Musicwhore.org Archive The original

My Japanese teacher explained a while back that Japanese women join the workforce to find a husband. Once married, they become housewives.

It’s that cultural factoid that colors the news of Hajime Chitose’s announcement that she was going on hiatus. In early 2004, she announced her marriage to a restaurant manager, and she is expecting her first child.

Examples abound of women singers who resume their careers after having children — Namie Amuro, UA, Shiina Ringo, Mikami Chisako of fra-foa.

But music wasn’t Hajime’s first career choice. She chased away label representatives to become a beautician, only to discover she was allergic to the chemicals in haircare products.

So perhaps too much can be read into the release of the live album Fuyu no Hainumikaze. The nearly two-hour, two-disc set offers a broad overview of Hajime’s career thus far — hit singles, coupling songs, album tracks, songs from the indie days.

The only thing that would make it more complete would be some traditional shimauta. (It’s criminal those earliest recordings aren’t more readily available.)

Her cover songs are missing as well, but it’s no great loss, considering the arrangements never suited Hajime’s voice in the first place.

This kind of retrospective, especially with such a wide scope, is usually given to artists at the end of their career. And man would it suck were that the case.

Because as Hajime ably demonstrates on this album, her voice is no fluke. Maybe here and there, she flubs a note, but her expressive power comes through as clearly in live performance as it does in the studio.

It’s also a testament to her producers and collaborators — though considered a pop singer, Hajime performs material richer and far more difficult than the stuff cranked out for idols.

For the most part, Hajime’s band sticks to the arrangements in the studio, but the midpoint of the album provides some departures.

Taiko drums provide the primary accompaniment on “Shooryoo”, while “Kono Machi” features only Hajime and a piano.

Some songs actually sound better here than on their original release. “Getsurei 17.4” always felt out of place on Nomad Soul, but on this album, it fits nicely.

And the inclusion of some coupling tracks — “Byakuya”, “Sanpo no Susume” and “Hummingbird” — brings up the question why they were relegated to singles instead of included on albums.

Fuyu no Hainumikaze covers a lot of ground, and by the end of it, you can’t help but feel exhausted.

But it also leaves you hungering for more. Hajime may choose to conform to cultural norms and lead a private life after her child arrives. This album provides a great review of her accomplishments, while documenting the depth of her talent.

Let’s also hope I’m just reading way too much into it.

For her first few recordings, Hajime Chitose stuck almost exclusively to mid-tempo ballads.

That was fine — the slower tempo allowed Hajime to showcase her ability to embellish and to show off her often soaring vocals. It was easy, then, to forgive the homogeneity of her debut album, Hainumikaze, so long as she impressed us with her voice.

But after two mini-albums, many singles and one album of the same kind of stuff, it’s high time for some change — which Nomad Soul offers in small but significant doses.

Sure, the mid-tempo, dub-influenced pop tracks still have sway over her second album, but this time around, Hajime is giving room for some fast songs.

“Neiro Shichishoku”, an up-tempo track with continental Asian influences, finds Hajime keeping up with the quicker pace. “Getsurei 17.4” goes for more of a “Smooth Operator”-era Sade vibe, allowing Hajime to serve up a sultry performance.

Hajime works best, however, when the pace allows her singing to expand. “Kawasemi” bares remarkable resemblance to other songs in her repertoire — “Wadatsumi no Ki”, “Roogyoo no Tsukai” — but it’s the kind of song she was meant to sing.

The singles from Nomad Soul stand out in particular. “Sen no Yoru to Sen no Hiru” strikes a nice balance between a fast tempo and Hajime’s vocal flourishes. “Itsu ka Kaze ni Naru Hi” has just a plain beautiful melody, but it’s “Kono Machi” which strikes the emotional core. It’s one of her most deeply affecting performances to date.

Nomad Soul does have a few bumps. It takes a while before the Yamazaki Masayoshi-produced “Aurora no Sora kara Mitsumete Iru” sinks in. The track is saved by a middle section in which Hajime does her wonderful Bulgarian women’s choir imitation. And while “Getsurei 17.4” is different, it seems abrupt after the wrenching performance of “Kono Machi”.

These moments are few, and such tracks as Matsutoya Yumi’s “Uraga no Oka” do well to cancel them out.

By comparrison, Nomad Soul doesn’t have the emotional weight of Hainumikaze, but it does allow Hajime a chance to present her voice in more versatile settings.

Visit any number of commercial sites — from Hajime Chitose’s official page to Amazon Japan — and it’s tough to find much evidence Hajime was an award-winning Japanese folk singer.

In fact, the regional label Central Gakki, which reissued Hajime’s Shima • Kyora • Umui, barely has distribution outside its area.

So, it’s to the evil file sharing networks to find the young Hajime at her roots.

There isn’t much to describe about Shima • Kyora • Umui, a “best collection” of her two traditional albums. No grandiose arrangements, no backing band, no hit singles.

Just Hajime, a singing partner and a shamisen.

Even if the 22 songs on the album blend together after a while, it’s stunning to hear Hajime standing on her own as a vocalist.

The voice you hear on her commercial work is no fluke — Hajime can navigate musical leaps and bounds her pop work would seldom demand from her.

If anything, Hajime’s traditional work is perhaps better than her pop albums. The expressiveness of her voice gives this music an apparent appeal.

You may never own an album of shimauta in your entire life, but if you made an exception, Shima • Kyora • Umui would be it.

It’s too bad, though, Hajime’s handlers don’t play up this fact. If the Yoshida Brothers can get younger audiences into Tsugaru shamisen music, what’s stopping Hajime from doing the same for shimauta?

Chances are you may not like Hajime Chitose’s singing if you don’t fit one of these criteria:

• You dig Bulgarian women’s choirs.
• You listen to traditional Japanese music.
• You are an ethnomusicologist.

(All the power to you if you don’t fit any of these points but still like Hajime anyway.)

Trained in performing a form of traditional Japanese music called shimauta (“island songs”), Hajime embellishes her singing with short trills and employs a stratospheric falsetto that’s both heavenly and piercing. When she overdubs her voice, she can sound just like a Bulgarian women’s choir.

But rather than forge a career solely on traditional music — or even enka — Hajime is following a pop music course.

So what does a major label like Epic Records do with a traditionally-trained singer whose voice is overqualified for idol pop? Answer: compromise.

Hainumikaze, Hajime’s first full-length album, draws from a melting pot of different popular styles — the orchestral sweep of enka, folk-pop from the West, reggae and dub.

On paper, such a melding of disparate styles would usually spell disaster, but Hajime’s songwriting collaborators — Mamiya Takumi, Ueda Gen, Yamazaki Masayoshi — manage to balance everything nicely.

The laid back feel of “Wadatsumi no Ki” isn’t too far removed from the introspective minimalism of “37.6”. The soaring chorus of “Natsu no Utage” posseses the same earnestness of “Rinto Suru”. Even the chiming acoustic guitars of “Shinshi Raika” have the same Celtic feel as the lilting tempo of “Kimi wo Omou”.

Hajime’s voice, of course, ties it all together. Even though the songs on Hainumikaze are mostly mid-tempo, poignant ballads, they serve a perfect setting for Hajime’s incredible vocal range. Had she adopted a Western singing style, these songs would lose their bite, instantly becoming pastiche.

After a while, Hajime’s technique gives way to a humanity inherent in her performance. Like her Bulgarian cousins a continent away, Hajime could be singing about baking bread in the morning and make it sound like the most important act in the world.

But don’t think Hajime Chitose is easy to warm up to. It takes some work to get through her highly stylized technique and to reach that human center. The pay off is great when you get there.