Album Review: 山谷初男の放浪詩集新宿 by 山谷初男 (1974)
Alright, let’s talk about this hidden gem from Japan’s folk scene. 山谷初男の放浪詩集新宿 is one of those albums that feels like it was made just for you to stumble upon in some dusty record shop years later. Released in 1974 on Victor Records, this album sits snugly in the Folk, World, & Country genre but leans heavily into raw, storytelling-driven folk vibes. It’s not polished or overproduced—it’s real, kinda rough around the edges, and totally unforgettable.
First off, can we take a moment to appreciate how wild the tracklist is? Songs like “ゲイバー「オベロン」” (Gay Bar "Oberon") and “昭和11年新宿2丁目の娼家桃園楼の欄干に腰かけ〜” give off major cinematic vibes, like each song could be its own short film set in 1970s Shinjuku. But I’ll zoom in on two tracks that really stuck with me after listening.
The first one is “誰も俺の名前を知らない” ("No One Knows My Name"). Man, this tune hits different. It’s got this lonely, wandering vibe—like you’re walking through an empty street late at night, thinking about life. The lyrics feel personal yet universal, capturing that bittersweet feeling of being invisible but also kinda okay with it. You know when you hear a song and think, “Wow, they get me”? Yeah, that’s this one. I found myself humming it days later without even realizing it.
Then there’s “人生は汽車に似てるね” ("Life Is Like a Train"), which might as well be the theme song for anyone who’s ever felt stuck between stations. It’s slow, reflective, and has these little instrumental breaks that sound like train whistles echoing in the distance. There’s something comforting about how 山谷初男 sings it—he doesn’t try too hard to impress; he just lets the words breathe. By the end, you’re left with this weird mix of nostalgia and hope, like maybe the next stop will be better.
One thing I love about this album is how it paints pictures of Shinjuku back in the day. From gay bars to detective kids running around Kabukichō, it’s like 山谷初男 took snapshots of his world and turned them into songs. And honestly, isn’t that what great folk music does? It tells stories that make you feel connected to places and people you’ve never met.
Now here’s the kicker: this album came out in 1974, but it still feels relevant today. Maybe because loneliness, longing, and searching for meaning are timeless themes. Or maybe because sometimes, hearing someone sing about old Tokyo makes you want to grab a cup of coffee and sit by a window while pretending you’re part of their story.
Final thought: If you ever find yourself lost in Shinjuku—or anywhere else, really—put this album on. Let 山谷初男 guide you through the chaos. Oh, and if anyone asks why you’re crying softly in public while listening to “誰も俺の名前を知らない,” just tell ‘em it’s art. Trust me, they’ll understand.
