Enka Tradition

ENKA AS A MARKER OF SOCIAL DIFFERENCE: UNDERSTANDING ‘TRADITION’ AS ‘TASTE’

TONG KOON FUNG (B.A. (Hons.), NUS)

A THESIS SUBMITTED FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS

DEPARTMENT OF JAPANESE STUDIES

NATIONAL UNIVERSITY OF SINGAPORE 2014

i

DECLARATION

I hereby declare that this thesis is my original work and has been written by me in its entirety. I have duly acknowledged all the sources of information which have been used in the thesis.

This thesis has also not been submitted for any degree in any university previously.

Tong Koon Fung 13 January 2014

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Although many graduate students and advisors have described the thesis writing process as a lonely one, a large number of individuals and groups have in various ways throughout the course of this research provided crucial information and assistance, without which this thesis would not have been possible. I have incurred large debts of kindness, and this note of acknowledgement only begins to scratch the surface of my gratitude towards everybody who has helped me through the research and writing process.

I have been immensely fortunate to work under the supervision of Dr. Timothy David Amos, who provided extremely valuable ideas and comments on every part of the research and writing process, even though its theoretical and disciplinary leanings were not in his area of academic specialisation. By placing rigorous standards, from the crafting of the research topic to the eventual writing of the thesis, and granting me much intellectual freedom and autonomy, I have been able to research and write in the most highly challenging yet stimulating environment. His prompt reviews of my drafts and other academic assignments have also allowed me to carry out my work in the most efficient manner possible.

Other faculty of the Japanese Studies Department of the National University of Singapore also contributed greatly in the conduct of my research. Participating in Dr. Lim Beng Choo‟s graduate research seminar pushed me towards consistent research on theoretical and methodological frameworks to

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use in the research. Dr. Lim also provided much advice on the conduct of the research, and important information about grants and scholarships that allowed me to make considered financial decisions throughout my candidature and field research. Dr. Morita Emi and Dr. Nakano Ryoko helped greatly in crafting invitation letters and questionnaires used in the field research. Thanks to their patient vetting of my initial document drafts, I was eventually able to enlist the help of many research participants in the field. Other faculty members, such as Dr. Hendrik Meyer-Ohle, Dr. Thang Leng Leng, Dr. Deborah Shamoon and Dr. Christopher Michael McMorran, also provided important critiques of my field research data and interpretations. Outside the Department, I am grateful to Dr. Chua Beng Huat, who provided insightful comments while I took part in his Cultural Studies in Asia course, and kindly maintained an interest in my research even after my participation. Dr. Vineeta Sinha‟s Reading Ethnographies course also introduced me to much of the methodological framework that I eventually utilised for my field research and thesis writing.

Also providing much crucial intellectual critique and emotional support were the graduate students and alumni of the Department. I was fortunate enough to go through the research and writing process together with Huijun, who provided much intellectual discussion and emotional support through our chats in and outside class. I also have to thank Eve, who introduced me to some very important contacts in Japan, and Edwin, who shared with me whatever he found on the Internet that could help with my research. Finally, I am very grateful to Noel, who graciously offered to read

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through and critique drafts of this thesis within his busy schedule, and allowed me to tap upon his brilliance to make it better.

Fieldwork is always a group undertaking, with many people coming together to make knowledge possible. In the course of my field research, I was fortunate to be helped along by many people both within and outside academia. Firstly, much of the research would not have been possible without the fantastic guidance of Professor Fujii Hidetada at Rikkyo University‟s Japanese Literature Department. His expertise on Japanese nostalgia and the utilisation of journal and magazine resources were essential in my documentary research. Professor Fujii and his graduate class also graciously provided me with the chance to present my research findings before I returned to Singapore. Also, I am hugely grateful to Professor Mōri Yoshitaka, Matsuoka-san and the rest of the Musical Creativity and the Environment seminar class, for also providing me with the chance to take part in their classes and present my research findings. Professor Mōri also provided opportunities to take part in the conferences held by the Japanese Association for the Study of Popular Music (JASPM), where I was able to receive critiques of my data and analysis, and was introduced to a large number of Japanese cultural studies scholars, including Professor Minamida Katsuya and Wajima Yūsuke, and their works. Finally, I am indebted to Mio, who patiently worked with me in drafting up research documents and interview questionnaires. That I could conduct my observations and interviews without any real issues is a testament to her expertise at conducting field research.

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Just as crucial were the many people who agreed to take part in the field research: without them I would not have been able to learn anything about how they enjoyed music. Firstly, I am truly grateful to the Friday afternoon regulars at the karaoke kissa SC, who took me in warmly and participated enthusiastically in the ethnographic research, even though I came from a totally different cultural and generational background, and left so soon after we had started to get to know each other deeply. The same can be said for the participants at the Internet karaoke clubs K-club and NSK, who also graciously gave me their time during our interviews and karaoke sessions. I can only hope that I have done justice to their experiences through my narrative in this thesis. I would also like to thank Shiraishi Takaaki from Guan Barl Co. Ltd., Jero‟s management agency, and Fukuo-san from Victor Entertainment Co. Ltd., for their kind assistance in allowing me to utilise some of the singer‟s copyrighted images in this thesis, and even setting up an opportunity to talk with Jero‟s management staff that I had to unfortunately turn down due to scheduling conflicts.

The field research was carried out around the Tokyo area from March to July 2013, and funded by the Graduate Student Exchange Programme Grant from the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences. My candidature from January 2012 to December 2013 has also been supported by the National University of Singapore Graduate Research Scholarship. I am truly grateful for the University‟s and Faculty‟s financial support that has made this research possible.

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Finally, I would also like to thank my family, Mio and God for being so supportive and understanding, and providing much needed peace of mind throughout the research and writing process to make it all happen. But, of course, all shortcomings of this thesis are mine and mine only.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title Page

i

Declaration

ii

Acknowledgements

iii

Table of Contents

viii

Summary

ix

List of Figures

x

Note on Translations and Use of Names and Pictures

xi

Introduction: Enka, „Japan‟ and Fandom

1

Chapter One: Enka, a National Musical Tradition?

24

Chapter Two: The Socio-Historical Development of Musical Taste for Enka

41

Chapter Three: Appreciating Popular Music through Karaoke

61

Chapter Four: Performing Enka in Various Karaoke Settings: The Ethnographer as Observer and Observed

78

Conclusion: Enka as a Marker of Social Difference

111

Bibliography

118

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SUMMARY In being labelled „the sound of Japanese tradition‟ and „the heart and soul of the Japanese‟, the popular music genre of enka has been discussed in both popular and academic discourse as a representative of an essential and authentic Japanese traditional identity. However, such an understanding is insufficient in explaining its marginal position within the Japanese music industry and audience. Instead, I argue that musical preference for enka serves as a marker of social difference. Utilising sociological frameworks of musical taste, community and „musicking‟ rather than culturally essentialist understandings, I show how enka marked off a unique musical space populated by a specific social demographic in its infancy in the later 1960s, via a socio-historical investigation of the genre‟s development. I also show how such demarcation continues today via an ethnographic study of three karaoke settings in the Greater Tokyo area.

(141 words)

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LIST OF FIGURES

Figure 1: Cover photo for „Umiyuki‟

30

Figure 2: Cover photos for „Yakusoku‟, „Serenade‟ and „Covers 6‟

33

Figure 3: Floor plan of SC

65

Figure 4: Karaoke participants at SC

67

Figure 5: Floor plan of karaoke box for K-club gatherings

70

Figure 6: Floor plan of large karaoke box used for NSK gatherings

74

Figure 7: Some participants at NSK gatherings

75

x

NOTE ON TRANSLATIONS AND USE NAMES AND FIGURES

All translations, photos and diagrams in this thesis belong to me, unless where otherwise stated.

All European and American names in this thesis are presented in the Western style (ie. first names before last names), while East Asian names are presented in the East Asian style (ie. last names before first names). Also, the names of field research participants and venues have been changed to pseudonyms in order to protect their privacy.

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Introduction Enka, ‘Japan’ and Fandom

The Japanese popular music genre known as enka has been roughly described as a genre of „Japanese-sounding songs‟.1 Although such a broad definition does more to express the ambiguity within the genre than signify a concretised musical form, singers, composers, intellectuals and fans have labelled it „the heart and soul of the Japanese‟ [„nihonjin no kokoro‟], „the song of Japan‟ [„nihon no uta‟] and „the sound of Japanese tradition‟ [„dentō no oto‟].2 Its sorrowful ballad melodies and lyrics evoking days and places gone by has held fans in an imagination of „Japaneseness‟ rooted in a yearning for an idealised past. 3 Enka has thus been coupled with ideas of Japanese traditional identity and culture in Japanese musical discourse. Ideas of traditional culture have also been equated with Japanese national, ethnic and racial identity, in contemporary discussions of a homogenous and timeless Japanese identity that have taken great hold in Japan and elsewhere, particularly in the post-Second World War (hereafter referred to as the „postwar‟) period.

1

Alan Tansman, „Misora Hibari: The Postwar Myth of Mournful Tears and Sake‟, Anne Walthall (ed.), The Human Tradition in Modern Japan, (Wilmington: SR Books, 2002), p.223. I use such a provisional definition in this section as a compromise between various texts that provide a number of ways to define enka, but nevertheless agree that it at least signifies a sense of „Japaneseness‟ through its sound, within the Japanese postwar musical context. 2 Christine R. Yano, „Raising the ante of desire: Foreign female singers in a Japanese pop music world‟, Allen Chun, Ned Rossiter and Brian Shoesmith (eds.), Refashioning pop music in Asia: Cosmopolitan flows, political tempos and aesthetic industries, (London and New York: RoutledgeCurzon, 2004), p.161. See also Wajima Yūsuke, Tsukurareta „Nihon no Kokoro‟ Shinwa: „Enka‟ wo Meguru Sengo Taishū Ongakushi [The Created Myth of „The Heart of Japan‟: A History of Postwar Popular Music Focusing on Enka], (Tokyo: Kōbunsha Shinsho, 2010), pp.8-9 and Aikawa Yumi, Enka no Susume [On Enka], (Tokyo: Bungei Shunjū, 2002), p.185. 3 Christine R. Yano, Tears of Longing: Nostalgia and the Nation in Japanese Popular Song, (Cambridge, Massachusetts and London: Harvard University Press, 2002), pp.14-17, Tansman, „Misora Hibari‟, p.227.

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Thus, enka has generally been discussed within a culturally essentialist framework of musical understanding, which assumes that the genre‟s musical form and practices (such as consumption, performance and consumption) is grounded in and expresses an essence of „Japaneseness‟.4 Such a framework of understanding posits enka as a source of cultural authenticity. Of course, competent performances by non-Japanese enka performers complicate these claims towards cultural tradition. But even without such glaring juxtapositions of „cultures‟, essentialist portraits of enka that claim that it is a traditional Japanese genre already present serious problems for cultural studies scholars in understanding the genre‟s position within the Japanese cultural soundscape. If enka possesses some inherent „Japanese‟ essence, why and how do some sectors of the Japanese music audience express disdain for it, while simultaneously claiming their own identities as „Japanese‟? How does it reconcile with descriptions of the Japanese music market as being highly segregated? Who exactly are these enka fans (and non-fans)? What are the emotional connections that fans and non-fans make with the music? How, and by whom, is „Japaneseness‟ determined? In this thesis, I answer the first four of the above questions. I argue that enka‟s appeals towards „Japaneseness‟ are ultimately built upon specific musical and social discourses developed during Japan‟s period of high economic growth in the 1960s and 1970s. This period saw a schism occur 4

Ralph Grillo uses the term „cultural essentialism‟ to mean „a system of belief grounded in a conception of human beings as “cultural”…subjects, i.e. bearers of a culture, located within a boundaried world, which defines them and differentiates them from others. For example, Chua Beng Huat deconstructs ideologically-driven assumptions of shared essential „Confucian values‟ to assert a common identity among East Asian states and their difference from other „cultures‟. Ralph D. Grillo, „Cultural essentialism and cultural anxiety‟, Anthropological Theory, Vol.3 No.2, (2003), p.158.; Chua Beng Huat, „Conceptualising an East Asian popular culture‟, Chen Kuan-Hsing and Chua Beng Huat (eds.), Inter-Asia Cultural Studies Reader, (London: Routledge, 2007), pp.115-7.

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within both Japanese music producers and audiences, in which enka producers and fans coalesced around an idealised nostalgic longing of a pre-modern Japan. Enka thus effectively marked off a unique musical space populated by a specific social demographic. In fact, as my field research of various karaoke settings from March to July 2013 in the Greater Tokyo area shows, enka consumption continues to demarcate an exclusive demographic. By understanding enka fans and non-fans‟ behaviour surrounding karaoke participation through the conceptual lenses of taste, community and „musicking‟, I argue that the two groups, in their exclusive spaces of communal „musicking‟, continue to build divergent musical tastes. Enka should thus be understood as a musical marker of social differences based on age, education, locale and family wealth. As such, through this argument I suggest that the fifth question, „How, and by whom, is „Japaneseness‟ determined?‟ is a complex and difficult question to answer. The highly diverse nature of Japanese music listeners I introduce in this thesis already greatly problematizes this question, but is only the tip of the iceberg, as similar diversities of people and influences are also at work within contemporary production of enka. The discussion of production issues in enka is indeed another highly interesting field of research on contemporary conceptualisations of Japanese musical tradition and identity, but unfortunately it is an area into which I was unable to gain in-depth access, and is hence out of this thesis‟s scope of discussion.

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Paths towards studying fandom My original interest in enka was sparked by African-AmericanJapanese singer Jero‟s debut in early 2008. Born on 4 September 1981 as Jerome Charles White, Jr. in Pittsburgh, USA, Jero initially made headlines as an unlikely enka success. Extensively promoted by media outlets as simultaneously a perfect grandson to his Japanese grandmother Takiko and a „foreign intruder‟ of enka looking to shake up the genre with his racial background and flashy hip-hop attire, Jero‟s debut single „Umiyuki‟ [„Ocean Snow‟] entered the Oricon charts (Japan‟s counterpart to the American Billboard charts) in fourth place and eventually sold over 300,000 copies, numbers unprecedented in enka.5 His debut year culminated in an invitation to perform at the prestigious year-end music extravaganza, „Kōhaku Uta Gassen‟ [„Red-White Song Battle‟]. Jero‟s early performances provided much food for thought about prior assumptions of enka‟s „Japaneseness‟. Many academic and popular analyses of his performances have analysed how Jero‟s African-American heritage negotiates the „Japanese‟ musical soundscape of enka.

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6

But while

„Jero: Shijō Hatsu no Kokujin Enka Kashu ga Kataru “Enka no Kokoro”: “Ichigo Ichie” de Kōhaku Mezasu‟ [„Jero: The First Black Enka Singer Explains “The Spirit of Enka”: Aiming for Kōhaku as “Once in a Lifetime”‟], Mainichi Shimbun, (14 March 2008), http://mainichi.jp/enta/geinou/graph/200803/14_5/?inb=yt., Accessed on 10 March 2011; Oricon, Inc., Enka no Kurofune, Tsui ni Debyū: „Yume wa Kōhaku‟ [The Black Ship of Enka Finally Debuts: „My Dream is to appear on Kōhaku‟], (2008), http://www.oricon.co.jp/news/music/52167/full/, Accessed on 22 November 2012. I explain in more detail the connotations of cultural collision/invasion that the term „black ship‟ on page 36. 6 See Kosakai Masaki, Enka wa Kokkyō wo Koeta: Kokujin Kashu Jero no Kazoku Sandai no Monogatari [Enka Crossed National Borders: A Three-Generation Acount of Black Singer Jero‟s Family], (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2011); Shelley D. Brunt, „When Black Tears Fall: Image-Making and Cultural Identity in a Case Study of the Hip-Hop/Enka Singer Jero‟, Catherine Strong and Michelle Phillipov (eds.), Stuck in the Middle: The Mainstream and its Discontents: Selected Proceedings of the 2008 IASPM-ANZ Conference, (Auckland: UTAS, 2009), pp.58-67; Kiuchi Yuya, „An Alternative American Image in Japan: Jero as the CrossGenerational Bridge between Japan and the United States‟, Journal of Popular Culture, Vol.42 No.3, (2009), pp.515-29; and Christine R. Yano, Marketing Black Tears: Jero as African

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deconstructing Jero‟s performances and enka according to culturally essentialist imaginations of race and music highlights important questions about the assumed „Japaneseness‟ of enka, it does not provide any insight into the actual ways in which the Japanese music audience appraise Jero and enka. There has been little effort to profile Jero‟s, or more crucially enka‟s, fanbase utilising theories of musical consumption, in order to understand how music audiences enjoy music. Indeed, such research has rarely been attempted in studies about the genre in general. Even Christine Yano‟s seminal text, „Tears of Longing: Nostalgia and the Nation in Japanese Popular Song‟, focuses mainly on analysing the content of enka songs and performances, with its sole chapter on consumptive practices not displaying the same in-depth analysis. 7 Other ethnomusicologists have concentrated solely on textual analyses to prove enka‟s links to traditional, pre-modern Japanese musical forms.8 Meanwhile, another strand of enka research has adopted a genealogical approach to investigate the socio-historical and musical influences behind songwriters and performers. 9 These approaches, however, are inadequate in understanding enka‟s cultural positioning among both fans and non-fans within the Japanese

American National Singer in Japan, (Working Paper: 2010). I discuss these works in greater detail in my analysis of Jero‟s enka career in Chapter One. I also thank Professor Yano for graciously sharing her ongoing research with me. 7 Yano, Tears of Longing, pp.124-47. 8 See Aikawa, Enka no Susume, Koizumi Fumio, Kayōkyoku no Kōzō [The Structure of Kayōkyoku], (Tokyo, Japan: Heibonsha, 1996). 9 See Mitsutomi Toshirō, Media Nihonjinron: Enka kara Kurashikku Made [Media Nihonnjinron: From Enka to Classical Music], (Tokyo, Japan: Shinchōsha, 1987); Ben Okano, Enka Genryū Kō: Nikkan Taishū Kayō no Sōi to Sōni [Thoughts on Enka‟s Origins: Similarities and Differences between Japanese and Korean Popular Music], (Tokyo, Japan: Gakugei Shorin, 1988); Deborah Shamoon, „Recreating traditional music in postwar Japan: a prehistory of enka‟, Japan Forum, (2013), http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09555803.2013.824019, Accessed on 4 September 2013; and Wajima, Tsukurareta.

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music audience, even as they contribute to our understanding of the forms and history of its production. I argue that the study of enka‟s relationship to Japanese national identity and tradition must involve enka consumption, because of the importance of everyday social practice in the construction of identities at all levels, including the national. As Montserrat Guibernau argues via a wideranging study of various nationalisms in Europe and North America, national identity is a shared collective sentiment of similarity and belonging to the same nation and difference from other nations. 10 Eric Hobsbawm has discussed how such a shared sense of national identity has been created (particularly in the era of European imperialism) by socio-political elites through the manipulation of national memory to invent new traditions as a focal point of shared national sentiment and identification.11 In this model of national memory and identity, Hobsbawm clearly situates creative agency firmly in the hands of these elites, whom Gibernau suggests have greater access and control over mass media and political institutions. 12 But these structures of meaning, memory and identity cannot be created or circulated without social interactions, as Maurice Halbwachs argues through his concept of collective memory.13 Recent scholars on nationalism such as Guibernau and Jackie Hogan argue that these social interactions are not exclusively top-down. Guibernau notes that „elites had to make concessions and incorporate certain

10

Montserrat Guibernau, The Identity of Nations, (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2007), p.9. Eric J. Hobsbawm, “Introduction: Inventing Traditions”, Eric J. Hobsbawm and Terence O. Ranger (eds.), The Invention of Tradition, (Cambridge; New York, Cambridge University Press, 1983), p.6. 12 Guibernau, The Identity of Nations, p.18. 13 Maurice Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, Lewis Coser (trans.), (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992). Cited in Astrid Erll, Memory in Culture, Sara B. Young (trans.), (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), p.16. 11

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elements of popular culture into what was to be designed as national culture, in order for the masses to identify and recognise the elite‟s constructed national culture as their own‟. 14 And in Hogan‟s study of contemporary nationalism in Japan, Australia, the United Kingdom and United States, she argues that for the masses, social negotiation and contestation of national identity and memory occurs most frequently (and crucially) at the level of the mundane and quotidian.15 Jonathan Gray, Cornel Sandvoss and C. Lee Harrington have described fandom as one site for such everyday-level social negotiations and contestations, „as part of the fabric of our everyday lives‟ that is inextricably linked with the cultural practice and structures people are situated in. 16 Fandom, as Sandvoss and Daniel Cavicchi argue, can be defined at its very base as „the regular, emotionally involved consumption‟ of cultural texts. 17 Through such a mode of cultural consumption, which is always contextually situated, „fandom is an aspect of how we make sense of the world, in relation to mass media, and in relation to our historical, social, cultural location‟, and a way through which fans negotiate and construct identities. 18 My choice of studying enka fandom to understand the genre‟s links to national identity is

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Guibernau, The Identity of Nations, p.18. Jackie Hogan, Gender, Race and National Identity: Nations of Flesh and Blood, (New York: Routledge, 2009), p.2. 16 Jonathan Gray, Cornel Sandvoss and C. Lee Harrington, „Introduction: Why Study Fans?‟, Jonathan Gray, Cornel Sandvoss and C. Lee Harrington (eds.), Fandom: Identities and Communities in a Mediated World, (New York and London: New York University Press, 2007), p.9. 17 Cornel Sandvoss, Fans: The Mirror of Consumption, (Malden, MA: Polity Press, 2005), p.8. See also Daniel Cavicchi, „Loving Music: Listeners, Entertainments, and the Origins of Music Fandom in Nineteenth-Century America‟, Gray, Sandvoss and Harrington (eds.), Fandom, pp.248-9. 18 Joli Jensen, „Fandom as Pathology: The Consequences of Characterisation‟, Lisa A. Lewis (ed.), The Adoring Audience: Fan Culture and Popular Media, (New York: Routledge, 1992), p.27. See also John Fiske, „The Cultural Economy of Fandom‟, Lewis (ed.), The Adoring Audience, pp.46-48; and Lawrence Grossberg, „Is There a Fan in the House? The Affective Sensibility of Fandom‟, Lewis (ed.), The Adoring Audience, pp.64-65. 15

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thus motivated by such links, both conceptually and in praxis, between identity and fandom.

Enka fandom as a ‘taste community’ Particularly, I look towards sociological and ethnographic approaches in understanding enka from audiences‟ perspectives. The concepts of taste, community

and

„musicking‟

provide

a

productive

framework

for

understanding fans‟ and non-fans‟ attitudes towards and utilisation of enka, in terms of their individual agency within social settings, by highlighting the role that the genre plays in generating individual and collective identities. This understanding is crucial in considering enka‟s claims to an authentic Japanese identity. In „Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste‟, Pierre Bourdieu uses the results of two large-scale questionnaire surveys conducted in 1963 and 1967-8 to show how cultural tastes (including music) among the French public were stratified according to social distinctions based largely upon the kind of educational training received, which was in turn dependent on possession of economic, social and cultural capital. 19 He argues that differences in cultural tastes are self-perpetuated through class distinctions made by the various class groups:

„Through the economic and social conditions which they presuppose, the different ways of relating to realities and fictions, …with more or less distance and detachment, are very 19

Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, Richard Nice (trans.), (London, Melbourne and Henley: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1984), pp.13-18.

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closely linked to the different possible positions in social space and, consequently, bound up with the systems of dispositions (habitus) characteristic of the different classes and class fractions. Taste classifies, and it classifies the classifier. Social subjects,

classified

by

their

classifications,

distinguish

themselves by the distinctions they make…in which their position in the objective classifications is expressed or betrayed.‟20

Later studies on taste have criticised Bourdieu‟s overly-deterministic use of class to explain taste differences. For example, Michèle Lamont, by investigating

American

and

French

classes‟

upper-middle

cultural

consumption in the 1980s, argues that factors such as wider access to higher education and increased lower middle-class and upper working-class incomes have dismantled older class-based status distinctions. 21 Meanwhile, social markers such as gender, ethnicity and age have become as important as class in understanding cultural consumption differences.

22

However, these

criticisms have not taken away the importance of understanding the habitus in which cultural consumers are situated to explain how they arrive at their consumption choices.23 As such, in Chapters Two to Four I discuss the kinds

20

Ibid., pp.5-6. Brackets in original. Michèle Lamont, Money, Morals, Manners: The Culture of the French and American Upper-Middle Classes, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992). 22 Michèle Lamont and Marcel Fournier (eds.), Cultivating Differences: Symbolic Boundaries and the Making of Inequality, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992). 23 I use „habitus‟ in the manner defined by Bourdieu: „systems of durable, transposable dispositions, structured structures predisposed to function as structuring structures, that is, as principles which generate and organise practices and representations that can be objectively adapted to their outcomes without presupposing a conscious aiming at ends or an express mastery of the operations necessary in order to attain them‟. Pierre Bourdieu, The Logic of Practice, Richard Nice (trans.), (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1990), p.53. 21

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of social differences, such as age, education, family income and location, which can be observed between enka fans and non-fans. Such audience segregation is most observable in the various types of settings that have developed in the karaoke industry, as socialisation processes at each setting involving music have created and maintained divergent musical tastes. On the other hand, within cultural studies there was growing discontent with Stuart Hall‟s, John Fiske‟s and David Morley‟s early critical works on media consumption. These argue for audiences‟ individual agency (via the „active audience‟ concept) in interpreting and creating meaning out of media texts, and the socio-discursive possibilities and constraints that shape the ways in which these could be done. 24 However, the heavily theoretically-centred analyses led scholars in the 1980s, such as Phil Cohen, to lament them as „simply the site of a multiplicity of conflicting discourses…[with] no reality outside its representation‟.25 Such discontent led later scholars to look towards ethnographic methods of conducting empirically-based research on audiences‟ relationship with media texts. Particularly, Simon Frith asks, „how is it that people…can say, quite confidently, that some popular music is better than others?‟26 Examining such value judgements as expressions of individual choices and preferences (even if 24

Kagimoto Yū, „Ōdiensuron Saikō: Oto wo Fureru Keiken Kara [Rethinking Audience Theory: From the Experience of Encountering Music]‟, Soshioroji [Sociology], Vol.48 No.3, (2004), pp.5-6. See also Stuart Hall, „Encoding/Decoding‟, Simon During (ed.), The Cultural Studies Reader (Second Edition), (London and New York: Routledge, 1999), pp.507-17; John Fiske, Reading the Popular,(London and New York: Routledge, 1991); David Morley, Television, Audiences and Cultural Studies, (London: Routledge, 1992); Nicholas Abercrombie and Brian Longhurst, Audiences: A Sociological Theory of Performance and Imagination, (London: Sage, 1998). 25 Phil Cohen, Rethinking the Youth Question, (London: Post 16 Education Centre, Institute of Education, 1986), p.20. Cited in Andy Bennett, „Researching youth culture and popular music‟, British Journal of Sociology, Vol.53 No.3, (2002), p.455. Brackets in Bennett (2002). 26 Simon Frith, „Towards an Aesthetic of Popular Music‟, Simon Frith (ed.), Popular Music: Critical Concepts in Media and Cultural Studies: Volume IV: Music and Identity, (London and New York: Routledge, 2004), p.42.

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they may be socially shaped), Frith views „taste‟ as a marker of difference. Explaining preferences and tastes, he notes:

„”Personal” preferences are themselves socially constructed. Individual tastes are, in fact, examples of collective taste and reflect consumers‟ gender, class and ethnic backgrounds...But I do believe that this derivation of pop meaning from collective experience is not sufficient…we still need to explain why some music is better able than others to have such collective effects, why these effects are different, anyway, for different genres, different audiences, and different circumstances.‟27

Through taste, Frith is pointing at the „highly nuanced, localised and subjective ways in which music and cultural practice align in everyday contexts‟.28 For Frith, the value of popular music is derived from „how well (or badly), for specific listeners, songs and performances fulfil (social) functions‟. 29 These functions, performed via the „experience of music as something which can be possessed‟, are namely: the creation of both individual and collective identity, managing the relationship between private and public emotions, and shaping popular memory by acting as a marker in the organisation of time through remembrance.30 Thus, Frith locates musical meaning away from the musical text itself, and within music‟s social functions and the settings in which it is consumed. 27

Frith, „Towards an Aesthetic of Popular Music‟, p.46. Andy Bennett, „Towards a cultural sociology of popular music‟, Journal of Sociology, Vol.44 No.4, (2008), p.429. 29 Frith, „Towards an Aesthetic of Popular Music‟, p.42. Brackets mine. 30 Ibid., pp.38-41. 28

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Musicologist Christopher Small, in describing „the act of musicking‟, further discusses the sociality of music:

„The act of musicking establishes in the place where it is happening a set of relationships, and it is in those relationships that the meaning of the act lies. They are to be found not only between those organised sounds which are conventionally thought of as being the stuff of musical meaning but also between the people who are taking part, in whatever capacity, in the performance; and they model, or stand as metaphor for, ideal relationships as the participants in the performance imagine them to be: relationships between person and person, between individual and society, between humanity and the natural world and even perhaps the supernatural world.‟31

In other words, „musicking‟ defines music and its meaning as being derived socially, as it describes how musical meanings are made through audiences‟ interaction with musical texts, and with each other through musical texts. Such a view of music‟s sociality thus also questions how it is utilised in allowing people to make associations with each other, putting the concept of community into relevance. Community, as noted by Jernej Prodnik, is a notoriously difficult concept to define. 32 However, I draw attention to his objection of a clear dichotomy between „real‟ communities based on 31

Christopher Small, Musicking: The Meanings of Performing and Listening, (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1998), p.13. 32 Jernej Prodnik, „Post-Fordist Communities and Cyberspace : A Critical Approach‟ , Harris Breslow and Aris Mousoutzanis (eds.), Cybercultures: Mediations of Community, Culture, Politics, (Amsterdam, New York: Rodolpi: 2012), p.77.

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relationships structured in the material world, and „virtual‟ communities based on interactions mediated by cyberspace.33 Prodnik

cites

Benedict

Anderson‟s

argument

that

since

all

communities are imagined, they should not be distinguished in terms of authenticity, but rather in the style in which they are imagined. 34 This means that rather than dismissing associations built upon Internet communication as not being „communal‟, such forms of interaction should be seen as one of many other avenues through which community ties can be built and sustained.35 Anderson‟s argument also supports the relevance of community as a concept to study human associations of not just the place-based, groupfocused and emotionally intimate Gemeinschaft type, but also of the more interest-based, self-centred and emotionally distant Gesellschaft type.36 Jose van Dijck, studying anime and heavy metal fans on YouTube who share their cultural preferences with other anonymous users, combines the concepts of taste and interest-based community into the term „taste community‟ to denote „groups with a communal preference in music, movies and books‟.37 He draws this definition from Antoine Hennion‟s discussion on the importance

33

Ibid., pp.77-78. Ibid., pp.78-79. See also Benedict R.O‟G. Anderson, Imagined Communities, (London: Verso, 1991), p.6. 35 This discussion is important, given the importance of the Internet as a medium through which the Internet karaoke clubs I investigated as part of my field research congregated (see next section and Chapters Three and Four). 36 For the Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft analytical dichotomy, see Ferdinand Tönnies, Gemeinschaft und Gesellschaft [„Community and Society‟], (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2005), (reprinted from Leipzig: Fues's Verlag, 2nd ed. 1912; 8th edition, Leipzig: Buske, 1935). For discussions on communities of place, see Jerry W. Robinson, Jr. and Gary Paul Green, „Developing Communities‟, Jerry W. Robinson and Gary Paul Green (eds.), Introduction to Community Development: Theory, Practice and Service-Learning, (Los Angeles, CA, London, Delhi, Singapore: SAGE Publications, 2010), p.2. For discussions on communities of interest, see France Henri and Béatrice Pudelko, „Understanding and analyzing activity and learning in virtual communities‟, Journal of Computer Assisted Learning, Vol.19, (2003), p.478. 37 Jose van Dijck, „Users like you? Theorizing agency in user-generated content‟, Media Culture Society, Vol.31 No.1, (2009), p.46. 34

13

of taste-building in community life and communal participation to build taste.38 This discussion brings us back to Frith, Bourdieu, Lamont and Small, who suggest the sociality of cultural products such as music through their various arguments. Thus, the study of musical taste should be grounded in investigations into communal settings of consumption, in which musical and communal meanings are negotiated by participants. It is within such a framework of the „taste community‟, focusing on communal taste-building, that I approach the study of enka consumption by fans and non-fans in Chapter Four. Such approaches have already been suggested by scholars working on popular music in Japan. For example, Minamida Katsuya, Tsuji Izumi and Tōya Mamoru champion approaches that pay attention not only to theoretical interpretations of song texts. 39 Of particular importance is Kagimoto Yū‟s suggestion that a focus on the actual experience of audiences‟ interaction with music is important in analysing how music gains meaning.40 Crucially, scholars researching on enka, such as Christine Yano, Wajima Yūsuke, Mitsui Toru, Mitsutomi Toshirō and others, recognise that the genre is essentially a form of popular music: songs are circulated and consumed through mass media such as the CD, cassette tape, television, radio and karaoke. This recognition provides justification for a sociological and ethnographic investigation of enka consumption driven by the latest

38

Antoine Hennion, „Those Things That Hold Us Together: Taste and Sociology‟, Martha Poon (trans.), Cultural Sociology, Vol.1 No.1, (2007), p.103, 111-2. 39 Minamida Katsuya and Tsuji Izumi (eds.), Bunka Shakaigaku no Shiza: Nomerikomu Media to Soko ni Aru Nichijō no Bunka [Viewpoints on the Sociology of Culture: The AllEncompassing Media and The Everyday Culture Within It], (Tokyo, Japan: Minerva Shobo, 2008); Tōya Mamoru (ed.), Kakusan Suru Ongaku Bunka wa Dou Toraeru ka? [How Do We Study the Expanding Music Culture?], (Tokyo, Japan: Keisō Shobo, 2008). pp. i-ii. 40 Kagimoto, „Ōdiensuron Saikō‟, pp.3-18.

14

theoretical concerns in popular music research. This thesis thus focuses on investigating activities of „musicking‟ and communal taste building through karaoke. Particularly, I ask the following questions: Who are these enka fans? How did they come to develop their taste for enka? How do they identify with each other through enka? On what terms do they make connections with and generate meaning for enka? How are ideas of tradition and „Japaneseness‟ expressed, negotiated, rejected and/or reaffirmed in their consumption behaviour? Are these mechanisms specific only to enka and its fans? These questions will allow us to better understand the cultural position that enka occupies in contemporary Japanese music, and how enka fans and non-fans create and sustain musical tastes through communal consumption.

Karaoke ethnography: Transgressions of the ethnographer To investigate actual practices of „musicking‟ and communal taste building for both enka fans and non-fans, I conducted participant-observation studies of behaviour surrounding musical preferences in various karaoke settings from March to July 2013, although my initial interactions with one of the communities stretched back to 2010. Karaoke provided a logical fieldsite, because firstly karaoke participation performs a major role in enka consumption, with many songs being released with karaoke versions, marketed as „easy to sing‟ [„utaiyasui‟] and urging listeners to „try singing the songs at karaoke‟ [„chōsen shite mitekudasai‟]. Furthermore, as a predominantly social activity (although there is a recent phenomenon of „hitori-karaoke‟ [„karaoke alone‟]), it allows music fans to partake in musical consumption and amateur performance within a communal setting. In fact,

15

entire books on rules of karaoke conduct, listing out taboos such as monopolising the microphone and selecting the „wrong‟ songs, among others, highlight the communal nature of karaoke participation by discussing socialisation processes, such as regulation of behaviour, that occur during karaoke.41 Other methodological and epistemological concerns directed the selection of specific karaoke settings as my research fieldsites. During the course of the ethnographic research, I participated in and observed the activities of three karaoke settings: SC, a karaoke kissa situated in Asaka City on the north-western outskirts of Tokyo, and two Internet karaoke clubs, Kclub and NSK, which organised monthly gatherings in cramped rooms inside karaoke box establishments near Kawasaki Station just south of Tokyo. 42 The choice of a karaoke kissa was influenced by popular accounts from the Enka Renaissance Association and Tsuzuki Kyōichi, who point out the integral roles of karaoke kissas as a venue where enka fans gather to enjoy and perform their favourite music.43 In contrast to the kissa is the karaoke box, which attracts a largely non-enka demographic.44 NSK and K-club provided box settings which

41

See Maruyama Keizaburo, Hito wa Naze Utaunoka [Why Do Humans Sing?], (Tokyo: Asuka-shinsha, 1991); Miyake Mitsuei, Karaoke Kokoroe Chō: Karaoke Enka Bunkaron [„Lessons from Karaoke: Karaoke and Enka Culturalism], (Tokyo: Hakushoin, 2004); Ueno Naoki, Karaoke wo Motto-motto Umaku Miseru Hon [Book for Singing Karaoke Much Better], (Tokyo: KK Longsellers, 1993). 42 A kissa can roughly be translated as „café‟, although kissas are typically older establishments located away from trendy neighbourhoods serving an older clientele. Kissas may also provide other kinds of services besides food and drinks, such as communal karaoke or manga. Boxes are establishments that contain many smaller rooms in which customers can participate in karaoke in more private and intimate spaces. See Chapter Three for an in-depth comparison between these two kinds of establishments. 43 Enka Runesansu no Kai [Enka Renaissance Association] (ed.), Enka wa Fumetsu da [Enka Will Not Perish], (Tokyo: Sony Magazines Shinsho, 2008), pp.126-9, Tsuzuki Kyōichi, Enka yo Konya mo Arigatou: Shirarezaru Indīzu Enka no Sekai [Thank You For Tonight Again, Enka: The Unknown World of Indies Enka], (Tokyo, Japan: Heibonsha, 2011). 44 Mitsui Toru, „The Genesis of Karaoke‟, Mitsui Toru and Hosokawa Shuhei (eds.), Karaoke Around the World: Global Technology, Local Singing, (London and New York: Routledge, 1998), p.39. The All Japan Association of Karaoke Entrepeneurs survey conducted in 1995

16

particularly played up the role of „musicking‟ in communal participation, rather than non-music-related forms of socialisation, because membership was predicated upon the appreciation of songs from the Showa period for the former and karaoke in general for the latter. Thus, these settings would provide fertile ground for analysis of „musicking‟ behaviour. Chapter Three provides a more in-depth explanation of the three settings, particularly key members in the research, and the segregation of karaoke consumers and musical tastes between kissas and boxes. In these settings, I participated and observed other participants‟ behaviour in communal karaoke. I noted their song preferences to identify which songs were most popular in each setting, particularly focusing on the year in which songs were released and the singers most represented. I also paid attention to the conversations and behaviour that we would engage in between songs. I then conducted individual interviews, where I asked about karaoke participants‟ musical preferences. The questions included the following: What are your favourite songs and singers? How did you come to like them? What kind of frame of mind, or emotions, do you have when you listen to these songs and singers? What do you think is their appeal? What kind of personal meaning do the songs and singers take on for you? Finally, I also asked if they liked enka, and what they thought about enka‟s claim to represent an essentialist „Japanese identity‟ through tradition. Although the sample size of participants (around forty) was small, limiting the

showed that young consumers (university and high school students, and young adults) consisted over 70% of karaoke boxes‟ clientele, while working-age and elderly men consisted 86% of karaoke snacks‟ customers. Zenkoku Karaoke Jigyosha Kyokai [All Japan Association of Karaoke Entrepreneurs], Karaoke Hakusho [White Paper on Karaoke], (Tokyo: Zenkoku Karaoke Jigyosha Kyokai, 1996). Cited in Oku Shinobu, „Karaoke and Middle-aged and Older Women‟, Mitsui and Hosokawa (eds.), Karaoke Around the World, pp.54-55.

17

representativeness of the research in providing an overall picture of the Japanese music audience, nevertheless my comparative approach presented an important shift away from existing enka research, which has thus far focused on production practices (and in rare cases, consumption) solely within the genre. Contemporary researchers are confronted with methodological, epistemological and ontological issues about the ethnographic research and writing process. Critical ethnographers such as James Clifford, George Marcus and Michael Fischer have questioned the intellectual and relationship contexts in which ethnographic research is conducted and written up.45 Jennifer Mason convincingly argues that ethnographers need to acknowledge that their knowledge is generated only via their participation in and embodiment of the behaviours and processes being studied.46 Within my research, I found that my very presence within the karaoke settings generated certain reactions and modes of thinking unavailable to other researchers. 47 I characterise my experiences within these settings as a series of culturally and generationallyframed transgressions, as my biographical, cultural and academic background always contrasted in some way with those of other karaoke participants. These transgressions proved methodologically important in highlighting musical and cultural identities and meanings held by both enka and non-enka fans.

45

See James Clifford and George E. Marcus, Writing Culture: the Poetics and Politics of Ethnography, (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1986); George E. Marcus and Michael Fischer, Anthropology as Cultural Critique, (Chicago, Ill.: University of Chicago Press, 1986). 46 Jennifer Mason, Qualitative Researching (Second Edition), (London: Sage Publications, 2002), pp.87-90. 47 I hesitate to use the terms „native‟ or „insider‟ in comparing myself with other researchers, particularly Japanese, because of the multiple loci through which ethnographers are identified according to the research setting. See Kirin Narayan, „How Native is a “Native” Anthropologist?‟, American Anthropologist, Vol.95, (1993), pp.671-86 for a concise argument about the problems of ethnographer identity in the fieldsite.

18

Transgression, as Chris Jenks defines, „is to go beyond the bounds or limits set by a commandment or law or convention, it is to violate or infringe‟. 48 However, transgressions are „manifestly situation-specific and vary considerable across social space and through time‟, despite appeals to their universality. 49 Instead, drawing upon ideas of social constructionism, Jenks proposes the importance of the „context of the act‟s reception‟ in understanding instances of transgression.50 For this research, I draw attention to disconnects in my age, nationality, upbringing and education from the karaoke participants with whom I interacted. I am a young academic researcher born in 1986, and have been brought up in Singapore for the vast majority of my life. I did not try to hide my cultural and academic background, although I also did not reveal them when first meeting other karaoke participants. Once revealed, however, my cultural and academic background began to also factor into how other participants viewed my karaoke performances and social interactions within the settings. In fact, when karaoke participants‟ analysed and talked about my karaoke performances and involvement in their social relationships against these biographical, cultural and academic characteristics, truly insightful observations about their views on enka and musical tradition were borne. This was possible because of the effects of transgressive behaviour that Jenks describes:

„But to transgress is also more than this (a violation), it is to announce and even laudate the commandment, the law or the 48

Chris Jenks, Transgression, (London and New York: Routledge, 2003), p.2. Ibid., pp.2-3. 50 Ibid., p.8. 49

19

convention. Transgression is a deeply reflexive act of denial and affirmation. Analytically, then, transgression serves as an extremely sensitive vector in assessing the scope, direction and compass of any social theory…‟51

Here, Jenks suggests the possible uses of transgression as a methodological tool in understanding social behaviour and settings. As such, I decided against conforming to the norms of being a young foreign academic researcher. Instead, I found that a more fruitful approach towards understanding karaoke participants‟ musical understandings was to enact, in various ways, performances that they did not expect from young foreign researchers, using my limited but still substantial knowledge of local behaviour and various Japanese popular music genres including enka. Although such performances might have affirmed, as Jenks suggests, „commonly-held‟ conceptions of musical tradition, they also allowed me to create stronger rapport with karaoke participants, through the creation of a sense of surprise, in order to facilitate in-depth critical discussions about these „commonly-held‟ conceptions later on. These „transgressive‟ performances also created a sort of spectacle, not unlike Jero‟s enka performances, which provided opportunities for reflections on prior assumptions of musical meaning.

51

Ibid., p.2. Brackets mine.

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Towards a new framework for understanding enka The following chapters present my exploration of enka from the audience- and taste-based theoretical framework described thus far. In Chapter One, I introduce enka‟s stylistic forms, showing how these have been described as links to a pre-modern musical tradition and an „authentic Japanese identity‟. I then analyse Jero‟s enka career, as an example of how a particular kind of performer has destabilised culturally essentialist understandings of the genre. Audience reactions towards his enka performances also highlight the need for alternative theoretical frameworks, based on taste, to explain audiences‟ connection to enka. In Chapter Two, I provide a socio-historical look at the development of musical taste for enka, and argue that such musical taste is held only by a specific segment of the Japanese music audience. I first show how contemporary enka is a relatively recent construct borne out of struggles among Japanese music producers and intellectuals of the 1960s, and became attached to notions of „Japanese tradition‟.52 I then describe the development of nostalgic longings among older segments of the Japanese population for a furusato [„hometown‟] positing the rural locale of the past as an ideal vision of „Japan‟ during the 1960s and 1970s, and their gravitation towards enka‟s themes of rural longing. Effectively, a division in musical tastes within the Japanese music audience developed around this time. In Chapters Three and Four, I highlight karaoke as a social music consumption setting to understand how communal „musicking‟ activities have highlighted and entrenched such segmentation of musical tastes not only in 52

This is an important topic in understanding enka‟s development as a music genre worthy of in-depth research on its own, but ultimately outside of the audience-centred focus of this thesis.

21

terms of age, but also education, locale and family income. I first describe karaoke‟s historical development in Chapter Three, as an example of how the divide in musical tastes and audiences has persisted through a communal „musicking‟ activity. I also introduce the three karaoke settings, SC, K-club and NSK, and key participants in the research, to show the social and musical segregation between them. Chapter Four then analyses the „musicking‟ activities occurring within each setting. I argue that the communal tastebuilding and „musicking‟ behaviour of karaoke participants, particularly with regards to enka, continue to highlight and entrench social differences based on age, locale, family income and education. I first explore the different ways in which I transgressed in my participation in each setting, to tease out the generational and culturally essentialist terms in which both fans and non-fans explained their views towards enka. I also show how non-fans used culturally essentialist frameworks to also discuss other Japanese popular music genres. Finally, I make a contrast between how enka fans and non-fans create musical and communal identities and relationships through „musicking‟ and tastebuilding activities surrounding genre, in a manner that produces further segregation. These participant observations are supplemented with anecdotal data from interviews, and I read their behaviour and anecdotes against their social life-histories and socio-musical experiences. I conclude by pointing out the inability of existing enka research to provide an accurate picture of the peripheral position the genre and its fans occupy within the Japanese popular music industry, and highlight how my sociologically- and ethnographically-based methodologies show that Japanese music listeners have developed differing opinions and attitudes towards the

22

genre. By pointing out the specific socio-historical origins of both the genre and its fandom, and also the diverse ways in which karaoke participants in different settings approached the use of enka in their gatherings, I argue that enka performs the more socially divisive role of marking off a certain fan demographic, within a heavily segmented Japanese music audience that conceptualises „Japan‟ in various ways.

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Chapter One Enka, a National Musical Tradition?

In this chapter, I destabilise culturally essentialist assumptions that enka unquestionably represents an essential Japanese traditional identity. I first introduce how both Japanese and Euro-American academic discourses have coupled the genre to notions of Japanese tradition, in terms of its formal styles and content. However, I show that culturally essentialist narratives are unable to fully explain the fluidity and dynamism of musical performance and consumption. This is done by highlighting how audiences have viewed the racially- and culturally-defined spectacle of Jero‟s enka performances in noncultural terms of musical appreciation. Audience reception towards Jero‟s performances suggests that an alternative framework for understanding enka consumption and audiences, based on taste, is needed.

Enka’s ‘traditional’ features In describing the musical content and form generally found in enka songs and performances, Christine Yano explains kata as „a recognisable code of the performance action‟. 53 She defines kata as „stylised formulas‟ and „patterned forms‟, and suggests that the concept reflects the deeply embedded structural approach to production, performance and consumption in the genre.54 In other words, enka relates compositional and performance motifs to certain ideals and values deemed „traditional‟, through kata‟s highly structured and explicit semiotic code. This approach to the analysis of enka songs is also 53 54

Yano, Tears of Longing, p.25. Ibid., pp.24-25.

24

prominently utilised by publications such as Okada Maki‟s „Musical Characteristics of Enka‟ and Koizumi Fumio‟s „Kayōkyoku no Kōzō‟ [„Structure of Kayōkyoku‟], which operate on the assumption that the authenticity of such songs as a representation of tradition rests on its faithfulness to kata. 55 Yano discusses an exhaustive list of ideas and images „cued‟ by specific kata. They work to aestheticise and glorify nostalgia for a „Japan‟ situated in an idealised rural past. In textual/lyrical kata, this „Japan‟ is most succinctly referenced in the word „furusato‟. 56 In enka, furusato does not necessarily mean a physical location (although Mizumori Kaori (1973- ), dubbed „the queen of locale songs‟, has had a lucrative career singing many songs that reference actual places and sceneries), but rather a setting in which an idealised „traditional Japan‟ can be visualised through a process of nostalgia and longing.57 Lyrical kata serve as signifiers of the people (such as mothers, stoic men and jilted lovers) inhabiting the pristine, rural furusato setting full of natural goodness, and the intimate and emotionally intense interpersonal relationships that bind „traditional Japanese‟ together. Even the lyrical structure, which is highly influenced by the pre-modern Japanese poetic form of waka, provides a sense of tradition.58 Ideas of tradition are also expressed through performative kata. Firstly, vocal techniques, drawn from pre-modern Japanese forms such as jōruri, 55

See Koizumi, Kayōkyoku no Kōzō, pp.148-81; Okada Maki, „Musical Characteristics of Enka‟, Gerald Groemer (trans.), Popular Music, Vol.10 No.3, pp.283-303. 56 Yano, Tears of Longing, pp.148-79. 57 Jennifer Robertson, „The Culture and Politics of Nostalgia: Furusato Japan‟, International Journal of Politics, Culture and Society, Vol.1 No.4, (1988), pp. 494-518; Marilyn Ivy, Discourses of the Vanishing: Modernity, Phantasm, Japan, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995), p.104. I discuss the furusato concept in greater detail, when detailing the social upheaval of 1960s and 1970s Japan in Chapter Two. 58 Yano, Tears of Longing, p.92, 103.

25

minyō and naniwa-bushi, signify gendered expressions of melancholy, stoicism, grief or pain.59 The most prominent technique is the kobushi, a vocal ornamentation described by Okada as a „melismatic kind of singing‟. 60 Yoshikawa Seiichi argues for the sensuality that is experienced in utilising kobushi, and proclaims it as the „life-blood of enka‟. 61 Several fans that I spoke to during fieldwork echoed such views about kobushi. Also, embodied kata provide visual indicators of emotion and gender ideals. Yano provides a list comparing the fashion styles (encompassing both traditional Japanese and Western dress), poses and stage movement of female and male enka singers during performances, to show how the genre clearly differentiates between „otoko-michi‟ and „onna-gokoro‟ [„the path of a man‟ and „the feelings of a woman‟].62 Compositional kata, meanwhile, play an important role in generating feelings of nostalgia by aurally signifying ideas of the past through instrumentation. This is most prominently done through the use of yonanuki scales, particularly the minor.63 These scales share many characteristics with traditional music, but were actually developed in the Meiji period as music practitioners and educators sought to fit Japanese musical modes into their newly acquired knowledge of Western musical theory.64 Also, the imitation of sounds produced by traditional instruments, such as the shakuhachi and shamisen, in song arrangements work to create a faux traditional feel to the music. 59

Ibid., pp.109-14; Koizumi, Kayōkyoku no Kōzō, pp.172-80. Okada, „Musical Characteristics of Enka‟, p.288. 61 Yoshikawa Seiichi, Kanashimi wa Nihonjin: Enka Minzokuron [Grief is Japanese: Enka Ethnology], (Tokyo, Ongaku no Tomo Sha: 1992), pp.35-37. 62 Yano, Tears of Longing, pp.114-22. 63 Okada, „Musical Characteristics of Enka‟, pp.284-6. 64 Ibid., pp.285-6. 60

26

Even production and consumption practices are portrayed as markers of „tradition‟ and „marginality‟, as Yano describes. 65 Firstly, she notes the strict apprenticeship system and senior-junior [senpai-kōhai] hierarchy practiced in enka, with budding singers undergoing extensive and gruelling training periods as live-in disciples. Also, many songs are still released on cassette tapes, matching enka‟s older fan demographic and their reliance on older technology. Performers also exhibit their hard effort by travelling extensively across Japan to perform at small-scale venues that allow for close personal interaction with fans (a practice that has precedents in pre-modern itinerant performers).66 In terms of consumption as a marker of marginalised tradition, Yano notes that enka sales occupy a miniscule portion of the Japanese music market (less than one percent in 1998). 67 Also, enka sales patterns provide a stark difference to the instant consumption and disposal dominating the Japanese musical scene today: typically rising through the charts slowly and gradually, songs usually take months or even years to achieve hit status. Together, these production and consumption traits are valorised as expressions of perseverance, hard work and a „Japanese spirit‟, as seen in a music industry journal article which describes enka as being „like a marathon‟, just as Japan is „a “marathon country”‟ that emphasises „spirit and effort‟.68

65

Yano, Tears of Longing, pp.45-76. Ibid., p.74. 67 Oricon, Inc., Orikon Nenkan 1998 Nenban [1998 Oricon Yearbook], (Tokyo: Orijinaru Konfidensu, 1998). 68 Anonymous, „Ōen shitakunaru kashu no jōken to wa?‟ [What Makes a Singer Incite Your Support?], Konfidensu, Vol.26, (1992), pp.21-37. 66

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Enka is thus a nostalgia built on what Yano calls a „memory of pain‟ aestheticised into something desirable. 69 By coupling marginalised rural experiences with images of the past, enka‟s nostalgia presents a kind of „internal exotic‟ that preserves temporal, spatial and cognitive distance from modern urban Japanese lifestyles, while preserving a longing to „return‟ to such an essentialised „traditional Japan‟. 70 Enka‟s aesthetic appeal is thus explained as a structured representation of an essential „traditional Japanese musical identity‟, compared to rock, pop and other genres seen as more modern and Western-derived. Indeed, Yano cites an explanation often utilised by enka fans in explaining its lack of popularity in younger audiences: „those Japanese who do not like enka are either insufficiently experienced, particularly in life‟s hardships and sorrow, or not true to their innate Japaneseness‟.71 But paradoxically, Yano also concedes that a culture-based approach towards enka understanding, through the primacy of structured forms dictated by kata, cannot totally explain how certain enka singers are better received than others. Instead, she suggests that kosei [individual character], which she uses to explain individuality and originality in performances, is what „makes a star a star‟. 72 Successful singers „break out little by little‟, showcase their „mastery over kata‟, and „convey the impression that no one can sing quite like them: their kata is not only distinctive, it is elusive‟. 73 Yano‟s explanation

69

Yano, Tears of Longing, pp.14-5; David Lowenthal, The Past is a Foreign Country, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), p.8. 70 Yano, Tears of Longing, pp.15-6. Cf. Ivy, Discourses of the Vanishing. 71 Christine R. Yano, „The Marketing of Tears: Consuming emotions in Japanese popular song‟, Timothy J. Craig (ed.), Japan Pop! Inside the World of Japanese Popular Culture, (New York: M.E. Sharpe, 2000), p.61. 72 Yano, Tears of Longing, p.123. 73 Ibid. Emphasis in original.

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implies that despite the primacy of kata as structure in understanding enka thus far, the genre cannot be seen as a totally static genre determined by form. In fact, while her explanation of kosei has been conducted in terms of the production and performance of enka thus far, I suggest, through the previous discussion in the Introduction (pages 8 to 15) on sociological approaches to studying music consumption, that there is no reason why audiences should be excluded from any kind of agency in their consumption of the music. For the rest of this chapter, I will analyse Jero‟s career developments, and how audiences have viewed them, to show the need for a non-culture-based understanding of the genre.

Jero’s enka career Jero‟s early media appearances provide vivid examples of the raciallyand culturally-bounded discourse in which his performances are situated. For example, in an appearance on Nippon Hōsō Kyōkai [Japan Broadcasting Corporation, abbreviated as NHK] programming in 2008 to perform Misora Hibari‟s (1937-1989) 1950 hit „Echigojishi no Uta‟ [„Echigo Lion-Dancer Song‟], Jero‟s first sentence in his explanation to the host‟s quizzing of his connections to the song „My grandmother was Japanese, so…‟ provides the greatest hint about the framework through which he negotiates enka‟s musical meanings.74 To hammer home the point, a photo of Takiko embracing a young Jero is superimposed on the screen not only during the chat, but also the actual song rendition. A year later, in a television appearance to promote his third single „Tsumeato‟ [„Nail Marks‟], he again cites his grandmother as his main 74

shenyuetao, „Jero – Echigojishi no Uta‟ [„Jero: The Echigo Lion-Dancer Song‟], Youku, http://v.youku.com/v_show/id_XNzI2NTY5MzY=.html, Accessed 22 November 2012.

29

influence in performing enka, while a family portrait including Takiko is set as a prominent backdrop as he performs. 75 These attempts at legitimising his performance of enka also act to discursively assert the „Japaneseness‟ of the genre, as it is seemingly only through Takiko that he obtains the cultural licence to perform.

Figure 1: Cover photo for „Umiyuki‟ (Courtesy of Victor Entertainment Co. Ltd.)

Jero and his producers also crafted his initial visual image, which provides the most visible reason for the interest surrounding his enka career, within a culturally essentialist understanding of music genres. Indeed, Jero‟s appearance in hip-hop fashion, with his baseball cap, baggy shirts and trousers, large chains, sneakers, and occasional dance moves, panders to existing Japanese musical stereotypes about African-American inspired hip-hop culture (See Figure 1).76

75

gbc025026, „Jero: Tōku & Tsumeato‟ [„Jero: Talk & Nail Marks‟] Youtube, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LtXJfimG1fk, Accessed 22 November 2012. 76 See John Russell, „Race and Reflexivity: The Black Other in Contemporary Japanese Mass Culture‟, Cultural Anthropology, Vol.6 No.1, (1991), pp.3-25; Ian Condry, Hip-Hop Japan: Rap and the Paths of Cultural Globalisation, (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2006), p.25.

30

Describing his thoughts on performing enka in hip-hop fashion in a 2008 interview, Jero expressed some reservations about such a fashion choice, but conceded that it would be even stranger for him to wear a kimono on stage. 77 He also mentioned that this choice of fashion was the best way to allow him to „perform comfortably as himself‟. 78 His producer, Kawaguchi Norihiro, suggested in Jero‟s 2011 biography that such ideas of „himself‟ and „normal‟ were most probably based on a recognition of dominant cultural discourses in Japanese society about African-Americans and Japanese.79 As such, Jero‟s early attempts to introduce his own kosei into the genre, through his „fresh‟ and „unique‟ visual appeal, were overwhelmingly based on a culturally-defined framework of enka as „Japanese music‟. Through the usage of visual markers of African-American hip-hop culture, including his own dark skin, Jero transgressed into a soundscape deemed exclusively Japanese, and created a culturally-defined spectacle through his performances. These performances also had the effect of reaffirming the racial and cultural categories and boundaries of fashion and music, by skilfully adhering to both established performance kata and conventional notions of African-American hip-hop fashion and culture, and calling into question for audiences the (in)compatibility of both cultural styles. Jero has released several more singles, and six cover and two original albums, since „Umiyuki‟. He and his producers have looked to expand on his early artist image, while retaining some unique elements separating him from other enka singers. Firstly, the development of a trademark „Jero sound‟ can 77

„Shoshin Wasurezu, Kokkyō wa Wasurete Enka no Kokoro wo Utaitsuzuketai‟ [„Wanting to Continue Singing Enka‟s Spirit, Without Forgetting Roots but Forgetting National Boundaries‟], Fujin Kōron, Vol.93 No.11, (22 May 2008), p.153. 78 Kosakai, Enka wa Kokkyō wo Koeta, p.64. 79 Ibid.

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be observed in his releases since 2009, starting from „Yancha Michi‟ [„The Way of the Brat‟]. Jero‟s later single releases have exhibited increasingly modern sounds and arrangement styles. For example, „Serenade‟, released in February 2013, has little trace of enka‟s trademark motifs. Instead, the song features a highly stripped down arrangement style focusing on the sorrowful lead piano melody backed by a mellow bass-line and dramatic guitar solos. This musical direction is a significant departure from „Umiyuki‟, which showcased considerable allusions towards instantly recognisable traditional Japanese musical motifs, such as the shakuhachi flourish at the beginning of the song and rapid ascents and descents along the pentatonic scale. Even his cover releases offer such departures from the stereotypical enka sound. His version of the 1970s hit „Hisame‟ [„Sleet‟], for example, prominently features an electric guitar riff backed by a strings section. Also, songs usually associated with more urban and modern genres, such as the 1970s „new music‟ hit „Katte ni Shiyagare‟ [„However You Want It‟] and the popular 1980s rock ballad „Wine Red no Kokoro‟ [„Wine-red Heart‟], are included in his cover albums. While Jero still employs certain performative kata, especially melismatic vocal ornamentations like kobushi and yuri (a slow and broad vibrato), numerous collaborations with performers and composers from other popular music genres, including Hitoto Yō, Nakamura Ataru, Tamaki Kōji and Marty Friedman, have allowed him to develop a distinctly more urban and modern sound.

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Figure 2: Cover photos for „Yakusoku‟ (top left), „Serenade‟ (top right) and „Covers 6 (bottom) (Courtesy of Victor Entertainment Co. Ltd.) Jero‟s visual imagery has also undergone significant, although gradual change, as he started to appear more frequently in suits from the release of „Yakusoku‟ [„Promise‟] in 2009. The preference towards a full suit is evident today. In the „Covers 6‟ album released in July 2013, Jero stands in a side profile with a wistful and faraway look, decked in a black blazer jacket and pants matched with white shirt and grey necktie. He has his left hand in his pocket, while his right hand grabs his jacket. In „Serenade‟ released in February 2013, he is dressed in a black woollen winter jacket, while adorning a colourful silk scarf (See Figure 2). While these moves can be read as a shift towards more orthodox enka fashion, Jero still adorns a number of trademark accessories. Firstly, he is still

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never seen without headgear, with a do-rag topped off by a cap, or more frequently in recent years a fedora hat. Jero also wears ear studs and a big chain around his neck, reminiscent of the „bling‟ worn by African-American hip-hop artists, in his appearances. He finishes off his suit with hip-hop sneakers, rather than formal shoes. As such, while Jero‟s changes in fashion style towards enka orthodoxy presents a seeming contradiction to his musical departure from stereotypical enka, he still maintains his unique visual appeal as a singer with African-American heritage, and as a „cool‟, „chic‟ and „modern‟ enka performer. Jero has also played up his African-American heritage in live concerts and appearances, by performing Euro-American music, particularly soul. At his special live event held in Yokohama in late June 2013, for example, Jero started off with a rendition of the 1970 soul classic, The Spinners‟ „It‟s a Shame‟, followed by Bobby Caldwell‟s „What You Won‟t Do for Love‟. He also performed Michael Jackson‟s „Human Nature‟ later in the 75-minute show. These songs appeared in the set-list with numbers from enka and 1980s and 1990s pop-rock ballads, creating a prominent juxtaposition between „Japanese‟ and „African-American‟. Jero also self-deprecatingly referred to his bilingualism when talking about the set-list by commenting, „Well now that I‟m done with a couple of songs in English which I‟m poor at, let‟s move on to some songs in Japanese which I‟m also poor at.‟ Thus, Jero has not completely discarded the kind of culturally essentialist juxtaposition that earlier media appearances and promotional material highlighted. His linguistic, ethnic and cultural backgrounds are still valuable tools through which he (and

34

his producers) expresses his kosei, and differentiates himself from other enka singers. Jero‟s stated aim in pursuing this image and sound is to encourage more listeners, particularly younger ones, to develop a liking for enka.80 In his biography, he recounts his disappointment as a teenager in how young Japanese turned away from what he considered an expression of the wonderful ideals of Japan by dismissing it as old-fashioned. Jero thus seeks to experiment with various sounds and fashion styles in his enka performances as a professional singer, in order to entice new (and younger) fans to the genre.81 Jero‟s experimentations may also be read as a way to overcome problems of declining popularity, as his releases after „Umiyuki‟ experienced increasingly slow sales, failing to capitalise on its success. 82 But these experiments in Jero‟s sound and fashion apparently have not worked to rebuild his initial stardom, nor entice more fans to his music. His releases from 2010 onwards generally peak in the lower regions of Oricon‟s top 200 charts. 83 Jero has also missed out on NHK‟s Kōhaku since 2010, a widely-held marker of general popularity, with some media reports dismissing him as a „one-hit wonder‟.84

80

See for example „Kashu Jero-san: Nengan no Enka Kashu toshite Karei ni Bureiku Chū‟ [„Singer Jero: Having a Big Break as the Enka Singer He Always Wanted to Be‟], Nikkei Ūman, (August 2008), p.96; and „Monthly Pick Up!: Jero‟, Gekkan Za Terebijon, (August 2008), p.40. 81 Kosakai, Enka wa Kokkyō wo Koeta, pp.32-33, pp.170-1. 82 Oricon, Inc., Jero no Shinguru Rankingu [Jero‟s Singles Ranking], (2013), http://www.oricon.co.jp/prof/artist/445413/ranking/cd_single/; Oricon, Inc., Jero no Arubamu Ranking [Jero‟s Album Ranking], (2013), http://www.oricon.co.jp/prof/artist/445413/ranking/cd_album/, Accessed on 10 November 2013. 83 Ibid. 84 „Enka Waku Dai Sakugen de Kōhaku ni Risutora no Fubuki!: Gakeppuchi ni Tatsu Kobayashi Sachiko, Mikawa Kenichi, Hosokawa Takashi, Godai Natsuko‟ [„A Flurry of Retrenchment as Enka Slots are Lessened: Kobayashi Sachiko, Mikawa Kenichi, Hosokawa Takashi, Godai Natsuko on the Brink‟], Shūkan Shinshō, (18 November 2010), p.35.

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Evaluating Jero’s enka performances Most media appraisals of Jero‟s enka career have been conducted in culturally-bound frames of comparison. Reports early on heavily portrayed him as not only „the first black enka singer‟ [„hatsu no kokujin enka kashu‟], but also „the black ship of enka‟ [„enka no kurofune‟].85 The use of the term „black ship‟ is an allusion to his African-American heritage and skin colour, and also the arrival of the gunships of Commodore Matthew Perry to Tokyo Bay in 1853 which forcibly opened up the Tokugawa Shogunate to foreign trade and cultural influences. Jero‟s presence in enka is thus portrayed largely in the same vein as Perry, in opening up the genre to foreign elements. Cross-cultural comparisons still abound in later reports. An article in the women‟s weekly magazine „Josei Jishin‟, dated 18 October 2011, introduces his musical knowledge by quoting him (in bold) as follows: „I started listening to enka at a young age due to my Japanese grandmother‟s influence, but I also got used to the sound of the jazz and R&B music from older times. I like the rhythm. It‟s another point of musical origin for me‟.86 Another article in the January 2013 edition of „Chūō Kōron‟ shows that Jero continues to frame his own career within such comparative terms, as he states his connection to „Echigojishi no Uta‟ (discussed on pages 29 and 30) as follows: „my grandmother is Japanese, and moved to America after getting married in the postwar period. She loved Misora Hibari‟s songs, and always 85

„Jero‟, Mainichi Shimbun; Oricon, Inc., Enka no Kurofune; „Teimei suru Enkakai ni Kita Kurofune: Jero wa Kyōi no “Nihontsū”‟ [„The Black Ship That Came Into a Struggling Enka Industry: Jero is Frighteningly Knowledgeable About Japan‟], Shūkan Asahi, (7 March 2008), p.134. 86 „Jōhō HojjiPojji: Konshū no Shinkyōchi: “Enkakai no Kurofune” ga Myūjikaru ni Chōsen, Butai ni Nozomu Sutamina Gen wa “Gohan ni Nattō”!‟ [„Information Hodgepodge: This Week‟s Newly Explored Area: “The Black Ship of Enka” Tries Out Musicals, The Source of His Stamina as He Prepares for the Stage is “Rice and Nattō”!‟], Josei Jishin, (18 October 2011), p.123.

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played them whenever I was visiting her place…‟87 Thus, both articles posit Jero‟s links to enka firmly through Takiko. It is via Takiko that Jero claims links towards Japanese cultural knowledge, and obtains legitimacy as an enka singer. In utilising such an explanation, the articles effectively portray enka as unquestionably „Japanese‟. There have been articles that put issues of culture in the background, such as in the enka-specific magazine „Music Star‟ (formerly known as „Enka Journal‟) dated August 2011, where both the author and Jero talk about the attractions of his release, „Tada…Namida‟ [„But…Tears‟], in terms of the universality of emotion and musical characteristics.

88

While „Music Star‟

tends to portray him like a run-of-the-mill young enka star, such portrayals of Jero are a rarity, and occur only in such genre-specific publications that have limited reach. Much of the academic discourse on Jero has sought to understand his enka career in similarly culturally essentialist understandings. For example, Kiuchi Yuya‟s analysis of Jero as „an alternative image of African-Americans‟, by using „Japanese culture as a means of self-expression‟, describes enka as part of a monolithic „Japanese cultural identity‟ that is xenophobic and isolationist, while positing Jero as a representative of the African-American racial and ethnic identity. 89 Shelley Brunt argues that Jero provides „a new way of thinking about Japan‟s place in the world‟, by examining „his image in relation to Japanese cultural identity‟.90 The coupling of enka with „Japanese

87

Jero, „Tokushū: Showa no Uta: Echigojishi no Uta‟ [„Focus: Showa Songs: The Lion Dancer Song‟], Chūō Kōron, (January 2013), p.148. 88 „Junsuika: Jero “Tada…Namida”‟[„Song for the Season: Jero „Only…Tears‟], Music Star, (August 2011), pp.16-17. 89 Kiuchi, „An Alternative African-American Image‟, pp.515-27. 90 Brunt, „When Black Tears Fall‟, pp.58-67.

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cultural identity‟ based in „traditional “old Japan”‟, and Jero as a „young black hip-hop/enka singer‟, is left unquestioned.

91

Christine Yano‟s ongoing

research on Jero‟s performance also displays such an analytical frame, as she states: „singing enka, then, symbolises far more than musical engagement, but by extension includes performing Japan, if even in hip-hop clothing. In this, Jero becomes an ironic bridge to the past‟.92 However, Neriko Doerr and Kumagai Yuri‟s 2012 paper raises questions about the dominant culturally-framed discursive mode in which Jero‟s enka performances have been evaluated. They argue that such evaluations, whether positive or negative, only serve to reinforce regimes of cultural difference, as they have the following discursive effects: 93

„The discourse (1) established their (the audience‟s) authority as the authenticator or judge of Jero‟s Japaneseness, (2) ignored the division between enka lovers and enka detractors in Japan and presented enka as the representative of homogenised Japanese culture, (3) contrasted his “Japaneseness” to his “African-Americanness”, (4) marked the aberration of Jero‟s subject position, and (5) domesticated Jero‟s suggestion of an alternative way to be Japanese by making it a spectacle.‟94

91

Ibid., p.60. Yano, Marketing Black Tears, p.11. 93 They refer to „regime of difference‟ as „a system of categories in which an item is defined in relation to the other item that it is contrasted to‟. Neriko M. Doerr and Kumagai Yuri, „Singing Japan‟s heart and soul: A discourse on the black enka singer Jero and race politics in Japan‟, International Journal of Cultural Studies, Vol.15 No.6, (2012), p.600. For further discussion on „regimes of difference‟, see Neriko M. Doerr, Meaningful Inconsistencies: Bicultural Nationhood, Free Market, and Schooling in Aotearoa/New Zealand, (London: Berghahn Books, 2009). 94 Ibid., p.610. By „domestication‟, Doerr and Kumagai refer to how the marking of Jero‟s performances as an exotic spectacle allows Japanese audiences to view him as trying to „copy 92

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Thus, they argue for a different discursive framework, in terms of taste, style, etc., to evaluate Jero‟s performance of enka, in order to understand better the kind of cultural positions that individuals like him occupy in the Japanese popular music scene. In particular, Doerr and Kumagai‟s second point that culture-based understandings ignore the heterogeneity within the Japanese music audience is crucially important in understanding how audiences have reacted to Jero‟s performances. That Jero has failed to garner greater prominence, even though a continued utilisation of racial- and culturally-marked spectacle in terms of his physical features, fashion and bilingualism, suggests that an alternative discursive framework, outside of issues of „national culture‟, is needed to understand the musical appeal, and also decline in popularity, of both Jero and enka. 95 Strikingly, many enka fans I interacted with over the course of my field research around Greater Tokyo were indifferent about, or even disliked, Jero. 96 Conversely, Jero fans at the Yokohama live event talked about his attractiveness in non-cultural terms, and confessed their indifference to enka otherwise. For example:

„I don‟t listen to enka much; only to his songs…I like his voice. It has a very unique flavour, which is hard to describe…And I think Jero also seems very smart? He also has his own character [jibun wo motteiru], and is not afraid to go against conventions…It doesn‟t have anything to do with him being Japanese‟, and reaffirm the superior characteristics of „Japaneseness‟ over the cultural Other through such attempts at copying. Ibid., p.609. 95 Ibid., p.608. 96 I discuss my observations of these fans from page 80 in Chapter Four, when discussing the musical preferences of regular patrons at the karaoke kissa SC.

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African-American and coming to sing enka, but rather a very individual kind of thing. Like how he doesn‟t go all out trying to appease all his fans superficially. He is sincere, as a human being [ningen toshite].‟97

„I find his voice very soothing, and in fact I sometimes listen to his songs whenever I can‟t sleep…He also seems to be a very smart person…I never liked enka before, as I preferred kayōkyoku songs, but I have come to appreciate it thanks to Jero.‟98

These observations were based on personal value judgements of the aesthetics of performance. That Jero‟s and enka‟s fandom cannot be simply explained in terms of a culturally-bounded discursive frame, I argue, is the most important contribution of understanding Jero‟s enka career within the Japanese cultural landscape. Particularly, it questions how enka has come to be loved by its fans. A sociological approach towards investigating „taste‟ provides a more productive framework of understanding such attraction. With this approach in mind, I first trace the socio-historical development of musical taste for enka in Chapter Two, before studying actual „musicking‟ behaviour in communal taste building and affirmation in karaoke settings in Chapters Three and Four.

97

Kanako, Conversation, 29 June 2013. Oba, Conversation, 29 June 2013. I provide a discussion of the differences and relationship between kayōkyoku and enka in Chapter Two, when describing the historical development of the postwar Japanese recording industry. 98

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Chapter Two The Socio-Historical Development of Musical Taste for Enka

Sharing a concern with sociologically-informed scholars for the social conditions and processes, or habitus, surrounding musical texts and audiences, I argue in this chapter that musical taste for contemporary enka is only enjoyed by a specific segment of the Japanese music audience. The genre is highly rooted in specific musical and social discourses that arose out of Japan‟s period of high economic growth in the 1960s and 1970s, rather than a pre-modern/Meiji tradition as ethnomusicologists such as Okada Maki, Koizumi Fumio and, to a lesser extent, Christine Yano have posited (discussed in Chapter One). I first outline the struggles within 1960s Japanese musical discourse and production practices, explaining how contemporary enka as a musical genre was developed by certain Japanese music producers and intellectuals. These producers and intellectuals posited contemporary enka as a defence of existing musical styles and production methods, against the supposed threat of newly-introduced Western-derived styles and production.99 I also examine the development of nostalgic sentiments, in reaction to problems of rural neglect, urban overcrowding and environmental pollution and centred on a longing for the idealised rural past in terms of the „furusato‟, among some parts of the Japanese population in the 1960s and 1970s. I then explain how such audiences developed a musical taste for enka. Thus, I show how the genre was 99

The development of enka production processes is important in understanding the genre‟s place within the Japanese musical soundscape. However, the discussion in this thesis is kept to an overview of the struggles between different producers, with more focus given to discussions of audience-related developments in the 1960s and 1970s due to the audiencecentred nature of my research.

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borne out of schisms that arose within communities of both musical producers and consumers during the 1960s and 1970s.

Inventing a ‘traditional’ popular genre How did enka become coupled with an image of „good old traditional Japan‟? Scholars such as Yano, Michael Bourdaghs and Wajima Yūsuke all suggest a traceable historical process through which such a coupling developed, even as they dispute enka‟s history and etymology.100 In particular, they identify the 1960s as a defining moment, and the Japan-West cultural dichotomy as the guiding conceptual force, that set into motion the creative process leading to contemporary enka. Musicologists and cultural historians have pointed out the existence of an earlier form of politicised enka from the Meiji and Taisho period which shared the same referential term, denoted by the kanji 演歌, as contemporary enka. 101 While they have disputed the influence of its songs and itinerant performers on the early Japanese recording industry, they agree that with the de-politicisation and romanticisation of Meiji-Taisho enka, marked by the homophone kanji 艶歌, the use of the kanji 演歌 was phased out until the late 1960s.102 Instead, scholars such as Wajima and Yano trace the origins of contemporary enka to developments in Japan‟s music recording industry,

100

It is important to note here that the Japanese language has a large number of homophones that allow for different writings of the same sound. This allows for individuals to utilise different characters to denote a single spoken word, which alters the meaning of the word. I discuss the case of enka shortly. 101 Yano, Tears of Longing, pp.31-34; Wajima, Tsukurareta, pp.49-64. 102 Yano, Tears of Longing, p.41; Wajima, Tsukurareta, p.49; Soeda Tomomichi, Enka no Meiji Taishō Shi [The History of Enka in the Meiji and Taisho Periods], (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1982), pp.163-4.

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which can be traced back to the dawn of the Showa era in the 1920s when Western (mainly American) record companies started to license Japanese subsidiaries.103 Particularly important for the early recording industry was the development of a system of in-house musical production by record companies, with strict hierarchical relationships between producers, songwriters and singers, and a highly devolved and compartmentalised song-writing process.104 The popular music created under this production system was labelled under the umbrella term kayōkyoku. 105 In-house production dominated Japanese popular music well into the postwar period, as the American occupation authorities did not demand a wholesale restructuring of the recording industry.106 However, the emergence of the electric guitar and American folk music posed a particularly strong challenge to the in-house production system in the 1960s. These influences gave rise first to the „Group Sounds‟ (GS) genre around 1966, a compromise between the new electric sound and existing in-house song-writing processes, and a few years later to Japanese rock and folk music, which embodied an individualistic and anti-establishment ideology based on independent self-production.107 Such musical ideology and practice placed these later forms of music, increasingly popular with youths, at odds with existing kayōkyoku and its

103

Kurata Yoshihiro, Kindai Kayō no Kiseki [The Development of Modern Popular Music], (Tokyo: Yamagawa Shuppansha, 2002), pp.53-60; Mitsui Toru, „Interactions of Imported and Indigenous Musics in Japan: A Historical Overview of the Music Industry‟, Alison J. Ewbank and Fouli T. Papageorgiou (eds.), Who‟s Master‟s Voice? The Development of Popular Music in Thirteen Cultures, (Westport, Connecticut and London: Greenwood Press, 1997), pp.158-9; Wajima, Tsukurareta, p.46; Yano, Tears of Longing, pp.41-42. 104 Wajima, Tsukurareta, pp.24-26. 105 Ibid., p.24. 106 Ibid., p.29. 107 Mitsui, „Interactions‟, p.168; Michael K. Bourdaghs, Sayonara Amerika, Sayonara Nippon: A Geopolitical Prehistory of J-Pop, (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012), pp.122-7, 137-55; Linda Fujie, „Popular Music‟, Richard G. Powers and Kato Hidetoshi (eds.), Handbook of Japanese Popular Culture, (New York: Greenwood Press, 1989), p.208.

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musical production practices. 108 Wajima describes this opposition firstly in terms of an organisational struggle between different factions of record music producers in the 1960s and 1970s. 109 Japanese recording companies of the period generally shared a similar organisational structure, dividing their operations into separate labels in charge of the production of „Japanese‟ kayōkyoku [hōgaku] and „foreign popular music‟ [yōgaku].110 But GS products, which were original material sung in Japanese, were not produced under the kayōkyoku production system of hōgaku labels, but fully produced under yōgaku labels instead.111 This development had roots in the mutual antagonism held by music producers on both sides towards each other‟s methods and products, as the younger GS and yōgaku producers and performers dismissed kayōkyoku as being „outdated and dull‟ [„furukusai‟], while producers of the in-house kayōkyoku system derisively labelled the young upstarts as „unkempt youngsters creating noise‟ [„kegarawashii wakazō no yakamashii ongaku‟] .112 Japanese record companies‟ resistance strategies towards increased capital involvement from their licensers in America also played a large role in determining yōgaku labels‟ production of GS and other Japanese music deemed „Western-influenced‟, as Japanese record companies such as Nippon Columbia worked to soften the stance of their American licensers (for example, Columbia Records) by starting production of GS songs under yōgaku labels, which were under greater American control.113 This eventually led to a

108

Bourdaghs, Sayonara, pp.155-6; Yano, Tears of Longing, p.42. Wajima, Tsukurareta, pp.30-37. 110 Ibid., pp.30-31. Yōgaku labels usually produced covers or remakes of foreign popular songs into Japanese versions. 111 Ibid., pp.32-33. 112 Ibid. 113 Ibid., p.33. 109

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general division of the Japanese music industry in terms of production methods: hōgaku‟s kayōkyoku production against yōgaku‟s production. Wajima then notes how the various elements in kayōkyoku production and content were put together into a coherent nationalistic ideology by Japanese neo-leftist intellectuals.114 These intellectuals posited the music and practices of the in-house production system as a counter-culture against dominant elite leftist ideals in 1960s Japan deploring such „feudal‟ and „backward‟ methods of musical expression. For example, Yamaori Tetsuo and Takenaka Tsutomu link Misora Hibari‟s 1950s and 1960s songs back to traditional Japan in its themes and musical characteristics, claiming that they mourned the suffering of many Japanese in the war effort, and represented a desire for cultural independence from increasingly influential American styles and practices.115 Both Bourdaghs and Yano also examine the kayōkyoku-yōgaku opposition in terms of a Japan/traditional-West/modern dichotomy. Bourdaghs cites Yamaori‟s suggestion of Hibari as an encapsulation of various Japanese emotional qualities such as melancholy, to show how contemporary enka was built up, with the increasing portrayal of Hibari as a symbol of „Japaneseness‟ as a central factor, as a challenge towards perceived American cultural imperialism.116 Images of Hibari as a marker of Japanese traditional identity reached a peak with two of her most famous songs in the mid-1960s, „Kanashii Sake‟ [„Mournful Sake‟] and „Yawara‟ [„Gentle‟], recognised today

114

Ibid., pp.186-219. Takenaka Tsutomu, Misora Hibari: Minshū no Kokoro wo Utatte Nijyūnen [Misora Hibari: Twenty Years of Singing the People‟s Heart], (Publisher Unknown, 1965); Yamaori Tetsuo, Misora Hibari to Nihonjin [Misora Hibari and the Japanese], (Tokyo: Gendai Shokan, 2001), pp.83-89. 116 Bourdaghs, Sayonara, pp.51-52, 63-69. 115

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as premier examples of the contemporary enka form. 117 Meanwhile, Yano explains that record companies sought to „differentiate between the more indigenous forms of Japanese popular music and other Western-influenced forms‟.118 She further posits this differentiation within a general discourse of cultural nationalism, and the emergence of nihonjinron literature, in the late 1960s and 1970s.119 However, it was essayist and music commentator Itsuki Hiroyuki‟s 1966 novel „Enka‟ that melded the musical, thematic and production concepts discussed thus far into a coherent whole named „enka‟. The novel equated the term with the old-fashioned kayōkyoku system of in-house production, produced the image of a marginalised genre practiced by similarly marginalised individuals, and glorified it through its morally triumphant ending for the enka practitioners. 120 This image of contemporary enka was brought into real-life musical practice through the successful debut of singer Fuji Keiko (1951-2013) in 1969. Her artist image was sculpted carefully by producers according to the bricolage of concepts portrayed in Itsuki‟s novel.121 As Fuji was explicitly promoted as an „enka star‟, Itsuki himself positively critiqued Fuji according to the ideas he espoused in the novel „Enka‟, and most media reports described her as a singer „right out of Itsuki‟s novel‟ [„Itsuki Hiroyuki no shōsetsu ni detekuru youna shōjo kashu‟].122 The resulting „Fuji

117

Ibid., pp.69-70. Yano, Tears of Longing, p.41. 119 Ibid., p.42. Nihonjinron refers to a body of literature that seeks to explain Japanese uniqueness based on a variety of socio-cultural and physical peculiarities. For a critical overview of the genre, see Yoshino Kosaku, Cultural Nationalism in Contemporary Japan: A Sociological Enquiry, (London and New York: Routledge, 1992). 120 Wajima, Tsukurareta, pp.220-51. Itsuki uses the kanji, 艶歌, denoting „romanticisation‟ and „eroticisation‟. 121 Ibid., pp.252-70. 122 Ibid., p.257. Fuji‟s producers utilised the kanji 演歌, but the „en-„ in this instance was used to denote meanings of „performance‟, rather than politicised speech as in Meiji-Taisho enka. 118

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Keiko boom‟ produced other similar „enka idols‟, such as Koyanagi Rumiko (1952- ), and solidified such a musical practice and product as a dominant trend in the early 1970s. It was with Fuji‟s appearance on the Japanese musical scene that the coupling of contemporary enka with Japanese traditional identity, through its identification with marginalised existences rooted in the past and an anti-elite ideology, became materialised in Japanese musical discourse. But Wajima notes that almost immediately after this, enka producers also sought to „sanitise‟ the genre. Songs began to deal less with hostesses, yakuza and other „outlaws‟, and turned towards more rural and familyoriented nostalgic elements as representations of marginalised traditional ideals, especially through Koyanagi‟s releases. These songs, celebrating rural lifestyles and the quaint, natural landscapes of the furusato, were heavily utilised in then-Japan National Railway‟s „Discover Japan‟ tourism campaign in the 1970s, and has been read by scholars such as Wajima as a co-optation of the neo-leftist counter-cultural movement by conservative mainstream forces.123 Contemporary enka also underwent a process of „standardisation‟ in the 1980s, as songs began to be written in a highly formulaic fashion sticking to the sanitised ideal of „good old traditional Japan‟, in order to better appeal towards target consumer demographics. Particularly, the growing number of middle-aged men, and later middle-aged women also, participating in karaoke at bars and other establishments, were important consumer groups.124 Also, a

123

Ibid., pp.298-300. I discuss the importance of the campaign in constructing a generalised nostalgia for furusato in the 1970s on page 55. 124 Ibid., pp.304-7, 312-5. I return to a discussion of enka‟s musical position within karaoke performance on pages 62 to 64.

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kayōkyoku genre developed, which referred to songs focusing less on an evocation of „Japanese tradition‟ like enka, but were still composed and performed by the producers and singers of the in-house production system.125 But this kayōkyoku term has maintained a highly ambiguous relationship with enka, sometimes being conflated with the latter while simultaneously being utilised as an umbrella term for all popular music considered indigenous in nature.126 However, enka sales began to dwindle from the end of the 1980s, as it struggled to compete with newer forms of popular music such as „new music‟, idol pop, and later, J-Pop. 127 Within Japanese musical discourse from the 1990s onwards, there has been a simplification of all 1970s music, including enka and the increasingly associated kayōkyoku, into a „Showa Kayō‟ genre held together by a musical nostalgia that has erased the musical and discursive differences apparent in the 1960s and 1970s musical soundscape.128 Wajima‟s narrative of contemporary enka‟s history from 1970 hints at a concern about the social conditions of enka consumption in describing the genre‟s rise and fall in popularity, although this concern plays second fiddle to his discourse-focused approach. In the following sections, I discuss the social conditions and processes surrounding enka consumption, in order to better identify its fan demographic, and situate enka within the musical habitus of both fans and non-fans.

125

Mitsui, „Interactions‟, p.171. Ibid., pp.171-2. 127 Wajima, Tsukurareta, p.317. 128 Ibid., pp.317-36. 126

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Urban and rural problems of Japan’s economic miracle Stories of material and emotional struggle during the massive social upheaval of the 1960s to 1970s have come to strongly influence the manner in which contemporary ideas of Japanese tradition is conceptualised. These experiences shaped the development of aesthetic ideals and standards for popular music genres prominent from the 1960s onwards, not least enka. This section focuses on the social development of the Greater Tokyo region, due to its positioning as the focal centre of many industries (including the entertainment business), and the setting for my field research which I discuss in Chapters Three and Four. The promotion of industry in urban areas (particularly Greater Tokyo) in then-Prime Minister Ikeda Hayato‟s „Income-Doubling Plan‟ provided many new employment opportunities taken up enthusiastically by many fresh junior and senior high school graduates, both male and female, drawn in by the glamour of urban lifestyles. Major urban areas such as Greater Tokyo, the Keihanshin (Osaka, Kobe and Kyoto) region, and Nagoya received new migrants at an average of a million a year between 1955 and 1970, with the greatest surges coming in the early 1960s.129 The „Youth White Paper‟ of 1960 counted at least 100,000 fresh middle and high school graduates arriving in Greater Tokyo in the past year, the majority of whom came via the „mass employment trains‟ from the rural countryside of Tōhoku, Hokkaidō, Jōshinetsu and northern Kantō areas.130 This large demographic group would

129

Peter Duus, Modern Japan, (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1998), p.303. White Paper on Youth 1960, (Tokyo: Youth Affairs Administration, Management and Coordination Agency, 1960). Cited in Hidetada Fujii, Bōkyō Kayōkyoku Kō: Kōdō Seichō no Tanima de [Thoughts On Nostalgic Kayōkyoku: In the Cracks of High Economic Growth], (Tokyo: NTT Shuppan, 1997), p.82; Shōji Wakui, Tōkyō Shinshi: Yamanote Sen Ima to 130

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come to comprise a big part of the more mature segment of the music audience in the 1970s, when they entered adulthood and middle-age. The massive rate of urban immigration caused severe strains on housing infrastructure. Peter Duus notes that „most urban newcomers had to rely on the private housing market‟, or company-owned housing.131 Despite new migrants being squeezed into cramped living conditions, the central wards of Tokyo were still saturated by the mid-1960s, resulting in an urban sprawl which rapidly engulfed surrounding prefectures and transformed their rural areas into homogeneous urban suburbia, often without adequate infrastructure such as sewage and social facilities.132 Within this process, cities in areas neighbouring Tokyo experienced a population boom: for example, Asaka in Saitama Prefecture, the location of one of my research fieldsites, experienced more than 300% population growth, from 18,812 in 1960 to 64,210 in 1970.133 The strong focus on developing heavy industry also had dire consequences for the urban environment. Following the Minamata disease case from the 1960s, toxic discharge from factories in the Greater Tokyo area also became a major environmental problem in this period. Concerns were raised over the ecological dangers and health concerns posed by toxic

Mukashi [New Tokyo Almanac: The Now and Then of The Yamanote Line], (Tokyo: Asahi Shinbunsha, 1969). Cited in Fujii, Bōkyō Kayōkyoku Kō, p.92. 131 Duus, Modern Japan, p.304. 132 For anecdotal descriptions of accommodation, see Anonymous, „Gurīn no Kami Tēpu‟ [„Green Ticker-tape‟], Shūkan Bunshun (ed.), Watashi no Shōwashi [My History of the Shōwa Period], (Tokyo: Bungei Shunjū, 1989). Cited in Fujii, Bōkyō Kayōkyoku Kō, p.83. For discussions of problems associated with urban sprawl, see Wesley Sasaki-Uemura, „Postwar Society and Culture‟, William M. Tsutsui (ed.), A Companion to Japanese History, (Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009), pp.320-1; Duus, Modern Japan, p.304. 133 „Sedai Sū Jinkō no Suii‟ [„Number of Households and Population Estimate‟], (Asaka: Municipal Administration Information Systems Section, 2013), http://www.city.asaka.lg.jp/uploaded/attachment/13457.pdf, Accessed on 10 October 2013.

50

discharge into Tokyo Bay and the Sumida and Tama rivers. 134 Air quality was also very poor, attested to by reports of odour from photochemical smog, sulphur discharge from factories and the large amount of exhaust gases from a growing automobile population.135 But more intensely and intimately felt were the emotional struggles of urban life, especially for new urban migrants. The vast majority left the countryside alone to seek their fortunes in Greater Tokyo. 136 As Duus notes, „individuals were much more isolated and anonymous than in the small-town atmosphere of villages and provincial towns. No longer were they embedded in a stable community where their families had lived for generations‟. 137 Many were also disappointed by the gritty, unglamorous, tightly-controlled and unfamiliar environments they found themselves working in, yet felt compelled to stay for the long haul in Tokyo, often as a promise to their parents in the countryside.138 These material and emotional struggles in many cases gave birth to a sense of longing for the rural countryside, particularly for new migrants. But it would prove increasingly impossible to think about physical „returns‟ to rural hometowns (or furusato) as they knew it: the countryside was also experiencing serious social changes. The programme of agricultural rationalisation and streamlining in Ikeda‟s Income-Doubling Plan successfully pushed out less-efficient smaller farms, essentially driving out many full-time

134

Fujii, Bōkyō Kayōkyoku Kō, pp.151, 155. Ibid., pp.155, 169. 136 Ibid., pp.83-86. 137 Duus, Modern Japan, pp.305-6. 138 Anonymous, „Gurīn no Kami Tēpu‟; Anonymous, „Hajimete no Dēto‟ [„First Date‟], Shūkan Bunshun (ed.), Watashi no Shōwashi. Cited in Fujii, Bōkyō Kayōkyoku Kō, p.83-86. 135

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farmers and heirs into the urban workforce.139 This demographic shift led to greater problems in the sustainability of agriculture as a source of income and communal identity. The 1962 and 1963 editions of the Asahi Nenkan [Asahi Yearbook] noted that the mass exodus of agricultural household heads had necessitated the help of nearby Self-Defence Force troops in the seeding and cropping of the fields: the elderly and wives left behind in the villages could not keep up with the amount of work, even with automation. 140 It was becoming impossible to earn a living through less productive cultivation. Anthropologist Yoneyama Toshinao‟s ethnography of villages in the OkuMino region of Gifu Prefecture, carried out from 1962-1969, describes the drastic depopulation that had occurred. He also notes the decrepit and abandoned state of many buildings, describing the villages as „ghost towns‟, especially in winter as families temporarily moved away.141 The continuation of traditional village festivals and ceremonies became problematic in these conditions, especially with the mass exodus of young people.142

Thinking about the furusato In recognition of the traumatic changes in the countryside and problems of rapid urban expansion, a nostalgic „furusato‟ or „hometown‟ boom developed in the 1960s and 1970s. While a main „push‟ factor for urban migration had been the perceived „backwardness‟ of the rural village, the countryside was now portrayed as an ideal setting in which traditional values

139

Fujii, Bōkyō Kayōkyoku Kō, pp.72-73. „Asahi Nenkan‟ [„Asahi Yearbook‟], (Tokyo: Asahi Shuppansha, 1962 & 1963). Cited in Fujii, Bōkyō Kayōkyoku Kō, pp.125-6. 141 Yoneyama Toshinao, Kaso Shakai [Hollowed Out Society], (Tokyo: NHK Books, 1969). Cited in Fujii, Bōkyō Kayōkyoku Kō, p.139. 142 Duus, Modern Japan, p.307. 140

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and communal forms remained. 143 Jennifer Robertson describes furusato as consisting of „both a temporal and spatial dimension‟, referring to a kind of generalised „hometown‟ based on ideas of a quaint „Japanese old village‟ that generates „warm, nostalgic feelings‟ when mentioned, and imbuing „whatever it names or is prefixed to with traditionalness and cultural authenticity‟. 144 But Marilyn Ivy suggests, through a consideration of Kamishima Jirō‟s ideas, that furusato is actually a longing expressing modern desires and problems brought about by the emotional traumas encountered in the process of urbanisation:

„The furusato resides in the memory, but is linked to tangible reminders of the past…Since the majority of Japanese until the postwar period had rural roots, furusato strongly connoted the rural countryside while the urban landscape implied its loss. Kamishima states further that the notion crystallised in times of rural emigration to the cities: in Japan, then, the ideal only gained

notable

strength

in

the

wake

of

late

Meiji

urbanisation…‟145

„Furusato is a modern notion. As Kamishima and others have shown, it attained force in the wake of large-scale changes in rural Japan, in particular, the exodus of people in search of work in the cities in the early twentieth century, and, more recently, in the postwar period. Concern with the furusato 143

William Kelly, „Finding a Place in Metropolitan Japan: Ideologies, Institutions, and Everyday Life‟, Andrew Gordon (ed.), Postwar Japan as History, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), p.194. 144 Robertson, „Furusato Japan‟, pp.495-6. 145 Ivy, Discourses of the Vanishing, p.104.

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indicates a fundamental alienation, a severance from “home.” This essential alienation shows up even more clearly in various local and national movements in Japan to make one‟s place of residence a true “hometown” (summed up in the phrase furusato-zukuri, or “making furusato”).‟146

Indeed, Robertson‟s discussion of furusato was made in the context of state attempts at furusato-zukuri to revive rural areas and alleviate problems caused by urban overextension. Most prominent among these attempts was Tanaka Kakuei‟s plan to „remodel the Japanese Archipelago‟. In his 1972 publication „Building a New Japan‟, he glorifies furusato‟s lush nature and intimate human relations, and seeks to rebuild these. 147 However, Tanaka‟s rural revitalisation projects, and also those of successive Prime Ministers, were not concerned with revitalising struggling modes of village life, but building transportation, industrial and urban infrastructure (such as the Jōetsu Shinkansen to Tanaka‟s home prefecture of Niigata) in rural areas instead. As such, these projects did little to restore the vitality of Japanese agriculture and rural lifestyles, which by the 1970s were dependent on automation, tariffs and governmental support. Instead, the public projects effectively bulldozed over much of the rural landscape, and facilitated the creation of „mini-Tokyos‟ in outlying parts of Japan by transplanting urban facilities and lifestyles into the

146

Ibid., pp.105-6. See also Kamishima Jirō, „Intabyū: Kokyō Sōshitsu no Genzai kara‟[„Interview: From the Present Loss of Hometown‟], Dentō to Gendai, Vol.55, (November 1978), pp.8-9. 147 Tanaka Kakuei, Building a New Japan: Remodeling the Japanese Archipelago, Simul International (trans.), (Tokyo: Simul Press, 1972), pp.217-20. Cited in Theodore Wm. de Bary et al. (eds.), „The Consumer Revolution in Postwar Japan, 1960‟, Sources of Japanese Tradition Vol. 2: 1600 to 2000, (New York: Columbia University Press, 2005), p.1107.

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countryside.148 Coupled with the spread of mass culture dominated by Tokyobased media conglomerates that promoted a „homogenisation of popular culture‟, rural traditions took on an increasingly peripheral and exoticised role within the spread of modern urban lifestyles.149 One area in which the rural countryside‟s image of being an „exotic periphery‟ was played up was in domestic tourism. The furusato rhetoric was heavily utilised to promote domestic tourism from the 1970s. For example, the „Discover Japan‟ advertising campaign conducted by then-Japanese National Railways (mentioned on page 47) promoted domestic travel, alone or in small groups, as not only a means to self-discovery, but also to „discover and absorb the abundant nature, rich history, tradition, and the intricate intimacies still residing within Japan‟.150 Discover Japan also stayed away from portrayals of famous landmarks, instead presenting scenes of momentary encounters and interactions (primarily by young urban women, who were identified as a target consumer group) with obscure and often unnamed rural places and people.151 By stressing travellers‟ interactions with rural nature and tradition as a discovery of the self and its „Japaneseness‟, the wildly successful campaign built up a picture of a „generic‟ Japanese countryside portrayed as a source of Japanese national tradition. That such a generic template of the countryside was also heavily employed in enka was no coincidence, with Koyanagi Rumiko‟s early enka hits such as „Watashi no Jōkamachi‟ [„My Castle Town‟, released in 1971], which both Wajima

148

Fujii, Bōkyō Kayōkyoku Kō, pp.190-1. Duus, Modern Japan, pp.306-10. 150 Article found in Kokutesu Tsūshin [„Japanese National Railways Correspondence‟], (Publisher unknown, October 1970). Cited in Fujii, Bōkyō Kayōkyoku Kō, p.172; Ivy, Discourses of the Vanishing, p.35. 151 Ivy, Discourses of the Vanishing, p.35, 43. 149

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Yūsuke and Fujii Hidetada both identify as an important template for future enka songs, being promotional songs for the Discover Japan campaign.152 Ivy and Wesley Sasaki-Uemura also describe how the town of Tōno has attempted to attract tourists by marketing a „traditional culture‟ based on ethnologist Yanagita Kunio‟s popular 1910 publication „Tōno Monogatari‟ [„The Tales of Tōno‟]. Town officials from the 1960s onwards „began actively reappropriating Yanagita‟s narratives, turning its romanticised history of darkness and primitivity into a civic asset‟, and billing the town as a furusato for Japanese folklore. 153 Yet, Ivy points out how Yanagita‟s narratives themselves had repressed the actual modes of storytelling used in the oral traditions of the tales, such as narrative devices, dialects and accents, in favour of more formal rhetoric. 154 Instead, she argues that it is with subsequent rewritings of these „Tales of Tōno‟, particularly Inoue Hisashi‟s „Shinsaku: Tōno Monogatari‟ [„The Tales of Tōno: A New Interpretation‟] which reintroduces the use of local dialects and accents and places back into narrative prominence storytelling devices including exaggeration and fantasy, that the oral tradition of the tales can be rediscovered. 155 Indeed, SasakiUemura argues that the recreation of traditional settings and practices has been possible only via tutelage by outside professionals, rather than being inherited. 156 And even so, Ivy notes how these settings and practices,

152

Wajima, Tsukurareta, pp.298-9; Fujii, Bōkyō Kayōkyoku Kō, pp.169-86. Ivy, Discourses of the Vanishing , p.100. 154 Ibid., pp.78-79, 89. 155 Ivy, Discourses of the Vanishing, p.99. See also Inoue Hisashi, Shinsaku: Tōno Monogatari [The Tales of Tōno: A New Interpretation], (Tokyo: Shinchōsha, 1976), p.8. 156 Sasaki-Uemura, „Postwar Society and Culture‟, p.325. 153

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promoted by local authorities to boost tourism, are still far removed from the actual folk traditions that they are supposedly based on.157 As the example of Tōno suggests, rural areas struggled to faithfully pass on their traditional cultural practices in the face of modernisation and urbanisation. Furusato-zukuri projects were not faithful reproductions of original rural traditions and lifestyles. Far from being an actual spiritual home for contemporary Japanese to „return‟ to, furusato existed merely as an idealised and generalised longing for „home‟ that never truly matched up to actual experiences of the past.158

Thinking about change through music: segmentation of the Japanese music audience How did popular music participate in these discourses about 1960s and 1970s Japanese society? As explained from page 43 to 45, musical producers provided and/or had to face radical challenges to the existing recording industry structure. As producers were divided with the appearance of less institutionalised forms of popular musical production in the 1960s, so too were consumers in their musical preferences. It was at this point that genres became linked to wider social concerns and moods, and particular segments of the Japanese music audience. On one side were the fans of genres identified with yōgaku, such as jazz and the later ereki, GS, rock and folk-influenced music. Discussions of musical authenticity in these music genres stayed away from ideas of Japanese traditional identity. For many performers such as Kasagi Shizuko (1914-1985), 157 158

Ivy, Discourses of the Vanishing, pp.130-40. Fujii, Bōkyō Kayōkyoku Kō, pp.198-9.

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their attraction came in their perceived performance of the (particularly American in the postwar period) urban, modern and foreign. 159 Much of Japanese jazz and boogie-woogie‟s popularity was built up in the dance halls and night clubs of urban centres such as Tokyo, and clubs within American military bases during the Occupation.160 These music genres, which expressed increasingly explicit rebelliousness against the established order, also gained a great following among youth audiences within urban settings. Ishihara Shintarō, for example, famously depicted the rise of rockabilly urban youth culture, featuring the genre heavily in his taiyō zoku [„sun tribe‟, referring to the carefree and reckless lifestyles of some urban youths in the 1950s] films.161 Rockabilly, and later rock festivals and folk protest movements, were thereafter heavily associated with teenage, college and youth culture in the 1960s and 1970s.162 Ōyama Masahiko also describes how the fan culture in the 1970s revival of Japanese rock n‟ roll was dominated by highly educated urban youths.163 On the other side of the popular music divide was enka. As detailed in Chapter One, the genre focused on a longing for an ideal Japanese past via the mobilisation of kata. Enka‟s aesthetic approach, centred upon the glorification of the furusato and values deemed „traditional‟ through musical forms and lyrical themes, appealed to more nostalgic mature fans from the late 1940s

159

Bourdaghs, Sayonara, p.50-51. Ibid., p.30-1, 34, 50-1. 161 Ibid., p.87. 162 Ibid., pp.85-87, 160-1. 163 Ōyama Masahiko, „Wakamono Sabukaruchā to Popyurā Ongaku‟ [„Youth Subculture and Popular Music‟], Tōya Mamoru (ed.), Popyurā Ongaku e no Manazashi: Uru, Yomu, Tanoshimu [A Look at Popular Music: Selling, Reading, Enjoying], (Tokyo, Keisō Shobo: 2003), pp.293-303. 160

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baby-boomer generation. 164 NHK‟s 1981 nationwide survey of popular cultural trends revealed that enka‟s fan base was concentrated in their thirties and forties (around 22% of listeners of the same age group).165 A follow-up survey conducted by Yamaha Music Foundation in 2006 reveals a corresponding shift in the main age demographic for enka fans, with a majority of enthusiasts now in their fifties and sixties (around 15% of listeners of the same age group).166 Minamida Katsuya and Mitsui Toru note that these fans grew up listening to the kayōkyoku of the old in-house production system in their adolescence, and thus found contemporary enka, with its lineage from kayōkyoku in musical content and themes of nostalgia, much more appealing than Western-influenced rock and pop.167 Besides showing the generation-specific fanbase of enka and the segmented nature of the Japanese music audience, the NHK and Yamaha Music Foundation data also suggest that generational differences in musical taste have persisted through subsequent decades. Furthermore, the fact that not all listeners from the baby boomer generation are enka fans also questions the role of age as the only social marker of difference between different music audiences. Hence, how have differences in musical taste been maintained through processes of socialisation that involve music consumption?

164

Minamida Katsuya, „Ongaku to Sedai no Raifukōsu‟ [„Music and Generational Lifecourse‟], Fujimura Masayuki (ed.), Inochi to Raifukōsu no Shakaigaku [Sociology of Life and Life-course], (Tokyo: Kōbundō, 2012), p.149. 165 NHK Hōsō Yoron Chōsasho [NHK Broadcasting Survey Department] (ed.), Gendaijin to Ongaku [„Modern People and Music‟], (Tokyo: NHK Shuppan, 1982), pp.70-1. Cited in Minamida, „Ongaku to Sedai‟, p.144. 166 Zaibatsu Hōjin Yamaha Ongaku Fukkyōkai [Yamaha Music Foundation] (ed.), Ongaku Raifusutairu Web Ankēto Hōkokushō 2006 Shiryohen [Music Lifestyle Web Survey 2006 Report: Data Section], (2006), http://www.yamaha-mf.or.jp/onken/, p.9. Cited in Minamida, „Ongaku to Sedai‟, p.147. 167 Minamida, „Ongaku to Sedai‟, p.149; Mitsui, „The Genesis of Karaoke‟, p.37.

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Karaoke is a music consumption setting in which such segmentation can be better understood. This is because the historical development of karaoke consumption in Japan, especially in terms of the proliferation of different karaoke settings, was closely associated with music consumption patterns arising from the split between enka and non-enka music, as I describe in the next chapter. The different kinds of clientele that patronise different karaoke settings highlights how karaoke participation, and socialisation processes involving music consumption, continues to be segmented today.

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Chapter Three Appreciating Popular Music through Karaoke

In Chapter Two, I described the development of a division in the Japanese music audience between enka fans and non-fans out of the musical and social discourses of the 1960s and 1970s. Such a division would be mirrored in the development of karaoke consumption in Japan, which followed not long after in the early 1970s. In this chapter, I show how karaoke consumption centred on the amateur performance of enka is mainly confined to the setting of the karaoke kissa [café] and snack [bar], while other genres dominate the karaoke box setting.168 I first explain how karaoke consumption came to be segmented into different settings, each dominated by different genres and clientele demographics, by describing the historical development of karaoke technology and consumption practices around demand from various entertainment establishments and consumer groups. I then provide a description of the three karaoke settings in which I conducted my field research from March to July 2013 in the Greater Tokyo area: SC, a karaoke kissa, and K-club and NSK, two karaoke Internet groups with different age demographics that hold physical gatherings in karaoke box establishments. These descriptions show how different kinds of karaoke participants, with divergent genre preferences, populate each of the settings.169

168

I discuss my linkage of snacks with the concept of the bar on page 62. I use pseudonyms for all names of places, groups and people in my fieldwork analysis in Chapters Three and Four, to protect the privacy of research participants. 169

61

Segregation in karaoke consumption: snacks, bars and boxes Mitsui Toru traces the origins of karaoke to the bar, noting that while customers were enthusiastic about spontaneous singing in the 1960s, the technology which allowed them to select songs conveniently and affordably was lacking. 170 In 1972, however, Inoue Daisuke and five other musicians produced what is commonly recognised as the first karaoke system, by recording instrumental tracks of popular kayōkyoku songs on 8-track loop tapes modified to allow instantaneous song selection on tape-jukeboxes.171 Demand for this newly developed karaoke technology came overwhelmingly from bars, many of which redubbed themselves as karaoke snacks. They found karaoke a cheap replacement for costly live bands and radio playlists for piped-in music.172 Their clientele of mostly working men also found karaoke an easy way to express themselves musically. 173 Many snacks extended their operating times into the afternoon, dubbing themselves as kissa [cafés] to attract middle-aged housewives. 174 These two clientele groups overwhelmingly favoured enka, and have stuck with kissas and snacks as their venue of choice due to communal attachments and friendships built up there.175

170

Mitsui, „The Genesis of Karaoke‟, p.31. Ibid., pp.35-36. 172 Ogawa Hiroshi, „The Effects of Karaoke on Music in Japan‟, Mitsui and Hosokawa (eds.), Karaoke Around the World, p.43. 173 Ibid., p.44. 174 Oku, „Karaoke and Middle-aged and Older Women‟, pp.55-56. 175 Market research conducted by the All Japan Association of Karaoke Entrepeneurs revealed that middle- and older-aged men made up 58% of the snacks‟ clientele, with an additional 28% being young businessmen accompanying their superiors at work. The December 1996 edition of the „Gekkan Karaoke Fan‟ magazine also noted that all of the twenty most performed songs in karaoke kissas, as well as fifteen of the top twenty in karaoke snacks, belonged to enka. Zenkoku Karaoke Jigyosha Kyokai, Karaoke Hakusho; „Hit Hit Melody‟, Gekkan Karaokefan, (December 1996). Cited in Oku, „Karaoke and Middle-aged and Older Women‟, pp.54-57. 171

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Later

advancements

in

karaoke

technology,

especially

the

miniaturisation of hardware components and introduction of cable-linked karaoke databases, allowed karaoke machines to store more songs while occupying less space.176 With these developments, entrepreneurs began to set up karaoke establishments housing a number of compact rooms termed boxes, initially in converted container boxes but eventually within buildings in key entertainment areas such as Shibuya, Tokyo. 177 These spaces, which were more private in design and operated during the day, appealed greatly to younger non-enka fans neglected as a karaoke consumer demographic thus far. The popularity of karaoke boxes with these younger consumers also led to the diversification of karaoke song databases away from enka, and non-enka songs dominate karaoke charts today. 178 With the growth of major karaoke box chains, karaoke has developed into an enormous industry.179 Besides being a venue for younger people to consume music with likeminded friends from their everyday social circles, karaoke boxes are now also the venue of choice for members of Internet karaoke enthusiast clubs to meet physically. Karaoke boxes are thus not simply a place to go with friends, but also a place to potentially meet new ones. These settings potentially allow for new friendships to be built based on common musical tastes.

176

Ogawa, „The Effects of Karaoke on Music in Japan‟, p.45. Karaoke retailer Mini-Juke Kansai reports that the ClubDAM machine, for example, has a database containing more than 140,000 songs. See „Daiichi Shōgyō DAM Tsūshin Karaoke‟ [„First Enterprise DAM Cable Karaoke‟], Karaoke Sōgō Shōsha Kabushiki Gaisha Minijūku Kansai [General Karaoke Trading Company Limited Company Mini-Juke Kansai], http://www.minijuke.co.jp/karaoke/index3_dam001.html, Accessed 10 November 2013. 177 Ibid. 178 „Shūkan Rankin: Shūkei Kikan: 2013/10/6-2013/10/12‟ [„Weekly Ranking: Data Collected for 2013/10/6 to 2013/10/12‟], Club DAM.com, http://www.clubdam.com/app/dam/page.do?type=dam&source=index&subType=ranking, Accessed 15 October 2013. 179 Mitsui Toru and Hosokawa Shuhei, „Introduction‟, Mitsui and Hosokawa (eds.), Karaoke Around the World, p.11.

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As such, karaoke consumption illustrates how enka has come to occupy a specific segment of the karaoke and music consumer market, in terms of both its demographic and the kinds of establishments it is performed at. This specificity suggests that a comparative study between kissas/snacks and boxes, in terms of the kind of „musicking‟ (ie. both musical and social) behaviour occurring at each setting, can provide a clearer understanding of the musical meaning(s) of enka held by different segments of the Japanese music audience. Such an approach guided the conduct of my ethnographic research into the three karaoke settings, SC, K-club and NSK, as I investigated how musical tastes and meanings, particularly towards enka, were constructed and maintained through communal „musicking‟ processes. In the following sections, I provide a detailed introduction of the segregation of participant demographics and genre preferences between the three karaoke settings, SC, K-club and NSK. By clearly identifying these differences among the settings, we can then ask further questions (which I explore in the next chapter) about the kinds of „musicking‟ behaviour creating and maintaining such differences. I start the in-depth look at each karaoke setting by firstly introducing the karaoke kissa SC.

Entering an enka karaoke space A small, dingy kissa cum snack, SC has a maximum capacity of 15, and is situated on a side alley in a quiet neighbourhood in Asaka, Saitama, a suburb of Tokyo. It operates from 12:30-5:30pm and 6:30-10:00pm every day of the week except Wednesdays. The neighbourhood is dotted with a few other snacks and kissas, and has a substantial number of elderly residents.

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Large LCD screen

Mini-stage Toilet

Sofa seats

LCD Screen

Cupboard and bottle keep

Bar counter

Karaoke machine

Washing area/Back entrance

Large LCD screen Kitchen Front entrance area

Figure 3: Floor plan of SC

SC‟s façade is identified most visibly by a large green plastic cover above an otherwise nondescript looking, unappealing small wooden door with no windows. SC thus physically radiates an aura of unassuming exclusivity. SC also maintains minimal presence on restaurant listings, with only a poorlymaintained webpage on the GuruNavi network (a popular Internet restaurant listing service in Japan). Upon entering the premises, a long, L-shaped counter 65

dominates the floor space. Sofa seats and small coffee tables are situated along the walls, which are adorned with posters autographed by various professional enka performers. The bar and kitchen are located behind the counter. A single karaoke machine adorns the premises, connected to three LCD screens of varying sizes situated such that all customers have good views. Finally, there is a mini-stage at the back, which many patrons used during their performances to add a sense of spectacle (See Figure 3 for floor plan). The vast majority of karaoke songs sung by patrons belonged to enka from the 1960s to 1980s, a trend analysed in greater detail later in the next chapter from page 80. Everyone was encouraged to sing in turn, as SC‟s hostess (lovingly referred to by regular patrons as Mama) handed us the remote controller for the karaoke machine to input our song reservations. However, a few patrons chose not to sing. Mama also served snacks and light meals of rice and side dishes, and provided unlimited refills of non-alcoholic drinks (alcoholic drinks were served at extra charge), all for a cover charge of 1000 yen (around 12 Singapore dollars as of December 2013). Many patrons saw SC as a place where they could be entertained for the afternoon at an affordable price, before returning „back to household chores‟ in the evening.180 Patrons occasionally entered SC alone, but more often they visited in pairs or small groups. These were usually friends who had already known each other for some time, although there was the odd romantic couple. Different „groups‟ also exhibited a certain amount of familiarity with one another, as they addressed each other by name. As I describe in the next chapter, interaction between members of different „groups‟ occurred to varying extents,

180

Fumi, Conversation, 26 April 2013.

66

and new ties of friendship, community and even romance were made frequently at SC.

Figure 4: Karaoke participants at SC

From April to July 2013, I visited SC as a paying customer every Friday afternoon from 1:30-4:30pm, with additional visits on other afternoons. The usual number of customers at SC for Friday afternoons hovered around seven to eight, although it reached full capacity a couple of times. On another occasion, I ended up spending my time with only two other regulars. The Friday afternoon clientele was predominantly female, with usually only one or two other males in SC besides myself. These regulars all lived in the surrounding area between Asaka and neighbouring towns Shiki and Niiza, and had all migrated to Greater Tokyo from rural towns upon graduation from middle or high school (except Mura, who arrived after marriage). Their ages

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ranged from fifty-five till eighty, but most were in their late sixties and early seventies. In particular, several Friday regulars provided important insights into their musical tastes and biographical backgrounds. Firstly, there was Mama herself, who graciously allowed me to take down notes during my visits to SC, and even helped me approach other regular patrons for interviews. Mama also participated in group discussions with other regulars. Born in Fukushima Prefecture in 1943, she moved to Tokyo at eighteen after graduating from high school. She had already developed a liking for enka from the age of five, under her father‟s influence. Mama arrived in Greater Tokyo to seek employment at a company that her older brother was employed at, and worked there for some time before setting up her first kissa in Shinjuku. She then moved her operations to the current location in Asaka about twenty years ago. Mama currently lives in Shiki with her husband and son. Tomo also participated actively in karaoke activities at SC. She worked under Mama, helping her oversee operations at the kissa and sometimes even filling in during her absence. When not scheduled to work, she also visited SC regularly to mingle with the other Friday regulars she had built up close friendships with. Tomo was also born in 1943, in a town in Miyagi Prefecture. She migrated to Tokyo as a teenager in search of work, and eventually settled down as a full-time housewife after marriage. It was during this period, in her thirties, that she began to develop a strong liking for enka. Living in the vicinity with only her husband and having much free time, she began to regularly visit SC, and even began working on a part-time basis for Mama a few years ago.

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Fumi was the first regular customer that I got to know well during my field research. Always lively and cheerful, she made conversation with me some time during my first visit to SC, noting my young age (a point I discuss later). Later on, she was enthusiastic in taking part in interviews, and provided a wealth of anecdotes about her views on enka. Born in 1958, Fumi was younger compared to most other regulars. Hailing from Hokkaido, she came to Tokyo upon graduation from middle school at fifteen to work in a job her teacher introduced her to. She moved into the vicinity of Asaka after marriage, and later came to frequent SC multiple times a week. Although she had been listening to most popular genres since her childhood, she said that she naturally came to develop a liking for enka. She also liked the idol pop of the 1970s, but rarely performed them at SC, which she described as „an enka place‟ [„enka no tokoro‟].181 Always beside Fumi during my visits was her friend Mura. She was born in 1946 in Kagoshima Prefecture, and unlike Mama, Tomo and Fumi, she had originally moved to Osaka, rather than Tokyo, at the age of eighteen for employment. She returned to Kagoshima for a period to get married, but this did not last long. She eventually remarried, and followed her husband to Tokyo, settling down in the immediate vicinity. Widowed since her husband passed away some years ago and living with a middle-aged son she described as a „good-for-nothing‟, she often appeared grouchy when separated from Fumi. However, she was also involved in a romantic relationship at SC, which I discuss on page 90.

181

Fumi, Conversation, 24 May 2013.

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Participating in Internet karaoke clubs I also participated in and observed the physical gatherings of two Internet karaoke clubs, NSK and K-club, to investigate non-enka fans‟ communal „musicking‟ behaviour, especially with regards to enka. Firstly, Kclub is an Internet karaoke club established in 2004 by founder Shimizu. It has a Mixi (a popular Japanese social networking service) group page where information about upcoming gatherings is disseminated, and a website dedicated to keeping track of participating members and songs sung at every gathering thus far. While members have largely come and gone, the club still holds offline gatherings, which I took part in from March to July 2013, on the last Sunday afternoon of every month, at a major karaoke box chain establishment near Kawasaki Station just south of Tokyo. As a major interchange station and the transport, administrative and entertainment hub for the city of Kawasaki, the area bustles with human traffic at most hours.

Sofa seats

Table

Karaoke machine and television Intercom

Stool Door

Figure 5: Floor plan of karaoke box for K-club gatherings

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The establishment has a brightly-lit reception area where customers book boxes [rooms] to sing in. The room which Shimizu had procured for Kclub had little space for participants to move within: the karaoke machine, television screen, a sofa, a rectangular table and a cushioned stool took up almost the entire room space. Nevertheless, we still managed to eke out some personal space between ourselves, sitting a little distance from each other. The door, located at a corner of the room, had a glass panel in the middle (a common feature of all karaoke box establishments mandated by law, after a string of criminal cases within boxes around 1990). 182 By the door was an intercom telephone for communicating drink orders to the staff, and also for staff to inform customers of the amount of time left to use the box (see Figure 5 for floor plan). Besides the four of us, three other members participated in an adjacent box, for a total of seven people. This was the usual number of participants for the gatherings I took part in. None of the participants hailed from Kawasaki city, but instead came from all around the Greater Tokyo region. All members participated alone, and few seemed to have struck up close friendships within the club. The turnout was usually dominated by males, although there were a couple of female regulars. Participants were also predominantly in their thirties, although a regular in her early seventies, Nana, turned out to be one of the most important research subjects I interviewed in my fieldwork. An important characteristic of K-club and its gatherings is its „nongenre‟ policy: members are allowed to perform songs from all kinds of genres. K-club thus ostensibly seeks to focus on the enjoyment of the karaoke 182

Nagai Yoshikazu, „Karaoke Box ni Ugareta Mado‟ [„Windows Fixed in Karaoke Boxes‟], Gendai no Espirit, Vol.312, (July 1993), pp.124-37.

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experience, rather than the celebration of a certain kind of music. However, this did not mean that an even spread of songs from a variety of genres was performed. Instead, pop and rock songs and singers from the late 1980s to the early 2000s dominated. I discuss how K-club participants gravitated towards such music from page 95. The most important K-club member in providing information on musical behaviour and preferences was undoubtedly Shimizu. He kindly allowed me to take notes during gatherings, introduced me (and my research) to many unfamiliar K-club members, and enthusiastically participated in interviews from early on in the fieldwork. Shimizu regularly took part in other internet karaoke clubs based around Tokyo besides K-club, and was wellversed in songs from many genres including enka. However, he showed a clear preference towards songs by pop singer Kuraki Mai (1982- ). Born in 1979 and originally hailing from Kamakura in Kanagawa Prefecture just south of Tokyo, he moved to Funabashi, another suburban town east of Tokyo in Chiba Prefecture, a few years ago due to his work as a cram school teacher. But he continued to base K-club gatherings in Kawasaki, and made the hourlong commute from Funabashi every month. Hikki was another K-club member who became friendly with me early on in my participation there. She started participating in K-club‟s gatherings a couple of years ago, after being introduced to him through mutual friends. Born in 1980, she was brought up in a strict and affluent household in Tokyo, and even had the chance to do a homestay in London as a high school student. Shimizu introduced her to me so that I would have another English speaker to talk with in the club. Hikki is currently working to support her training to

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become a voice actress. A huge fan of the rock band L‟arc-en-ciel, she always performed some of their songs during K-club gatherings. Finally, Aji also provided some important observations and opinions on his musical preferences and enka. Aji and I were the only members to attend all of K-club‟s gatherings from March to July, and we slowly built up a rapport, helped by our common interest in L‟arc-en-ciel. He also sang many songs from the early 1990s. Thirty-eight-year-old Aji did not reveal where he was born, but he currently lives in a southern area of Tokyo, about twenty minutes away by bus from Kawasaki. He works as a company employee during the week. In contrast to K-club‟s „non-genre policy‟ was NSK‟s explicit focus on popular music of the Showa period. Club founder Michi hosts an online bulletin board in which members keep in touch with each other. She also contacts members frequently through email. I was able to join their offline gatherings through Nana‟s (whom I knew from K-club) recommendation to Michi, who then added me into her mailing list. Offline gatherings are held on every second Saturday afternoon of the month, at another karaoke box establishment in the same vicinity as the venue for K-club gatherings. I was invited to participate in NSK‟s May and June 2013 gatherings. The karaoke box establishment was not as clean compared to the previous location, but Michi preferred its large box, which could accommodate the larger turnout that NSK gatherings garnered. However, with sixteen participating members for each gathering, even this „larger‟ room became cramped as we squeezed ourselves on a long U-shaped sofa facing a large LCD screen and karaoke machine. Michi placed drinks and the feast of

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Japanese snacks and side dishes that she prepared for each gathering on the large table before us (see Figure 6 for a floor plan of this room).

Karaoke machine and television

Door Intercom

Table

Sofa seats

Figure 6: Floor plan of large karaoke box used for NSK gatherings.

The members participating in NSK‟s offline gatherings were mostly in their fifties and sixties. Two younger participants in their early forties, and an elderly married couple in their seventies, Ina and Akko, also participated. A few members were already friends before joining NSK, such as Nana and Hiro, but the vast majority participated alone. Similarly to K-club, most members were male with only four females in attendance, and hailed from all over the Greater Tokyo area. Many were nearing retirement, or had just retired.

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Figure 7: Some participants at NSK gatherings (researcher on the left).

While singing songs from the Showa period was a prerequisite for participation in NSK‟s offline gatherings, this still allowed for a wide variety of choices in song selection between enka and other forms of popular music such as idol pop and the „new music‟ genre of the 1970s and 1980s. While the vast majority of participants had considerable knowledge about enka, and belonged to the age group associated with its fandom, they tended to stick with songs from other genres. Only Ina and his wife regularly performed enka songs, and along with Hama, introduced themselves as fans of the genre. I found this trend very interesting, especially given the age similarities between NSK participants and SC‟s regular patrons. The song choices at NSK seemed to suggest that age was not the only determining factor in acquiring a musical taste for enka. I examine these choices from page 103. Three participants at NSK gatherings provided valuable information about their musical preferences and biological backgrounds: Nana, Hama and

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Mushi. Nana proved to be vital in my research, as she introduced me to Michi and signed me up for NSK gatherings. She also actively participated in email interviews, and spoke at length about her musical preferences and biographical background. Nana was already into her seventies, and had been participating in both K-club and NSK events for several years. She also stood out for her love of Western oldies from the 1960s to 1980s, and frequently performed them at K-club gatherings, apart from „new music‟ songs at NSK. She also sometimes sang the latest Japanese pop songs. Originally from the prestigious Yamate neighbourhood in Yokohama, she now lives in another district in the same city, and has recently fallen on financially harder times because of her father‟s serious illness. Her busy work schedule sometimes made her miss karaoke activities, but she would still eagerly join us for dinner afterwards. Hama became highly interested in my research when I mentioned it during my introduction to the other NSK members. Eventually, I managed to conduct personal interviews with him twice. He was born in the town of Iizuka in Fukuoka Prefecture in 1956, and came to Tokyo at nineteen to enter university. Hama then found work as a bank employee in the capital after graduation, but had to move frequently due to work postings. His wife and two sons still reside in Fukuoka, while he lives in a company dormitory in Yono, Saitama. He described himself as an enka fan, although he also enjoys the other popular genres from the 1970s. Indeed, he sang songs from other genres more frequently during NSK gatherings. He also participates weekly in an amateur choir group, which was preparing for their yearly concert in October 2013 at the time of the field research.

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Mushi also approached me after the April gathering with the intention of taking part in email interviews. He stood out among the NSK participants for performing many Japanese children‟s [dōyō] and choral [shōka] songs, which he cited as his favourite kind of music. Born in 1949 in Aomori Prefecture, Mushi now lives in Sagamihara City in Kanagawa Prefecture. He described himself as a company employee approaching retirement, and was happily married with two adult children. He also revealed his aspirations to teach choir music and the board game go to children once he retired, citing their benefits to children‟s mental development and character. The varied musical preferences and biographical characteristics of karaoke participants across various settings thus provided for a highly illuminating look at the diverse and segmented nature of the Japanese music audience. They also raised the following questions with regards to the formation of such segmented musical tastes: How do enka fans interact and relate to the music? How do they interact with each other, particularly through the music? How do non-fans think about the genre? How do these non-fans negotiate its use in non-enka fan settings? Why has enka struggled to garner new fans outside its existing demographic? In the next chapter, I describe how karaoke participants negotiated the use of music, with particular focus on attitudes and behaviour surrounding enka, in order to trace out the different ways in which individual and communal musical tastes were constructed and practiced. This understanding is crucial in assessing enka‟s claim towards national tradition and identity, and its position within the Japanese cultural soundscape.

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Chapter Four Performing Enka in Various Karaoke Settings: The Ethnographer as Observer and Observed

Chapter Three described how musical taste for enka is largely confined to a specific fan demographic patronising the karaoke kissa SC, with different genres each dominating the Internet karaoke clubs K-club and NSK. In this chapter, I explain how such segregation has been produced and maintained through communal „musicking‟. Through a comparison of my experiences and observations in the three karaoke settings, I argue that karaoke participants‟ communal taste-building and „musicking‟ behaviour, particularly with respect to enka, highlight and entrench social differences based not only on age, but also location and education. Towards this argument, I first describe the various ways in which my karaoke and social participation in each of SC, K-club and NSK was deemed transgressive, in both cultural and generational terms, by other participants. Unpacking

these

culturally-

and generationally-framed

transgressions

highlights the frameworks in which both fans and non-fans understood and explained their views towards enka, and also how non-fans explained other popular genres in the same culturally essentialist terms as enka fans did for their genre. I also examine how both fans and non-fans created collective musical identities and relationships through „musicking‟ activities, which also worked to reaffirm common musical tastes. These observations are supplemented with anecdotal data from interviews. In these interviews, I asked questions about how participants came to like their preferred music, what they

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thought about it, and how they consumed it. I also asked specifically about their thoughts on enka, and its claim towards national tradition. Reading karaoke participants‟ communal taste-building and „musicking‟ behaviour and anecdotes, particularly with respect to enka, against their biographical and social background, I explain how enka was thought about and utilised differently across various karaoke settings populated by different demographic groups, and how such social differences became further entrenched as enka fans and non-fans rarely interacted with each other in „musicking‟ activities due to different conceptualisations of musical taste and community.

Whose past are we singing about? Performing enka transgressively at a karaoke kissa My first visits to SC in April 2013 were undoubtedly dominated by feelings of trepidation. Even after I had summoned up the courage to open the unassuming yet forbidding door, stepping inside only served to heighten my anxieties. I was definitely nervous, and struggled to keep my hands from shaking. I knew the microphone was going to come round to me at some point, but what was I going to sing? What songs did the other patrons like and relate to? This was a nervousness that I relived at least a few times, before I finally settled down on a regular day of the week to visit SC and gradually built rapport with the Friday afternoon regulars. As I waited anxiously in my counter seat, half-hoping that I would be spared the difficult decision of choosing a song to perform, some of the other patrons struck up conversation with me. Sipping whiskey on the rocks, Miya beamed me a smile and commented, „You‟re young! We usually only see old

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people [obaachan ojiichan] around here.‟ 183 Meanwhile, Fumi exclaimed when she first met me, „With you around the average age here has dropped a lot! This place should get livelier now!‟ 184 At this early stage, I had not introduced myself at all, and my East Asian-looking physical characteristics had allowed everyone to automatically assume that I was Japanese. However, there was no belying my age. Mura, Fumi‟s regular companion at SC, commented, „Your hands are too smooth! We‟re all jealous around here. It must be good to be young!‟185 Age became a focal distinction that made me conspicuous at the kissa. But my turn to sing eventually came, and was greeted with great anticipation by the other patrons. „What will he sing for us? This will be interesting!‟ Tomo summed up the sentiment.186 The anticipation was palpable, as they all seemed to be wondering how this young man would attempt to participate in an activity and community that was decidedly mature. Would he try to fit in? Or would he decide to play by his own rules? As a new entrant into these settings, without any prior relationships to any other participants, my karaoke performance was to be the most important way to introduce myself to and gain a certain level of social acceptance from other karaoke participants at SC. As briefly mentioned on page 66, the most glaring trend about the songs performed at SC was the preference for enka from the 1960s to 1980s. The reservation history in the remote control for SC‟s karaoke machine revealed that songs such as Misora Hibari‟s „Yawara‟ [„Gentle‟] (released in

183

Miya, Conversation, 23 April 2013. Fumi, Conversation, 26 April 2013. 185 Mura, Conversation, 10 May 2013. 186 Tomo, Conversation, 23 April 2013. 184

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1964), „Kanashii Sake‟ [„Sorrowful Sake‟] (1966) and Sen Masao‟s (1947- ) „Kitaguni no Haru‟ [„Spring in the North‟] (1977) were frequently sung. Participants who later took part in interviews also listed songs from earlier decades as being most memorable for them. For example, Mama particularly favoured Misora Hibari‟s „Midare Gami‟ [„Tangled Hair‟] (1987), while Fumi expressed her fondness for Ishikawa Sayuri‟s (1958- ) ‟Tsugaru Kaikyō Fuyugeshiki‟ [„Winter Scenery of Tsugaru Straits‟] (1977).187 Sensing this general musical preference for older songs within both settings, I decided to attempt to endear myself by first performing the classic enka hits of the 1960s to 1980s. As such, I sang songs such as Koyanagi Rumiko‟s „Watashi no Jōkamachi‟ [„My Castle Town‟] (1971), Atsumi Jiro‟s (1952- ) „Yumeoi-zake‟ [„Dream-chaser Wine‟] (1978) and the aforementioned „Kitaguni no Haru‟, whenever I felt the need to introduce myself to people I was interacting with for the first time. Their responses to these performances were reassuring, as their enthusiastic applause after every verse suggested their pleasure in seeing me singing „their‟ songs. „You really know how to sing these oldies, even though you‟re young!‟ remarked an unfamiliar group of patrons when I visited SC outside of a Friday afternoon. 188 „It‟s great that you come here to sing these songs with us: our kids would never be able to do so!‟ Fumi and Mura gushed.189 They seemed genuinely and pleasantly surprised that a young person could pull off these „oldies‟ with a reasonable amount of conviction. For them, enka was very much a musical realm consisting of older songs for older people only.

187

Mama, Written interview, 11 June 2013; Fumi, Email correspondence, 15 June 2013. SC, Saitama, Conversation, 28 May 2013. 189 Fumi and Mura, Conversation, 7 June 2013. 188

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But when I tried my hand at singing some of the latest enka releases from 2013, especially by Jero, the response was decidedly more muted. The other patrons at SC were largely indifferent, and had no knowledge of songs such as Jero‟s „Serenade‟ and Yamauchi Keisuke‟s (1983- ) „Kushiro Kūkō‟ [„Kushiro Airport‟], even though they had been number one hits on various enka charts in 2013. Surprised at their indifference towards newer enka releases, given their self-identification as enka fans, I asked if they listened to the younger singers and the latest releases. Almost all of them replied „no‟. Fumi‟s comment best sums up their attitude towards enka songs from the 1990s onwards:

„Sometimes when someone sings a new enka song, we get a little bit surprised and listen attentively. But once we decide we don‟t like it, we don‟t pay any more attention. We older people tend to stick to the songs that we already know from way before. Our minds are already filled to the brim with those songs, and we can‟t really remember new stuff [atama ippai dakara, mou atarashii kyoku ga hairenai]‟.‟190

On another occasion, I chose to sing Jero‟s „Umiyuki‟ at SC, and asked if anyone else present knew about the singer. Few did, and those who professed some kind of knowledge maintained that it was only cursory, as they did not really pay attention to his career. There were even voices of displeasure. „I don‟t like him wearing that cap and rag on his head while

190

Fumi, Conversation, 24 May 2013.

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performing,‟ Mama commented. „His voice isn‟t that impressive also.‟ 191 Only one elderly man, Suzuki, expressed his admiration for Jero‟s earnest attitude in learning Japanese and honouring his grandmother, as well as his fresh appeal through fashion. His comment that he never expected to hear a Jero song at SC, however, showed how much regular patrons preferred older songs. I asked the Friday regulars their reasons for preferring older enka songs over newer ones. Mama talked about how the song „Ringo Mura Kara‟ [„From the Apple Village‟, released by Mihashi Michiya (1930-1996) in 1956], reminded her of her performance of it with her elementary school class back in Fukushima.192 She further described the general appeal of enka as allowing her to „look back and recount my life experience‟.193 Fumi also cited such a reason for enjoying enka. She explained her thoughts on „Tsugaru Kaikyō Fuyugeshiki‟ in the following manner:

„I came to Tokyo from Hokkaido when I was 15, in order to work at a company that my middle school teacher had connected me with. I remember taking the train down to Hakodate, and then transferring to the train ferry across the Tsugaru Strait, before continuing the long journey down to Tokyo. It would take about a day before we would reach Ueno Station. So when people like Ishikawa Sayuri sang about the train ferry and places like Ueno Station in these songs, it really

191

Mama, Conversation, 30 May 2013. Mama, Written interview, 11 June 2013. 193 Ibid. 192

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hit home for me [gutto kita]. It spoke right to my own experiences.‟194

These enka fans thus liked songs not simply because they were from the genre, but rather due to their links with personal experiences, particularly of rural and/or migratory experiences as youths. But this understanding of enka fans‟ emotional connections with the music was complicated by the prevalent use of culturally essentialist terms to explain their musical preferences, after I revealed my status as a non-Japanese person.

Thinking about enka as a tradition: Performing as a foreign researcher It was impossible to remain „culturally anonymous‟ forever in the karaoke settings. While I was competent in Japanese, my jitters, and the immense concentration needed in simultaneously sustaining conversation, taking note of the setting and observing the overall behaviour of the other patrons on my first visits to SC, took its toll on my ability to keep track of Miya‟s speech as we chatted about romance. This got his suspicions up and he asked, „You seem to have a bit of difficulty understanding. You‟re not Japanese?‟195 It was then that I revealed that I was from Singapore. Miya did not really seem surprised, probably because he had already sensed something fishy, but he announced this important fact to everyone else present at SC. This was how Mama, Tomo, and other regulars at SC came to know me as not only a young researcher, but also as a foreigner. In time, whenever I appeared

194 195

Fumi, Group interview, 21 June 2013. Miya, Conversation, 23 April 2013.

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at SC outside of my regular Friday afternoon timeslot, Mama and Tomo sought to highlight this point to other patrons as soon as they could. While initial evaluations of my presence and performance of enka songs in SC were focused on the seeming disconnect between the genre and my age, once my nationality was revealed comments were made in more culturally essentialist terms. The most common comment I received was, „You really seem to understand the lyrics so well, even though you‟re not Japanese!‟ [„Nihonjin janai noni, kashi wo yoku rikai dekiru‟]

196

These usually

accompanied praise of my Japanese language ability. Meanwhile, one of my earlier visits to SC was characterised by expressions of surprise at my song selections. The other patrons remarked that by mixing up old enka favourites and newer enka hits, my selections reflected some deep level of understanding of the genre. They never thought a young person would be able to have that level of enka knowledge, but found it even more surprising in my case because I was not Japanese. A few of the patrons thought about my presence and performance of enka in more culturally comparative ways. Chano, a 76-year-old man who was a long-time acquaintance of Mama due to their common involvement in neighbourhood committees, struck up conversation with me on one visit. Pointing at the background video which featured enka singer Nagayama Yōko (1968- ) playing the shamisen, he asked me if instruments like those were also used in Singapore. Chano was clearly pointing at enka (and specifically the utilisation of traditional instruments) as a representative of „Japan‟. When I later performed Hosokawa Takashi‟s (1950- ) popular enka hit „Naniwa Bushi

196

SC, Saitama, Conversation, 23 April 2013.

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Dayo Jinsei wa‟ [„Life is A Naniwa Bushi‟] (first released in 1976), other patrons commented on how I sang „without any accent at all‟.197 This cultural comparison even spilled into a mock rivalry on one occasion, when a couple of elderly men gleefully noted how they „could not lose to the foreigner‟ [„gaikokujin niwa makerarenai‟] after my performance.198 It was interesting to observe how reactions to my performances of enka were now being explained in more culturally essentialist frameworks, as other karaoke participants began to analyse my performances overwhelmingly against my nationality. This observation seemed to suggest that enka‟s musical aesthetics and meanings were thought of in terms of an essential „Japanesness‟ after all. I asked karaoke participants directly about their views on the link between enka and notions of Japanese tradition. The following conversation at SC with Fumi, a continuation of her earlier comments about her thoughts on the song „Tsugaru Kaikyō Fuyugeshiki‟, suggests a connection with enka built upon wider connections to a more generalised sentiment about furusato, that mythical ideal of the rural past:

F: With songs like „Aa Ueno Eki‟ [„Oh, Ueno Station‟, released in 1964 by Izawa Hachirō (1937-2007)], they don‟t really point to a certain hometown in particular do they? But somehow it still brings back fond memories. I start to think about my own hometown in Hokkaido. TKF: So the song evokes a feeling of „everybody‟s hometown‟?

197 198

SC, Saitama, Conversation, 3 May 2013. Ibid.

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F: Yes. It‟s like the children‟s song „Furusato‟. It doesn‟t refer to any particular place, but we all understand that image of furusato that it talks about. The whole image of Ura Nihon, with its mountains and beautiful scenery…199 TKF: Well actually, when you mention the word furusato, what do you think of? Or what do you point to? F: For me it‟s the communal dances and festivals, like Bonodori and those things. How everybody in the community participates in those events. TKF: So I guess you‟re looking at the festivals as a marker of furusato. F: That‟s right.200

Furthermore, Fumi also cited enka‟s ability to „express the intricate sensitivities of the Japanese people‟ [„nihonjin no kokoro no kibi‟] as one of the genre‟s attractions, although she admitted that she did not have a clear idea of how these „sensitivities‟ could be defined. 201 Meanwhile, Mama also suggested some other elements that constituted these ideas of furusato, when she explained her attraction to enka in terms of its representations of „traditional characteristics of nature, sceneries and family‟. 202 Through this evocation of furusato, she mentioned how she felt that by listening to enka, she could „recall her own life experiences thus far‟ [„oidachi wo omoidasu‟],

199

F seemed to be utilising the term „Ura Nihon‟ to refer to ideas of a generalised Japanese countryside, based on the rest of the conversation. The term usually refers to the Sea of Japan coastline in its modern usage. 200 Fumi, Group interview, 21 June 2013. 201 Fumi, Email correspondence, 15 and 20 June 2013. 202 Mama, Written interview, 11 June 2013.

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and „vaguely understand the whole of Japan‟ [„Nihon zentai ga nantonaku wakaru youna ki ga suru‟].203 These anecdotes suggest the prevalence of an idealised furusato, pointing to a certain pre-modern time and rural space, in marking enka nostalgia. This second set of temporal and spatial markers for enka‟s nostalgic content operated in a decidedly less specific manner than appeals towards personal experiences. As I suggest in the next section through a description of communal karaoke behaviour among SC‟s regular patrons, these ideals allowed enka to act more effectively as a common musical signifier of meaning between fans, and provide greater opportunities for the formation of affective alliances, via processes of identification, within „taste communities‟ in locations such as SC. Communal karaoke also acted to reinforce musical tastes for enka among patrons. But these appeals towards furusato‟s „generalised past‟ should be read against fans like Fumi‟s and Mama‟s biographical background and life histories as participants in the massive urban migration of the 1960s and 1970s, instead of constructions of a unitary „Japanese identity‟. This is because these fans link the genre‟s evocation of a generalised furusato more coherently to a reminiscence of their own hometowns and migratory experiences, rather than a construction of national or cultural identity. These linkages to „traditional Japan‟ are thus reflections of the kind of nostalgia of the furusato built upon the sentiments and experiences of a specific demographic group (represented by Fumi and Mama), as described in Chapter Two.

203

Ibid.

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Furthermore, these fans sought to downplay the appeal of enka‟s supposed „Japaneseness‟ in their attraction towards the genre. Tomo explained that she enjoyed enka simply because it was „easy to follow‟, and maintained that her emotional connections with enka was primarily on a personal level, rather than with ideas of „Japanese identity‟.204 She also found it difficult to explain what really the „heart and soul of Japan‟ [„nihonjin no kokoro‟] really meant.205 Even Fumi and Mama did not consider enka‟s appeals to „Japanese tradition‟ a crucial attraction. Instead, as I describe in the next section, both of them pointed to the interpersonal relationships surrounding their enka consumption, particularly in communal karaoke, as the main reason they enjoyed the music. Moreover, in the sections on K-club and NSK, I address how non-fans, from different demographic groups, explained their indifference towards enka music and its evocations of furusato, and thought about other popular genres in culturally essentialist ways also.

SC as an enka taste community: building relationships and reaffirming taste Interpersonal exchanges in SC pointed towards the construction and maintenance of communal relations structured around enka and karaoke. For example, Mama, Tomo and Fumi explained how the former regularly received invitations to karaoke competitions and events organised by various enterprises within the neighbourhood, and would always gather a few regular patrons to participate. Sometimes, SC would be put in charge of such events, and Mama explained how she would consult other community leaders in 204 205

Tomo, Group Interview, 21 June 2013. Ibid.

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obtaining and setting up event venues. Tomo also described how they all looked forward to these events, as it was a chance for everyone to dress up and perform on a „proper‟ stage in front of each other (and other elderly enka enthusiasts). The predominant genre performed was of course enka, and karaoke teachers specialising in the genre would be called upon to serve as judges. SC thus acted as a focal point for building intimate neighbourly relations through enka. Sometimes, regular participation at SC led to even more intensive emotional relationships. During my visits, I eventually found out through Fumi and other regulars that Mura was harbouring romantic feelings for another elderly male regular, Kaneyama. This became increasingly obvious to everyone else except Kaneyama over the weeks I visited SC, as she began to talk more about him to us. Apparently, she had been smitten by his voice whenever she watched him sing at SC. Eventually, Mura even gathered enough courage to request for duets with Kaneyama, wrapping her arms around his while the intro played. However, she turned shy when the time came to actually sing. Nevertheless, she began to practice more duets in SC in my later visits, possibly to find more chances to sing with Kaneyama. Besides providing opportunities to get close to Kaneyama, enka songs also served as an important medium through which Mura expressed her affections for him. For example, she favoured songs like „Suki ni Natta Hito‟ [„The Person I Grew to Like‟, released by Miyako Harumi (1948- ) in 1967], because the title expressed her feelings for Kaneyama. But often, the Friday regular customers built up communal friendships through our gatherings at SC. I was fortunate enough to be the recipient of

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much kindness, as I grew more familiar with Mama, Tomo and the Friday afternoon regulars. I entertained numerous requests for duets with other regulars, who relished the chance to sing enka with me because their children and grandchildren would not do so. As Tomo and Mura noted, I was like a surrogate grandson for them on Friday afternoons. Often, I was even offered cover charge waivers by Tomo and Mama. The other regulars also began to increasingly chat with me about more than just musical interest, and Mura in particular took an increasing interest in my private life (much to Tomo‟s and Fumi‟s amusement). They seemed to appreciate not only my singing skills, but also my song choices and effable interactions with them, to the extent that they considered me the „idol‟ of the kissa. Indeed, Mama would beam on occasion, „He‟s like our own Hikawa Kiyoshi!‟206 Judging from their responses to my involvement in SC, they seemed very happy that, like a good grandson, I made the effort to „buy into‟ their shared musical tastes in enka and its ideals of „traditional Japan‟ through both my karaoke performances and increasing emotional attachment to them, even if I was unable to share in their common experiences of youth as part of their generation. As Mama put it, „We all come together as friends here, even though you are my customer. The most joy I get out of running this place is when everybody sings together in fun and harmony.‟ 207 These sentiments were echoed by Fumi and Tomo. „While you‟ve asked me so much about how enka is related to tradition or not, I think the most important thing really is that we all have fun singing it. That‟s the main point in coming to SC really: to enjoy

206

Hikawa Kiyoshi (1977- ) is the top billing enka singer in today‟s industry. With his emotional and youthful performances and approachability to fans, he is known for attracting a large elderly female fanbase. Mama, Conversation, 21 June 2013. 207 Mama, Written interview, 11 June 2013.

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each other‟s friendship and company while singing!‟ Fumi explained. 208 Tomo also described the attraction of SC, after returning a male customer‟s grope on her breasts and buttocks with a wide smile, „That‟s how we are in here: playful around each other. If everyone is happy while visiting here, then so am I!‟209 SC felt more than an impersonal commercial establishment: it was a focal point for the building of intimacy through enka. Patrons may have initially entered because of their interest in enka and karaoke performance, but through the course of their visits and the neighbourly, romantic and/or friendship ties built up with other patrons, keeping in touch with one another and maintaining close communal relationships became a larger reason to keep coming back to SC. And by frequently revisiting and performing karaoke at SC, a space dominated and sustained by enka as a common musical „language‟ of communication and interaction, these regulars further reaffirmed, both individually and collectively, their musical taste for the genre. When Shimizu from K-club heard about my visits to SC, he became interested and tagged along with me for a couple of visits in June and July. After both visits, he effused about the hospitality and emotional warmth of the place, commenting, „That was a really nice time I had back there!‟210 But he also suggested why he considered it difficult to make return trips, particularly alone:

„Well, this place is way too far from my home to regularly visit. But I also think karaoke kissas are also difficult for younger people like us to step into by ourselves. They all have that 208

Fumi, Email correspondence, 20 June 2013. Tomo, Conversation, 10 May 2013. 210 Shimizu, Conversation, 30 May 2013. 209

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foreboding aura about them I think. There‟s one near where I live, but I‟ve never even thought about going in, because it looks so dingy from the outside, and you can‟t see what‟s inside as there aren‟t any windows. And then they‟re all elderly folk in there, aren‟t they? I think it‟d be hard to just go in there to make friends, because it‟d be difficult to find common topics to talk about with the generation gap. That‟s why I think you had a lot of courage to just go in and sing along with the other regulars at SC.‟211

Shimizu did not specifically refer to music in pointing out a „generation gap‟, mainly because he was well-versed in songs from the 1960s to 1980s. But the discussion on generational differences in music on pages 57 to 59, as well as observations and testimonies from many karaoke participants in K-club, suggest that differences in musical preferences based on age are important in younger participants‟ continued aversion to enka and its associated venues like SC. In the following section, I discuss the „musicking‟ behaviour building up a different communal musical taste among K-club members, grounded primarily in perceptions of generational difference.

Performing transgressively at a non-genre-limited karaoke setting, K-club In K-club, I did not have the opportunity to perform in a „culturally incognito‟ manner, as Shimizu quickly introduced me as a foreign researcher to other participating members at the start of each month‟s gathering. As such,

211

Ibid.

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my status as a foreigner was known to all the participants I interacted with over the course of the gatherings, and my karaoke performances were commented upon in largely culturally essentialist modes of musical understanding. I decided to pick up on Shimizu‟s introduction of my research during the March gathering by singing „Kitaguni no Haru‟ not long after. The other members besides Shimizu were amused, and started jibing about how „the foreigner was the one singing these kinds of songs.‟212 In particular, Tamura, a first-time participant, remarked that by singing such an enka classic with competence, I was „very Japanese‟ [„Nihonjin rashii‟].213 Aji also seemed to have been piqued by my performance, and not long after decided to sing another trademark enka tune, „Funauta‟ [„Boat Song‟] (released in 1979) by enka legend Yashiro Aki (1950- ). This was one of the few enka songs he knew, and he added that he was not actually a fan of the genre. It seemed like he had been motivated to perform an enka song because my performance had worked to highlight enka‟s „Japaneseness‟ by juxtaposing it with my foreign status, just like it did for Chano and the two elderly gentlemen at SC (see pages 85 and 86). My performance of another enka trademark number, Sakamoto Fuyumi‟s (1967- ) „Yozakura Oshichi‟ [„Oshichi at the Night Cherry Blossom‟] (1994), in May also evoked similar comments and reactions as in March. 214 They were surprised to see a music video with traditional motifs being played at a K-club gathering, as their exclamations of „Hey! It‟s a

212

K-club, Kawasaki, Conversation, 31 March 2013. Tamura, Conversation, 31 March 2013. 214 Oshichi refers to Yaoya Oshichi [„Greengrocer Oshichi‟], a young woman of the Tokugawa period who tried to commit arson after falling in love with a boy, thinking that she would be able to meet him just as she first did in the great Tenna fire in Edo in 1681. The story has become the subject of many novels and plays from the Tokugawa period onwards. 213

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kimono!‟ suggested.215 They also pointed how out-of-place my rendition felt because it was „the foreigner‟ who was performing a song from a genre they all regarded as „traditionally Japanese‟.216 However, the transgressive nature of my enka performances seemed to stem not only from my stepping into a musical realm that I should not have been familiar with, but also one that K-club members themselves were unfamiliar with too. At K-club, the disconnect between enka and the other participants at the gatherings was obvious: I was the only one who attempted enka songs on my own, with only Shimizu and Aji (only once) choosing enka songs specifically because I had picked them earlier on. When I did perform enka songs, participants would express their ignorance of the genre through bemused looks and comments such as „I never thought I‟d hear such a song in this kind of gathering‟.217 They also seemed less enthusiastic about listening to the actual performance, after the initial reactions to the song choice. Instead, we mostly performed pop songs from the late 1980s to early 2000s, despite the club‟s „non-genre‟ policy. Songs by highly popular performers of the 1990s such as L‟arc-en-ciel, GLAY, Kome Kome Club and Fukuyama Masaharu (1969- ) would frequently be enthusiastically performed consecutively by a few members in what we termed „combos‟ or „festivals‟. „Festivals‟ were not only based on likings for common singers, as they were also started around genres (particularly anime songs and idol pop) and other themes (such as 1990s nostalgia). I was involved in a few „festivals‟ of L‟arcen-ciel songs, which always started off with one participant selecting one of their songs seemingly innocuously. Other participants who were fans of the 215

K-club, Kawasaki, Conversation, 26 May 2013. Ibid. 217 Maiku, Conversation, 28 April 2013. 216

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band would nod their head in approval, or beam out a wide smile of approval exclaiming, „Natsukashii!‟ [„So nostalgic!‟]. We would then enter other L‟arcen-ciel songs that we knew into the karaoke machine‟s reservation system, and record our reservations on a log sheet. The sheet contained a section for us to comment on our song selections, which clearly showed the kinds of thought and emotional processes undertaken in our choices. For example, within „festivals‟ those who followed the participant starting the chain would comment „L‟arc connection‟, „L‟arc connection 2‟, and so on. These „connections‟ were never coordinated beforehand and happened spontaneously during gatherings, even if we had planned to sing other songs. There did not seem a need for prior coordination, because according to Hikki, „these songs were common sense for people of our generation‟ [„watashitachi no totte atarimae ni shitteiru uta‟].218 However, other participants expressed a genuine surprise at my ability to keep up with them in these „festivals‟ of 1990s songs and singers. Their comments at my performance of these songs were highly similar to those I received when I performed enka at SC after revealing my foreigner status. „Hey, where did you learn those songs from? Were they popular in Singapore?‟ „Are you sure you didn‟t live in Japan as a kid? It‟s incredible how many songs you know.‟219 It seemed like most K-club participants did not know of the surge in popularity of Japanese popular cultural products such as dramas, anime and pop music across Asia in the mid1990s and early-2000s. Instead, these pop songs were very much „Japanese‟ and meant only for domestic consumption. My knowledge and performance of

218

Refer to pages 72 and 73 for Hikki‟s demographic background. Hikki, Conversation, 26 May 2013. 219 K-club, Kawasaki, Conversation, 26 May 2013.

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these songs was transgressive because of my foreign status, similar to the way they and SC regulars thought about my enka performances. K-club members did express their recognition of enka as a kind of music linked to tradition, rather than being contemporary or modern. For example, Shimizu was quite clear in distinguishing between „Westernsounding pops [poppusu]‟ that catered towards young audiences and enka which he found quintessentially „Japanese‟:

TKF: I‟ve used these terms like „enka‟, „kayōkyoku‟ and „Showa kayō‟ throughout this conversation. But what does enka exactly mean? What kind of defining characteristics do you think it has? S: It‟s a uniquely Japanese type of music, I think. For example, there‟s „pops‟ and „J-Pop‟, which really refers to „popular music‟. And that really is from America isn‟t it? TKF: Well definitely it was America that developed the mass media forms and technologies that allowed for the growth of popular music. S: Right. But enka, that‟s Japanese isn‟t it [Demo enka wa Nihon deshou?]. TKF: But which parts exactly are „Japanese‟? S: I would say the vocal singing techniques and the melody lines. For example, there‟s that video of AKB48‟s „Heavy

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Rotation‟ being sung in an enka style right? 220 That‟s really different from the usual technique isn‟t it? And the melody sounded different, too, didn‟t it? That‟s what sets enka from JPop, that uniquely Japanese feel.221

It became clear later that Shimizu was using the term „Japanese‟ interchangeably with „traditional‟, when he argued that enka should be considered as a traditional cultural form to be preserved, just like sumo and kabuki have. But Shimizu and other K-club members also expressed their inability to empathise with the meanings expressed in the genre. Shimizu noted how his attitude towards enka songs was a strategically studious one, as he wanted to sing them at other karaoke clubs focusing on songs from the Showa period that he also participated in. He also noted, „Enka is not a genre that you can belt out easily at any kind of karaoke group, like K-club for example. The vast majority of people just aren‟t interested at all, and it‟ll most likely be a crowd dampener.‟222 Most members at K-club expressed a generational disconnect with enka. Maiku described this disconnect most succinctly, when he identified himself, at 47, as being part of a generation that came after enka‟s popularity peaked. His impression of enka fans was that they were people about a decade older than himself, and he also noted that few of his friends of a similar age listened to enka. Instead, they were bigger fans of kayōkyoku and „new music‟ 220

AKB48 is a highly popular Japanese female idol group that has come to dominate the Oricon charts in recent years with a slew of number one singles and albums. They specialise mainly in up-tempo and energetic numbers such as „Heavy Rotation‟. 221 Shimizu, Personal interview, 9 June 2013. 222 Ibid.

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from the 1970s and 1980s. He summarised his opinion on enka by saying, „I only sing enka songs as a joke, not really as a serious hobby.‟223 Instead, while a large degree of nostalgia was indeed practiced at Kclub, as seen from how participants selected and reacted to songs, the music that most members had the greatest nostalgic connection with was Japanese pop and rock music from the later 1980s to early 2000s. Many members noted that they were in their adolescence or early adulthood during that period. Shimizu talked about „exploring music on his own for the first time‟. 224 The songs that he sang at K-club gatherings were those most memorable for him during the period. His thoughts were echoed by Hikki, who explained, „My parents were really strict and kept me away from all that teenage entertainment when I was an adolescent. But when I was 20 and started to go out and explore music for myself, it was then that L‟arc-en-ciel‟s rock music struck me the most. It was an eye-opening experience to listen to their music, and that was how I got into them.‟225 K-club participants also expressed their inability to grasp the kinds of attitudes and ideals portrayed as „traditionally Japanese‟ in the genre. Aji provided the following explanation, when he talked about his preference for late-1980s and early-1990s pop and his thoughts on enka:

„”Yume wo Shinjite” [“Believe in Dreams”, released by Tokunaga Hideaki (1961- ) in 1990] was the first single that I bought, while the other two songs were ones that I really liked back in high school…First of all, I was just surrounded by such 223

Maiku, Conversation, 28 April 2013. Shimizu, Conversation, 28 April 2013. 225 Hikki, Conversation, 28 April 2013. 224

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J-Pop back in those days, as I used to watch them on TV and listen to them on radio a lot. I think the lyrics and melodies also really appealed to the sensibilities of youngsters at the time: it was really easy for us to understand the logic and emotions…I may appreciate the kind of worldview presented in enka, but it‟s not something that younger fans can wrap our head around quickly [wakamono no kyōkan shiyasui mono dewa nai]. I really need some time to understand how the imagery and logic in enka works. That‟s why it‟s not that appealing…I find it oldfashioned [furukusai] to be honest. The music isn‟t targeted at me.‟226

In fact, all of the K-club participants I spoke to (including even Shimizu) stated that they did not see themselves becoming enka fans even if they entered middle-age. They reasoned that their empathy with the other genres that they preferred, and lack of it for enka, would continue to hinder their ability to appreciate the genre even as they grew older. This seems to run counter to the widespread idea that all Japanese naturally turn towards enka when they enter their middle and old age because it speaks to „Japanese values and aesthetics‟, as Christine Yano cites from enka fans she interviewed in the 1990s.227 Instead, communal „musicking‟ behaviour at K-club centred around the building of musical taste for late 1980s to early 2000s pop and rock. Members seemed to invest a substantial amount of time planning through the 226 227

Aji, Email correspondence, 27 June 2013. Yano, „The Marketing of Tears‟, p.61.

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songs they wanted to sing, and learning new songs to perform, for every gathering. Even first-timers sometimes brought along personal lists, stored on mobile phones or notepads, of songs to perform, based on their research of song logs on K-club‟s website and other lists. In fact, the website even provides an analysis of the variety of each member‟s karaoke repertoire. Shimizu suggested the seriousness of amateur participation in karaoke clubs, as he mentioned how members sought to showcase both their vocal prowess and wide knowledge of music. Yet, as mentioned earlier in the section, K-club was not a place where one could just perform a song from any genre or time. Instead, song choices were circumscribed discreetly, such as through indifferent responses by other participants which dampened the mood of both the performer and others, or enthusiastic responses to commonly liked songs. Indeed, a few participants never took part in a second gathering, after awkward first experiences that generated little enthusiasm from other participants due to their song choices. Some participants, like Hari, took part in further gatherings with song choices that matched more closely to the predominant musical taste of K-club (most probably after observation and research) than when they first started. Thus, participation in K-club gatherings worked towards the reaffirmation of a particular musical taste guided by the demographic characteristics of the majority of participants, especially regulars.

Thinking about enka fandom beyond culture and age: Performing at NSK When I first participated in NSK gatherings in May, a number of members arrived just in time or late, and did not catch Nana‟s introduction of

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my background as a foreign researcher on enka before I started singing. This allowed me to perform „culturally incognito‟ for a certain amount of time, before Michi, the club‟s organiser, called for a round of self-introductions. During this time, I performed „Yumeoi-zake‟ as my first song at an NSK gathering. Again, my performance generated a surprised and enthusiastic response, based on the discrepancies between my younger age, song choice and performance style. Toshiko, who was one of the younger members in her early forties, commented, „Wow, I was surprised by how deep your voice went. It‟s very different from how youngsters today sing!‟ 228 Meanwhile, Hama, who was seated beside me, started a long conversation by talking about how enka and Showa popular music were followed generally by a more mature audience. He mentioned how his own children, who were of the same age as me, did not listen to these songs at all. However, culturally essentialist frames of evaluation again took on hegemonic status at NSK once I had fully introduced myself as a foreign researcher to the other participants. Indeed, for Nana, my selection of enka as a research interest seemed fascinating. She wrote to me in an email, „I‟m definitely more than happy to help you in the research if any more ideas come to mind. It‟s wonderful to have someone from outside Japan like you study about our Japanese culture [Nihon no bunka].‟229 As I performed enka classics like „Naniwa Bushi Dayo Jinsei wa‟ after my self-introduction, Gucchi, one of the more boisterous members in NSK, jokingly commented, „Hey, you‟re actually Japanese right? You‟re only pretending to be a Singaporean right?‟230 Other members laughed and agreed with him, even as I coyly replied that I 228

Toshiko, Conversation, 11 May 2013. Nana, Email correspondence, 17 May 2013. 230 Gucchi, Conversation, 8 June 2013. 229

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was indeed a foreigner. „Well, your heart is definitely very much Japanese [kokoro wa nihonjin]!‟ Toshiko replied.231 „Indeed, I think he‟s more Japanese than all of us around here [orera yori nihonjin rashii]!‟ Mushi added.232 However, just as in K-club, enka was not the only popular music genre thought of in such a culturally essentialist fashion. „Japanese music‟ encompassed many other genres that were just as easily discussed in the same terms as enka was. For example, during her self-introduction, Toshiko explained her love for later kayōkyoku in the 1970s and 1980s (described on page 48):

„I listen to a lot of different genres both Japanese and Western, but I really like Showa kayōkyoku. They bring out the themes of longing and sorrow in a very intricate manner. I regard them as cultural treasures of Japan, because they express Japanese sentimentality very well. I hope that these songs continue to be celebrated and sung by more people, and can continue to connect us all together.‟233

Meanwhile, Mushi described his love for Japanese children‟s and choral music in a separate interview:

„I think children‟s and choral music have really beautiful lyrics and melodies that easily evoke sceneries and situations that are very traditional…The themes in these songs, such as the 231

Toshiko, Conversation, 8 June 2013. Mushi, Conversation, 8 June 2013. 233 Toshiko, Conversation, 11 May 2013. 232

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changing seasons and intimate family ties, are something that I hope will be preserved for later generations [nokoshiteokitai shizen ya kazoku no kakawari ga shiki wo tōshite utawareteiru].‟234

Still, there were three self-identified enka fans among the NSK members, in Hama, Ina and Akko. Particularly, Hama talked to me at length about his emotional and experiential connections with the genre. The personal connections he raised seemed very similar to the ones that SC regulars made with enka:

„I think of enka as a genre that exists in my memories [omoide no naka no janru], rather than being a present genre. So I only focus on the enka sung in the past. I like to sing it, but overwhelmingly the songs that I grew up with…I think old people tend to settle on the enka that they listened to from the past because of their fond memories, rather than listening to the new enka stuff being put out…except for the really hardcore enka fans, most people don‟t listen to the new enka songs.‟235

For Hama, enka was a genre mainly associated with his childhood in Iizuka. He spoke about his experiences listening to enka as a child, and how it related to how he felt listening to the same songs now:

234 235

Mushi, Email correspondence, 14 June 2013. Hama, Personal interview, 18 May 2013.

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„I listened to enka most as a kid when I was watching those music TV programs that I had mentioned earlier with my family…my parents, who are obviously much older than I am, loved this kind of music…I learned the songs through the course of watching the programs with them…I also think that us youngsters of the time could not really understand the kind of images and ideals that were sung about in enka…it‟s something that we came to understand later, and indeed there is a sense of looking back at those songs now and finding them more appealing…I sometimes really feel like listening to the enka that I do know of from my childhood…to relive my memories.‟236

However, many other members vocally expressed their disconnect from enka. NSK members commonly griped about the use of the distinctive kobushi vocal technique. Mushi commented, „I just can‟t do kobushi, or sing boisterously like enka singers, so it‟s not something that I‟ll sing in karaoke. And that‟s why I never got interested in listening closely to enka, even if I do know the really famous songs because they were always on TV back then.‟237 Nana‟s friend Hiro echoed this sentiment, saying, „I can only listen to the less stereotypical/hardcore enka, because I don‟t enjoy kobushi.‟238 Meanwhile, Nana expressed her disagreement with lyrical themes in enka, and stated how she saw 1970s and 1980s kayōkyoku and contemporary J-Pop as being more representative of contemporary female sentiments: 236

Ibid. Mushi, Conversation, 8 June 2013. 238 Hiro, Conversation, 8 June 2013. 237

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„I find the lyrical content too patterned and formulaic…the songs always seem to talk about some kind of longing and yearning…I don‟t agree with that kind of sentiment, even though it‟s nice to look back in life…I also don‟t think it‟s an accurate depiction of relationships and females in Japan anymore, as we‟re more forward-looking these days. Women these days just move on to the next person if a relationship doesn‟t work out.‟239

Musical exposure in adolescence and young adulthood also played a part in building up musical taste for other genres rather than enka, even though many NSK members were in the same age demographic as the SC regulars. Mushi talked about his musical experiences in his youth, which pushed him towards a greater appreciation of choir music:

„”Otomisan” [“Miss Otomi”, released by Kasuga Hachirō (1924-1991) in 1954] is a particularly memorable song for me, as it reminds me of my childhood when I played marbles and stuff outside, while the promotional vehicle would pass by my town. But when I got into middle school, I was suddenly called in to join the school choir. I didn‟t know what was going on really, but straightaway I was thrown into the preparations for the nationwide NHK Choir Competition. Eventually we won

239

Nana, Email correspondence, 30 May 2013.

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the prefectural section and appeared at the national round, while my brother‟s high school ended in third place. That was when I finally got over my inferiority complex when it came to singing within the family.‟240

Mushi‟s middle school in Aomori Prefecture was well-known for its choir, which often emerged victorious in regional and national competitions. The school was also popular for its rigorous academic environment, such that Mushi commuted to school from his home in a neighbouring town. As such, his middle school experience can be thought of as rather elite, compared to the kinds of non-elite educational experiences funnelling students towards working-class vocations described by David Slater in his study of student stratification processes in middle and high school.241 Meanwhile, Nana talked about how she never developed a liking for enka, even though she knew a few songs and considered it a traditional form of popular music:

„I never liked enka because I was influenced by my father, who did not like the genre. Only rarely did he listen to singers like Ōtsuki Miyako (1946- ) and Mori Masako (1958- ), whom he considered had good voices…Instead, I listened mostly to other kinds of kayōkyoku when I grew up. And when I entered my twenties, I started getting into Western popular music through 240

Mushi, Email correspondence, 20 June 2013. David H. Slater, „The “New Working Class” of Urban Japan: Socialization and Contradiction from Middle School to the Labor Market‟, Ishida Hiroshi and David H. Slater (eds.), Social Class in Contemporary Japan, (Milton, Abingdon, Oxon; New York: Routledge, 2009), pp.137-69. 241

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Barbara Streisand, whom I thought had a really impressive voice. I was introduced to such music by my brother, who also listened to Western hits of the day, and fell in love with it.‟242

Nana‟s (and her brother‟s) exposure to Western popular music is not surprising when considering that she grew up in Yokohama‟s Yamate neighbourhood. While the city is well-known for its cosmopolitan and international influence, Yamate is especially famous for having been an affluent neighbourhood since the late Tokugawa period, with many rich residents and Western expatriates, as well as diplomatic missions and international schools.243 Nana‟s upbringing was thus not only urban, but also relatively well-off and internationally-influenced, especially when compared to SC‟s regular patrons. These social contexts, I suggest, have had important effects in determining the kinds of musical influences that Nana was exposed to as she came of age and developed her musical preferences. Despite the seeming diversity in social experiences and musical tastes, members were enthusiastic in utilising the online bulletin board to discuss their song choices for previous and upcoming gatherings. Michi also utilised the bulletin board to collect ideas for and announce lyrical themes around which song selections for the next gathering were to be based. The amount of thought put into song selections, through the discussions and close adherence to the changing themes for each gathering, showed the serious attitude of

242

Nana, Email correspondence, 26 May 2013. Carolyn Stevens provides an overview of the historical development of Yokohama and Yamate in Carolyn S. Stevens, On the Margins of Japanese Society: Volunteers and the Welfare of the Urban Underclass, (London and New York: Routledge, 1997), p.40. 243

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participants towards karaoke performance. Participants also talked about learning to sing unfamiliar songs through repeated individual practice. But such discussion and experimentation was restricted to only Showa popular music (and even then, mainly to 1970s and 1980s idol pop and „newmusic‟), as per the stated genre focus set by Michi in creating this internet karaoke club. Members would even meekly apologise in advance for performing songs that they felt were „straying‟ (for example, being too „Western‟) from the „usual‟ genres in NSK. Thus, communal „musicking‟ at NSK worked to further entrench musical tastes for Showa popular music that was already derived from members‟ socio-musical experiences. As such, my ethnographic research within the three karaoke settings, particularly in terms of transgressive experiences, revealed two points regarding enka‟s claim towards a unitary „musical identity‟. Firstly, musical preference for enka in karaoke participation, particularly as a representation of music fans‟ identity, was only restricted to settings such as kissas and snacks. Even then, only songs from the 1960s to 1980s were favoured, as observed from SC regulars‟ lukewarm responses to my performances of recent enka hits, which were seen as transgressive song choices. But more important was how my performances of other genres at K-club and NSK were viewed as culturally transgressive in a similar manner to my enka performances at SC, once other karaoke participants found out about my foreigner status. Also, anecdotes by K-club and NSK participants rejected enka‟s representativeness of their socio-musical identities (in terms of age, education and wealth), and explained other popular genres in the same culturally essentialist and nostalgic terms (both personally and generationally) as SC regulars did for enka. These

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anecdotes and evocations of cultural transgression across various genres and karaoke

settings

highlight

how

enka‟s

claim

towards

representing

„Japaneseness‟ only holds for a segment of the Japanese music audience identified by specific generational demographics, educational characteristics and social experiences of migration in the 1960s and 1970s. Secondly, communal „musicking‟ behaviour further entrenched the social differences behind the divergent musical tastes found between participants at snacks/kissas and boxes. As participants congregated according to their musical tastes shaped by their socio-musical experiences and interacted with each other in the settings, they did not only highlight common musical preferences and understandings to build rapport, but also effectively demarcated musical meanings and the boundaries of communal karaoke participation by pointing out transgressions in song choices and biographical characteristics (as happened to me in all three settings). These served to build up a sense of exclusivity within each kind of setting, attracting fans with similar musical tastes while deterring those with different ones. Hence, communal „musicking‟ served to reinforce differences in musical tastes, which were in turn largely dependent on participants‟ age, education, location, and other kinds of social experiences.

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Conclusion Enka as a Marker of Social Difference

Shortcomings of culturally essentialist understandings of enka Popular discourse about enka has overwhelmingly described the genre in terms of its „Japaneseness‟. Textually-based analyses, such as those provided by Christine Yano, Fumio Koizumi and Maki Okada, have reflected ideas of the genre as an expression and inheritance of Japanese musical tradition, by arguing that its lyrical, compositional and performative kata can be traced back to pre-modern cultural forms. As this repository of „Japanese tradition‟, it thus acts as „an archive of the nation‟s collective past‟, and a source of an essential and authentic Japanese identity.244 But such culturally essentialist understandings of enka fail to explain how it occupies a peripheral position within a heavily segmented Japanese music industry, and how its fans constitute an increasingly smaller portion of the Japanese music audience. Attempts to „revitalise‟ the genre by consciously appealing to a culturally essentialist framework of understanding, as seen in Jero‟s career, have also failed to reclaim enka as a pre-eminent genre within contemporary Japanese popular music, or appeal to existing fans of the genre, beyond a moment of fame driven perhaps by novelty. The failure of culturally essentialist understandings to explain how audiences associate themselves (or not) with enka thus highlights the need to utilise sociological concepts such as musical taste and „musicking‟ to investigate enka consumption. Being concerned about how music audiences

244

Yano, Tears of Longing, p.17.

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make value judgements and exercise individualised preferences about music products, taste explains why enka fans love the genre while non-fans remain ambivalent or even loathe it, even in the face of culturally essentialist depictions of „national tradition‟. An exploration of fans‟ and non-fans‟ „musicking‟ activities that generate musical meaning allows us to explain how musical taste for or against enka is developed. More importantly, studying „musicking‟ behaviour also allows us to understand how fans and non-fans, through their attitudes and choices towards enka, create musical and sociocultural meanings that suggest how they conceptually approach „Japan‟. In other words, „Japan‟ no longer becomes an imposed homogenous identity represented by enka imagery constructed by nationalist intellectuals and conservative music producers. Instead, „Japan‟ can now be understood from the perspectives of music listeners themselves, who actively build up and sustain their own socio-musical identities through acts of „musicking‟ via taste.

Specific socio-historical origins of enka and its fanbase As such, in this thesis I investigated the kinds of „musicking‟ involved in the development and sustenance of musical tastes, particularly towards enka. I showed that enka and its fanbase were born from discourses emerging from the socio-historical and musical changes of 1960s Japan. Firstly, this was a time which saw increasing confrontation between two different modes of popular music production, pitting the existing in-house system against freelance, self-producing writers. An essentially organisational struggle, however, took on a heavy ideological aspect when music intellectuals affixed ideas of „Japaneseness‟ and „tradition‟ to the musical products and practices

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in-house production system, and the „Western‟ to those of self-produced musicians. The publication of Hiroyuki Itsuki‟s 1966 novel „Enka‟ and Keiko Fuji‟s successful debut in 1969 as specifically an „enka star‟ (re-)invented the term enka as a specific popular music genre. Subsequent enka songs and performers then cemented the genre‟s image as a representative of Japanese tradition and the past, through musical content and practices which became increasingly patterned as kata. A similar division also occurred in the 1960s and 1970s between fans of enka and newer „Western-influenced‟ genres. Urban industry-oriented policies of the 1960s caused severe strains on urban infrastructure and standards of living, while draining the economic, social and cultural vitality of the rural countryside. Such social conditions precipitated the development of the furusato nostalgia of an idealised rural past, which enka referenced heavily. More mature audiences, many of whom were new urban migrants and had also grown up with the kayōkyoku of the old in-house system that enka descended from, flocked towards the genre. Meanwhile, „Western-derived‟ styles, such as jazz, GS, rock and their subsequent derivatives, began to attract large numbers of urban youths instead. This effectively meant the segmentation of the popular music audience market, which has been commonly described in generational terms. Audience segmentation would eventually persist till the present, as I show with my field research in three kinds of karaoke settings around Greater Tokyo, the karaoke kissa SC and Internet karaoke clubs Kclub and NSK.

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Thinking about social difference through enka My field research highlighted significant contrasts between the karaoke settings in participant demographics, musical preferences, and communal ties established within. Understanding these differences in terms of „musicking‟ behaviour and communal taste building highlights how musical taste for enka is held only by some older fans that were mainly born in the 1940s to 1950s in rural Japan (especially the Tōhoku region), and migrated to urban areas such as Tokyo in the industrialisation movement of the 1960s and early 1970s. Furthermore, these fans specifically favoured 1960s to 1980s enka, which they found relatable to their rural youth experiences and nostalgic furusato longing. While many non-fans also identified enka as a „traditional‟ genre, as seen by the presence of such views not only in a fan-dominated setting like SC but also in K-club and NSK, few empathised with the content of this „tradition‟ as an essential source of national/cultural identity and representation. Many participants in K-club and NSK expressed outright their rejection of enka as representing their „Japanese‟ identity, and suggested other genres that could just as easily be considered „Japanese‟. This lack of empathy stemmed not only from a perceived generational gap, as seen by K-club members‟ rejection of the enka in terms of a lack of personal and emotional connection, but also other social markers of difference, such as the place where one grew up in (as with Nana) or educational experience (as with Mushi). My investigation thus suggests that issues of locale, family income and education, which Bourdieu deeply investigates in understanding class-based taste formation and differences, are also important social determinants for musical taste for enka, besides generational cohort as suggested by Minamida Katsuya. Although the

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current research has been unable to investigate deeper into how these social indicators affected the initial formation of musical taste for both enka fans and non-fans, and also suffers from a limited sample size that poses problems of representativeness, more in-depth and broad-based comparative studies (utilising both qualitative and quantitative methods) of „musicking‟ behaviour will be important in further clarifying the socio-musical dynamics of enka appreciation. Hence, when enka fans and non-fans congregated according to their various musical preferences into different karaoke settings, these settings already highlighted the social differences existing within the Japanese music audience. Common musical preferences and understandings allowed participants in each setting to utilise their preferred genres (enka in SC, 1980s2000s pop-rock in K-club and non-enka Showa popular music in NSK) and these genres‟ thematic contents as a sort of common „language‟ among themselves, such as with Mura‟s romantic appeals to Kaneyama in SC or the excitement generated by L‟arc-en-ciel‟s songs in K-club. That each setting was also centred on particular musical tastes meant that musical choices and participation were discreetly (or even more overtly at NSK) restricted, through the generation of awkward or indifferent reactions to song and genre selections, or even biographical characteristics, deemed transgressive (as I found out with my own transgressive performances in each setting). The effects of such restrictions are evident in the serious thought that karaoke participants put towards song selection. Through such restriction of musical taste and utilisation of common musical understanding as an exclusive „code of communication‟, an aura of exclusivity, in terms of both taste and

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membership, is constructed around each kind of setting, and social differences between participants from different settings are further entrenched. Enka fans and non-fans thus continue their „musicking‟ activities and build their musical tastes in isolation from each other. The study of the role of enka within different taste communities, signified by the different karaoke settings, has thus revealed that rather than being a genre that unifies Japanese music lovers from all walks of life into a common identity, enka performs a more divisive role of marking off a certain fan demographic. The older men and women, many of whom have moved from the countryside into the city and share a love for the genre, are able to come together to celebrate a common love for the music and its ideals. Through enka, they even build up communal practices and identities which in turn celebrate and reaffirm their musical taste. But such communal „musicking‟ behaviour remains strictly the realm of these enka fans only. Other demographic groups fail to relate to the genre‟s ideals and practices in order to participate in such „musicking‟, and instead engage in their own communal „musicking‟ while actively distancing themselves from enka and its fandom. Such segregation has given rise to a variety of Japanese musical soundscapes, in which the relationship between Japan, music and the individual and/or group is constructed through „musicking‟ activities referencing very divergent musical, social and biographical experiences. „Japan‟ is thus constituted in different ways via different media content for different kinds of music consumers. Any attempts at claiming for enka‟s „Japaneseness‟, in turn, reveals more about the socio-musical identity of the claim-maker than any inherent essence of „Japan‟ within the music.

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Arguing that enka is empirically a marker of social difference then begs the question: how have discursive links between enka and „Japanese national tradition‟ been maintained, despite empirical evidence suggesting otherwise, since its origins in the late 1960s? It is tempting to simply explain this away as a form of „false ideology‟, as Yano suggests when she describes the genre as an aestheticised „memory of pain‟ that neuters experiences of loss and displacement into something desirable.245 But such explanations still do not get at the heart of the question of why both fans and non-fans talk about enka using ideas of „Japaneseness‟ and „tradition‟, even as they may or may not identify with these ideas. How have the mechanisms of supposedly „false ideology‟ operated to delineate the limits of enka discourse strictly along culturally essentialistic/nationalistic lines? How has the socio-historical condition of enka‟s moment of origin been stretched to the present for both enka fans and non-fans, such that the limits have been remarkably stable? Perhaps more in-depth examination of the positions and roles (or habitus) of listeners within the socio-economic condition of Japan from the 1960s onwards via sustained ethnographic studies, and also of the production and mediation processes and practices of enka products during this period, is necessary in order to adequately answer this question. These are definitely highly important areas of future research in understanding enka‟s position in Japan‟s society and culture. This thesis has provided an important first step towards such future research possibilities, by providing a more empirically grounded and thus more representative understanding of actual „musicking‟ practices and processes in enka.

245

See page 28 of this thesis for Yano‟s discussion.

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