English language articles and books on Japanese popular culture including those by Bourdaghs and Stevens. Largely missing from these accounts of the success of the so- called “Sukiyaki” song, however, is any analysis of how he and Ei reinvented and reinvigorated Japanese popular song, or the way in which the duo’s work came to embody the zeitgeist and longings of their generation—much as the mudo kayō came to embody the one that emerged immediately after the war. -3- Born to a musical expatriate family in Japan-occupied Qingdao, China in 1931, Nakamura’s promise as a classical piano student led his father to send him to Tokyo to attend an elementary school run by Ueno Ongaku Gakuen, a forerunner of Tokyo Geijitsu University. Evacuated to Kurume in Kyushu in 1944, he attended a school affiliated with Waseda University and was soon invited to play piano for a high school chorus club. After school, the teenage prodigy, already a devout fan of the eclectic music programs broadcast by U.S military radio station FEN, began playing with two local jazz bands. By the time he entered Waseda University’s Literature Faculty in 1949, the eighteen year-old was proficient enough to attract the attention of his musical “senpai,” Watanabe Shin, the founder of the Six Joes, Japan’s leading jazz combo. Dropping out of university, he toured almost every urban area with the group in the early 1950s and, at the age of just 21, found himself catapulted to the status of a minor star. In 1953, he joined arguably the top three jazz musicians of the day, Kawaguchi George, Matsumoto Hidehiko and Ono Mitsuru to form the legendary “Big Four,” an experience that further refined his skills and musical sensibility. Despite this success, however, he found himself out of a job when the jazz boom faded in 1957-58 (Nakamura Obituary, 1992). In the next two years, Nakamura contemplated his future in a music business dominated by carefully constructed but increasingly formulaic mudo kayō a genre that had become increasingly dominated by professional songwriters affiliated to the major record companies (Sukiyaki Song Anniversary Website).

4. “Kuroi hanabira” and the birth of modern kayōkyoku

With its flowery, poetic and sentimental lyrics, mudo kayō was squarely aimed at the troubles of urban migrants and blue-collar workers who frequented the watering holes of Tokyo during the harsh economic reconstruction years. Perhaps no song better captured the mudo kayō sensibility better than the massive 1957 hit “Yūrakuchō de aimashō” (Let’s meet at Yurakucho), composed by veteran songwriters Yoshida Tadashi and Saeki Takao and sung by crooner Frank Nagai (Kayo Kyoku Plus). Both musically and lyrically, the song could hardly have been more unlike the musical ideas that were forming in Nakamura’s head during his most desolate year (1958) when, saddled with debts and poor attendance at his recitals, he contemplated suicide (Sukiyaki Song Anniversary Website). That his pessimism proved short-lived was due in part to events in 1958-59. Working within the music industry in Tokyo, he was able to see first hand, the impact of the Western Carnival rockabilly concert series that were attracting tens of thousands of Tokyo teenagers to the Nichigeki Theater. These concerts—held on several occasions during 1958 and 1959—were the brainchild of the newly formed Watanabe Productions (hereafter Nabepro), a company set up by Nakamura’s former boss Watanabe Shin and his business- oriented wife Misa. Swept up in a frenzy of excitement at the American-style singing, -4- dancing and fashion styles of their teen idols’ cover of American rockabilly styles, this new generation, while hardly articulate in their musical preferences were clearly looking for music that was bright, optimistic and danceable (Rittoru Dahring, 1958:30). The contribution to Japanese popular culture of Watanabe Misa, a 30-year old woman with an extraordinarily prescient understanding of the societal and musical zeitgeist has been discussed in an earlier study by the author (Furmanovsky 2008). Watanabe was already a veteran of Japan’s highly controlled and often autocratic music industry by the time she launched the Nichigeki Western Carnival in February 1958. Aware of the potential danger to her new company of the perceived juvenile delinquency of her rockabilly artists and the possibility of the “rokabiri bumu” fading, she sought to broaden the base of these young acts in three distinctive ways. The first was to borrow and then customize elements of the new light idol pop emerging in the U.S. The second involved a shifting towards recording original songs sung in Japanese, a change that would necessitate the adoption of a kayōkyoku-style vocal and the involvement of a new kind of songwriter. The third was to place a calculated gamble on the potential commercial power of both the new medium of TV and the movie industry with its now growing interest in topical and youth oriented B-pictures3. In 1959-62 the Japanese film industry reached what would be an all time peak, releasing an average of around 500 features a year 4. Many of these were low-budget vehicles aimed squarely at the new urban demographic’s affinity for musical artists and popular songs. Among these was the 1959 Toho production, “Seishun wo kakero” (Bet on Youth) written as a potential vehicle for Watanabe Misa’s rockabilly-style acts. Featuring a throwaway plot and a hastily assembled cast, the songs were contracted out to Toshiba, the only record company without its own inhouse songwriters. Aware of Watanabe Shin’s connections with freelance musicians, Toshiba asked the latter to find a suitable composer for songs that could be used in the movie. Watanabe immediately brought in his former Six Joes colleague and tasked him with finding a lyricist to compose ten new songs for this movie in a matter of days (Muramatsu, 2001: 43-52) Nakamura Hachidai’s fateful meeting outside the Nichigeki theater with Ei Rokusuke, the lyricist who would grace his elegant melodies and help him compose those ten songs in an all-night writing session, has not perhaps achieved the important place in Japanese pop culture history that it deserves. Yet it was this writing session that produced the distinctly non-rockabilly song “Kuroi hanabira”, sung in the movie by the most photogenic of the rockabilly roster, Mizuhara Hiroshi. While the movie was only a modest hit, the song would go on to win the first ever Japan Record Award for the most important recording of the year, an accolade that would not only shape the careers of the composing duo, but kick start the generational shift towards a new genre of bright, catchy, and generally more optimistic songs aimed at the young, upwardly-mobile urbanites flooding into the offices of Japan’s burgeoning new white collar business world (Ei, 2006: 22-25). -5- It is a matter of some irony that “Kuroi hanabira,” (Black Petals) was in fact far from being a major departure from the melodic structure and lyrical approach of the typical mudo kayō. What made the song stand out was not its structure or sound, but the relative simplicity of its very short lyric. Like so many ballads of the time, the lyrics spoke of sadness and tears. Unlike the typical mudo kayō composition, however, they eschewed the flowery language that was considered the default for a song of loneliness and loss, employing instead, everyday language and expressions. With Mizuhara’ gravelly voice contrasting with the vulnerability of his emotions and the additional pathos provided by the rockabilly-style tenor sax of former Six Joes member Matsumoto Hidehiko, the song’s sparing but emotionally vulnerable feel, proved compelling. With help from the movie’s release, the ballad was propelled to the very top of the charts, eventually selling over half a million singles and outdoing all of its well-known mudo kayō rivals. In retrospect the song can hardly be considered a musical or lyrical breakthrough. Clearly, however, the “Hachi- Roku” songwriting combination had found a new approach to composition that they were well-positioned and eager to develop and refine (Muramatsu: 52; Sukiyaki Song Anniversary Website).

5. Ei Rokusuke and the Cultural Zeitgeist of Early 1960s Urban Japan

If Nakamura Hachidai can be credited with invigorating Japanese popular song with the modern, up-tempo jazz-influenced melodies he composed for “Seishun wo kakero” (Gamble on Youth), his partner Ei Rokusuke deserves equal recognition for an approach to lyric-writing that perhaps represented an even greater departure from the mudo kayō tradition. Two years younger than his writing partner, Ei grew up in Buddhist family in Tokyo and attended Waseda University’s affiliated Junior High School just as it was being reorganized under the new liberalized occupation guidelines. A movie enthusiast, he was a regular listener to NHK’s entertainment programs especially the broadcasts of the popular satirical Sunday Entertainment Show helmed by talented comedian-musician Miki Toriro.5 Often skirting narrowly around GHQ censorship guidelines, Miki’s fun-making and topical songs had great appeal for Ei during his early years at Waseda High School, prompting the budding scriptwriter to send in several short stories and skits. To his surprise, several of these were accepted by the show and in 1951, when still just eighteen, Toriro offered him a job. Under Miki’s guidance, Ei joined a group of exceptionally talented writers and musicians at NHK, many of whom would go on to pioneering careers in the TV and advertising industries. These included 21-year old fellow scriptwriter Izumi Taku, one of the only working-class members of Miki’s crew and later to become a collaborator on several well-known songs. During his five years with Miki, the talented new recruit worked -6- on the former’s NHK-sponsored “Minna de yarou jyodan ongaku.” While his autobiography does not specifically credit Miki for his ability to write short catchy song lyrics, it seems likely that his observations of the man credited with writing the first commercial song and jingle, played a role in his efforts to remake the genre. Equally important was the fact that Nakamura repeatedly prodded him to avoid the kind of poetic language used by mudo kayōkyoku writers. This style was epitomized by the work of the legendary Saeki Takao, a pre-war Waseda graduate, whose lyrics for 1957’s best-seller, “Yurakucho aimasho” defined the earlier genre of songwriting had dominated the industry throughout most of the 1950s (Ei:16-28; Ei Rokusuke Biography at Wikikpedia-J). Its dominance would now receive a major challenge. Following the unexpected success of “Kuroi hanabira”, the Hachi-Roku partnership entered a four-year period of extraordinary fertility; one that would rival that of any of their American contemporaries including the pre-Beatles hit-making duos Mann-Weil, Goffin- King and Bacharach-David mentioned earlier. Like these partnerships, the key to their success lay in capturing the sensibility and overall zeitgeist of the new generation of white- collar workers and college graduates who emerged in the late 1950s and early 1960s. While the baby boom generation’s work ethic and economic success are a feature of almost all economic and cultural histories of modern Japan, it is their value system and longings, captured in a cartoonish but sensitive way in the Showa nostalgia boom movie series, Always Sanchōme no Yūhi (Always Sunset on Third Street), that are central to understanding the appeal of the songs composed by these two men (Sand 2007: 2). At their simplest, these values focused on the small pleasures of a peaceful middle-class family life built around a nuclear family in its own home. This new-style family, while still grounded in relationships with neighbors and community, would find much of its satisfaction through the home-based consumption, not just of the convenient technologies made available by the developing economy, but of an American-style diet of light entertainment. The latter would take the form of a relentless stream of optimistic, light-hearted, escapist, colorful and romantic movies; variety TV shows; songs; fashion designs and lifestyle magazines that gave some respite from the long working hours that were needed to rebuild and remake the Japanese economy and social structure. The cultural products produced by the revitalized Japanese entertainment industry, among which were commercial popular songs, were designed be consumed by urbanized families, office workers and college students in coffee shops, movie theaters, concert halls, sports arenas and, increasingly from the early 1960s, in the home. In both content and form, they would be as non-threatening and as far-removed as possible from their post-war equivalents, largely jettisoning the latter’s direct invocation of sexuality and implicit rejection of mainstream values. They would also play a role in moving young people (especially the middle-class) away from the types of ideological and political issues that had been a significant part of their lives in the years before the massive anti-ANPO -7- demonstrations of 1960. One could indeed argue in retrospect, that the early 1960s songs of Nakamura, Ei and their songwriting contemporaries, would be among those artistic expressions that best symbolize the cultural and social retreat away from political conflict that had been a feature of the 1950s—a matter of some irony given, that, as will be seen, Ei Rokusuke was in fact a participant in the anti-treaty demonstrations and a committed supporter of leftist causes (Sukiyaki Song Anniversary Website; Nozawa22 Blog).

6. Yume de Aimasho: Writing the songs of the Japanese Post-War Urban Dream

The manner in which Nakamura and Ei would encapsulate the dreams and struggles of the new urban middle-class through melody and lyrics, can be seen by examining four of their hits from the years 1961-63, when they agreed to write and debut one song per month on NHKs Yume de aimashō. This show, one of three highly influential music variety vehicles that shaped Japanese popular culture in this era, featured former rokabiri singer Sakamoto Kyu and two female singers, Sakamoto Sumiko and Azusa Michiyo among its regulars. While all three artists were already quite well known by music fans, their subsequent careers would come to be defined by songs featuring Ei’s lyrics and Nakamura or Izumi Taku’s melodies. The three songs included two by Sakamoto Kyu; “Ue o muite arukō”, (1961) and “Miagete goran yoru no hoshi wo” (1962) and one by Azusa Michiyo, “Konnichiwa akachan” (1961). As had been the case with their theme song for the program, these new compositions featured short, uncomplicated and somewhat dreamy lyrics that at least on the surface seemed to be about transcending one’s sadness at failure or momentary hardships by adopting an optimistic outlook and the searching for some kind of transcendent love (Showa TV History Blog). No Japanese song has received the attention of “Ue o muite arukō,” largely because of its enormous (and yet to be repeated) overseas success under the name of the “Sukiyaki Song.” Bourdaghs in particular has discussed the orientalism inherent in the promotion of the song overseas (101-09). What neither he nor other commentators give much attention to, however, is both the manner in which the melody was constructed by Nakamura and the ambiguous nature of Ei’s lyric. Recently returned from a trip to the U.S in which he exposed himself to jazz, pop and classical music events, Nakamura unveiled his new creation in July 1961 at a piano and song recital event in Tokyo designed to showcase both his work and Nabepro artists. The song’s use of a flute-based introduction (later replaced by a xylophone) and imaginative adoption of both jazz and pop elements was no doubt a pleasant surprise to the audience. Among those least captivated by 19 year-old rockabilly singer Sakamoto Kyu’s rendition of the lyric, however, was the lyricist himself. According to his autobiography, Ei was uneasy about Sakamoto’s seemingly flippant attitude towards the content of the lyric (Ban Makoto Blog; Ei 2006: 59). The reasons for this ambivalence -8- about the song’s treatment by the rockabilly singer were related to the inspiration for the song’s composition a few months earlier. Unbeknownst to Sakamoto or indeed anyone in the audience, the lyric, seemingly about the need to look up beyond the clouds when feeling sad or shedding tears, had in fact been written in response to Ei’s despondency over recent political events. As he would reveal over forty years later in an interview, the song was written in early 1961 in reaction to a series of events in the second half of 1960; events that in many respects were a turning point in his own personal life as lifelong socialist (Sukiyaki Song Anniversary; Nozawa22 Blog; Ban Makoto Blog). The first of these was the death during massive demonstrations in June 1960 of a female university student, an act that prompted him to join a group of musicians and sing the folk song “Aka tombo” outside the Diet building. Three months later Asanuma Inejiro, the anti ANPO leader of the Socialist Party was assassinated live on TV by a samurai sword-wielding right-wing teenager. These two traumatic incidents were followed, however, by his elation at the birth of his first child and it was this combination of events it seems, that led him to write a lyric fusing his complex feelings of sadness and optimism. Ei naturally took pride in his ability to employ the language of everyday spoken Japanese. As such it is perhaps not surprising that the stylized manner, in which Sakamoto delivered the lyric, especially his somewhat bizarre enunciation of both the title phrase and the emotive term “hitoripochi,” (a colloquial expression for feeling lonely), grated on the lyricist following it’s debut on Yume de Aimasho (Aikura & Matsumura, 2012). Whatever his feelings at the time, however, the enormous domestic success of the song at the end of 1961 ensured that the two men would continue to compose in a somewhat similar vein and in 1962-63, the Hachidai-Roku team followed up its giant hit with two songs that further cemented their reputation as Japan’s premier songwriting team. The first of these was the sentimental “Tōku e ikitai” (I want to go far away) for Jerry Fujio in May 1962, a song with a 1950s musical feel that demonstrated Nakamura’s mastery of melody. It was the follow up to this song however, “Konnichiwa akachan,” a mother’s celebration of the birth of her new baby, that would solidify the duo’s reputation. Featuring one of Nakamura’s most infectious melodies and Ei’s instantly memorable and almost childish lyric, “Konnichiwa akachan” debuted on Yume de Aimasho in July 1963. The live performance featured 20-year old Azusa Michiyo as a young mother in a white sleeveless dress. Kneeling down in front of a distinctly American-styled baby’s cot, the immaculately dressed singer dreamily enunciated every syllable of the simple but expressive lyric in a manner that would surely have captivated those aspiring towards to the romanticized domesticity promoted by the new mass media vehicles. Deceptively simple, the lyric’s overall message, as well as Azusa’s emotive singing to her newborn child suggest an intuitive understanding by Ei of the changing attitude towards family life that had accelerated in the decade after the passing of the Family Law Act of 1947 (Hashimoto & Traphagen, 2008: 4). This law, designed to remake the Japanese family structure along -9- western nuclear lines, had by the late 1950s, contributed towards a demographic revolution in which the nuclear family, was increasingly the norm in major cities. Many of these families, according to sociologist Kato Akihiko, were made up of “second or third sons and daughters” born (like Nakamura and Ei), in the 1930s who had “migrated from ancestral home village to the city” to take up both blue and white-collar positions (2012:1). Within a few years of their arrival, they had been able to find partners and set up a family and household. As such the young wives of these men were a perfect audience for Ei’s simple lyric, written for father-to-be Nakamura himself. The two-minute song made use of an arrangement similar in style and atmosphere to that of American children or novelty songs such Danny Kaye’s “Ugly Duckling” and Frank Sinatra’s “High Hopes.” The lyric—essentially a loving greeting from a mother to her newborn—featured strong emphasis on each syllable so as to be both understandable to an infant and also extremely easy to recall after just one hearing. Despite its brevity, the lyric and delivery perfectly captured the aspirations of the ordinary housewife and new mother living under the “re-intensified gender division of labor” system promoted by the government and its corporate allies in the early 1960s. Charged with being the nurturing creators of “a loving home and private space for parents to raise their children,” it is hardly surprising that many of these maternal protectors of Japan’s nuclear family would adopt the song as a veritable theme song for their domestic lives (Hashimoto & Traphagan, 2008: 5). Yet equally significant, is the extent to which the song may have resonated with young working fathers climbing their way up the ladder of the soulless urban office with its routine 12-hour working day. Quite possibly the first song in Japanese history to describe a father’s paternal feelings, the lyrics use the endearing term “papa” rather than “otōsan” in its declaration of the latter’s wish for his child’s future happiness. While hardly breaking stereotypes of men’s role, the song’s affirmation of a father’s love and interest in his newborn, is distinctly modern when seen in the context of popular song lyrics. As such it helped cement the Hachi-Roku team as the musical and lyrical spokesmen for a new generation. Despite their extremely strong friendship, the Hachi-Roku team did on occasion have their artistic differences leading to collaborations with other writers. In 1963, Ei chose to work with his former Toriro Miki group colleague Izumi Taku, a man whose left-wing and working class credentials had been polished in the communal folk song movement, Utagoe. In 1960, Taku had written music for a play Miagete goran yoru no hoshi wo (Look up at the stars at night) about working-class Tokyo teenagers working in the factories by day and attending night school in the evening (Showa TV Blog). This would now be turned into a movie vehicle for Sakamoto Kyu using a new lyric from Ei. Written in a 1950s American musical style, the song was hardly innovative. Something about its lyric and melody, however, as well as the pathos of struggling students in the movie catapulted the song into the collective consciousness at almost the same time as “Konnichiwa akachan.” -10- Not to be outdone and equally adept at feeling and translating the pulse of the country in its pre-Olympics ardor, Nakamura, in late 1963 produced one of his greatest and most poignant melodies “Ashita ga aru sa” (There is always tomorrow). Written with fellow Waseda graduate and Nabepro lyricist Aoshima Yukio, the song’s bouncy melody and optimistic catchphrase called on young people to look forward to the certainty of a brighter future. While much longer and more specific than the typical Ei lyric, it’s humorous happy- go-lucky disdain for everyday problems reflected Aoshima’s work with singer actor Ueki Hitoshi, the carefree wayward salaryman star of Nippon musekinin jidai (Irresponsible Japan Era) whose movies were major box office hits (McGee, 2010). A year later the Hachi-Roku combination went back to the top with “Kaeru Kana” (I wonder whether I should return), a surprisingly mudo kayō-style song which perhaps can be seen as the beginning of their move towards acceptance by the older generation and the end of their dominance as Japan’s leading songwriters. By the mid-1960s, the so-called Group Sounds had emerged to challenge kayōkyoku as the sound of young Japan, much as the Beatles and other mid-1960s pop groups replaced the professional songwriting teams in the U.S. Already in their mid-30s, the Hachi-Roku songwriting duo, with its 1950s jazz background was hardly suited to writing for the new teenage-oriented combos such as the Tigers, Spiders and Wild Ones; groups whose sound was built around a Beatles-influenced electric-guitar and drum combination. Lacking any particular artistic or cultural affinity for the youth-oriented and highly commercialized Group Sounds musical product, and having already achieved a legendary status, the two men were hardly concerned with their marginalization from the profit-driven pop music business. Equally important in their shift in direction, however, was the emergence of the singer-songwriter in the early 1970s. This development would accelerate their withdrawal from the youth-oriented pop music business and move into the safe arena of radio or TV personality (Ei) and live performing artist and theme song composer (Nakamura).

7. Conclusion

Known by the younger generation in Japan and by western pop music historians, only for their major international hit, the Hachi-Roku contribution to Japanese popular culture is one that deserves greater recognition. To the large and still highly active cohort born in the decade before the war, the songs of this pioneering combination literally form the soundtrack to their coming-of-age in what is perhaps the most optimistic and dynamic five year period in modern Japanese history, 1959-64. Their work, it may be argued reflects the most positive and benign impact of the cultural and social revolution facilitated by the American Occupation. It may also be seen as evidence of the underrated but rich educational and artistic environment that prevailed in the nation’s elite universities in the

-11- 1950s. By the 1980s, the two men had reached the status of national treasure and Nakamura’s untimely death at the age of 61 in 1992 saw an outpouring of adulation by those whose identities his music helped to form. In recent years, the pairs’ songs have reached the status of standards, akin to secularized American spirituals such as “We shall overcome,” or “Will the Circle be Unbroken,” lovingly dusted off to be used in any situation, in which the optimism, fortitude and ganbare spirit embedded in the post-war Showa years is called for. The Hachi-Roku contribution to Japan’s popular culture is clearly both permanent and enduring and as such merits a place in the historical and cultural record of post war period

Notes

1 The birth of the free writer is discussed by Nakamura, Toshio in his Minna GS ga suki datta, Fusosha, 1991, 132-38.

2 Sales and release data on the songs written by Nakamura and Ei come from a variety of Internet databases including the Japan Composers Association website (www.jacompa.or.jp), the Japan Entadata and Ranking website (entamedata.web.fc2.com/music): the Kayo Kyoku Plus blog created by “J-Canuck” (http://kayokyokuplus.blogspot.jp) and relevant Wikipedia sites.

3 Watanabe worked closely with her sister Manase who was given the job of finding new commercial avenues for the rockabilly singers. See Muramatsu, Tomomi’s introduction to his book Kuroi Hanabiru at http://1000ya.isis.ne.jp/1111.html.

4 See Motion Picture Association of Japan Website at www.eiren.org/statistics_e/ index.html.

5 The fascinating career of Toriro Miki, which has yet to be explored in English, can be seen at the official homepage, www.mikitoriro.jp.

References

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Bourdaghs, Michael, 2012, Sayonara Amerika, Sayonara Nippon: A Geopolitical Prehistory of J-Pop. Columbia University Press.

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Nozawa22 Blog, 2011, “Ue wo muite aru kō ikai shite dekita ka.” http://nozawa22.cocolog- nifty.com/nozawa22/2011/07/nozawa22-9.html. (Accessed December 14, 2012).

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Appendix: Author’s List of ten best-selling and/or most influential modern-idiom kayōkyoku of the Showa 30s

1. Kuroi Hanbira, 1959 (Nakamura-Ei) 2. Ue o Muite Arukō, 1961 (Nakamura-Ei) 3. Yume de Aimasho 1962 (Nakamura-Ei) 4. Toikute ikitai 1962 (Nakamura-Ei) 5. Ashita ga aru sa, 1963 (Nakamura-Aoshima Yukio) 6. Konnichwa Akachan 1963 (Nakmura-Ei) 7. Miagete Goran Yoru no Hoshio 1963 (Izumi-Ei) 8. Koi no Vacance 1963 (Miyagawa-Tokitani) 9. Song of the Dawn 1964 (Taku-Tokitani) 10. Ashita ga aru sa 1965 (Nakamura-Yoshio

(龍谷大学准教授)

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