Wewantsounds’ ongoing excavation of Meiko Kaji’s early‑’70s catalogue continues to reveal just how much more there is to her legacy than the cult‑cinema mythology. Best known internationally for Lady Snowblood and the Stray Cat Rock films, Kaji was also a striking vocalist, capable of turning pop melodrama and noir‑shaded groove into something that was easily identifiable as her own. ‘Otoko Onna Kokoro No Aika,’ originally released in 1974, captures her at a moment when Japanese pop, enka, and cinematic orchestration were colliding in vivid, stylish ways. This is evident right from the outset with ‘Akashia No Ame Ga Yamu Toki‘ boasting a string arrangement straight out of the mid-twentieth century widescreen, panoramic manual as well as a lead vocal that soars above the backdrop with grace, tension, and satisfying release. It is in every way a scene setter for the musically rich journey that follows.

It is revelatory how much the western production tropes of the period had bled into the music of the east. On ‘Meiko No Yume Wa Yoru Hiraku’ there is a keyboard part laced with a harpsichord texture and a gypsy violin part, not to mention a general sense that the music is primed to leap in any direction, echoing the anything goes attitude of the sixties psychedelic era. It is not a throwback in any sense though, ‘Ginza No Cho’ has the muddier soundboard more familiar to funk soundtracks which would have been ultra contemporary at the time although, once again, there is a little bit of fuzz guitar decorating the instrumental breaks. That said, it is the sensitive, yearning ballad ‘Onno Kokoro No Uta’ that is an early highlight. This is one where the vocal is a tour de force in sweet melodic serenity. This makes sense after I have just done a quick translation into English of the song title, also riffed on with the lamenting album name, it reads as “songs of a woman’s heart.” This vulnerability and tenderness is emphasised on further tracks featuring lush strings, flute, and mournful trumpet accompaniments, all of which add to the satisfying listening experience to these English ears denied the benefit of language comprehension. The music is so vivid and explicit though, it almost does not matter.

‘Tokyo Nagare Mono,’ the theme from Suzuki’s ‘Tokyo Drifter,’ features sharp edged fuzz guitar but it quickly sidesteps, via arresting harmonica, into a unique kind of spaghetti western melange, this music is pretty wild in its own way. It is not all about getting hip with the sonics though, there are some pretty fine, very well composed arrangements here which grab the attention not with dynamism but inviting, deceptively complex, melodic pathways. And for all the interest that awaits in the threads of the music, it is that Meiko Kaji vocal performance that remains the star of the show. Ultimately, far more than a tie‑in to her film work, this album plays like a self‑contained suite of Showa‑era torch songs and atmospheric funk, delivered with the same controlled intensity she brought to the screen. Kaji approaches each track as a performance, blending her instincts as a singer with the detail and engagement of a storyteller, moving from the smoky sway of the funkier sections to some sleek seventies reimagining of older material. The result is a record that strikes a perfect balance between tradition and forward thinking, a reminder that Kaji’s artistic range extended far beyond the roles that made her famous.

Danny Neill

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