Album Review: 伊勢佐木町ブルース by 青江三奈 – A Blast from Japan’s Groovy Past
So, you’re scrolling through the archives of Japanese pop history and bam—you stumble upon this little gem called 伊勢佐木町ブルース (Isezakichō Blues) by 青江三奈 (Mina Aoe). Released in 1968 under Victor Records, it’s a Kayōkyoku classic that screams retro vibes with just enough bluesy swagger to make your grandpa nod along. Backed by ビクター・オーケストラ (Victor Orchestra), Mina belts out five tracks that feel like a love letter to post-war Japan’s dreamy yet bittersweet mood.
Let’s dive into two standout tunes because, honestly, who has time for all five?
First up, the title track 伊勢佐木町ブルース. This one hits different—it’s like walking down a neon-lit street in Yokohama at midnight, except you’re broke and slightly tipsy. The melody is smooth as butter, and Mina’s voice? Oh man, it’s got that perfect mix of melancholy and sass. You can practically hear her rolling her eyes while singing about heartbreak. It sticks with you not because it’s overly dramatic but because it’s real—like, “Yeah, life sucks sometimes, but hey, here’s a catchy tune about it.”
Then there’s 長崎ブルース (Nagasaki Blues), which feels like someone handed Mina a map of Japan and said, “Go write songs about random cities.” But instead of being cheesy or touristy, this track nails the vibe of longing and nostalgia. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about how she sings over those lush orchestral arrangements. Like, yeah, we get it—you miss Nagasaki—but dang, girl, do it so well I wanna book a train ticket right now.
The rest of the album isn’t bad either; tracks like 霧のハイウエー (Foggy Highway) bring some atmospheric goodness, though they don’t quite hit the same emotional bullseye as the blues-heavy numbers. Still, it’s clear Mina knew how to work a mic back in the day, and the Victor Orchestra deserves props for keeping things classy without going full-on elevator music.
Here’s the kicker: Listening to 伊勢佐木町ブルース feels like eavesdropping on a conversation between old-school Japan and its Western influences. Kayōkyoku was kinda like the bridge between traditional enka and modern J-pop, and this album is a textbook example of why that era matters. Sure, the production might sound dated compared to today’s Auto-Tuned madness, but isn’t that the charm? It’s raw, unfiltered, and dripping with soul.
Final thought? If aliens ever invade Earth and demand proof that humans have feelings, I’d hand them this album. And then maybe offer them some sake, because why not. Cheers to Mina Aoe for reminding us that even in 1968, people were out here turning heartache into gold.
