Chapter Twenty-One: A Spark Can Ignite the Prairie

Another Saturday night arrived. Ye Zhao tuned the radio, put on his headphones, tucked it into his jacket, and walked downstairs to the public phone, ready to dial the song request line once more.

As the opening music faded, the voice of Keisuke Kuwata came through his headphones. Ye Zhao picked up the receiver, about to make the call, when he heard something that left him utterly stunned.

After the customary greetings on the broadcast, Keisuke Kuwata didn’t move straight into the usual program routine. Instead, he made a song recommendation, laughing as he said, “My agent found a single at the record shop next to the station. Though it’s an underground release, the quality is outstanding—and the cover features the coastline from my hometown in Shonan. It reminds me of beaches, sun umbrellas, watermelon-smashing games, and of course, the indispensable bikini girls… Haha.”

With Kuwata’s slightly mischievous laughter echoing, the opening of “Summer Colors” played on the radio. Ye Zhao put down the phone, his mind consumed by a single thought: fortune was about to smile on him.

How powerful was a recommendation from Keisuke Kuwata? This titan of the music world had been a superstar since his debut in 1978, and even by 2017, he remained wildly popular. His band, Southern All Stars, ranked third in total sales in all of Japan, just behind B’z and Mr. Children. Even his solo career boasted nearly twenty million in sales, earning him the title “God of Japanese Pop Music.” In a music industry that changed at a dizzying pace, his enduring status was nothing short of miraculous.

Kuwata’s radio show aired during Saturday’s prime time, reaching hundreds of thousands, if not millions of listeners. To be mentioned by him was already an immense honor; to be recommended right at the start of the program, with the entire song played through, was a stroke of luck akin to a windfall from the heavens.

Sure enough, after Kuwata’s broadcast, listeners flocked to local record shops the next day, searching for the single. With an initial pressing of only 2,000 copies, even distribution within the Tokyo area meant each shop received just five to ten units at most. This was woefully insufficient. The scant stock vanished instantly; those unable to find the single bombarded the shops with calls demanding restocks. Staff struggled to field inquiries and simultaneously sent urgent replenishment requests to Apollo Records, the distributor.

The “Summer Colors” craze erupted not only in record shops, but also spread to radio stations and karaoke bars. While listeners urged shops to restock, they began frantically requesting the song across radio stations. Broadcast associations whose libraries lacked the track had no choice but to request the audio directly from Apollo Records.

Without an agency or label, Ye Zhao couldn’t know the exact sales figures. After all, the ORICON singles chart only counted the top one hundred, and this wasn’t the future era where selling two hundred copies would secure a chart spot. Even if two thousand CDs sold out in a single day, they’d barely graze the daily chart edge. So, though he anticipated a boost from Kuwata’s recommendation, he had no idea to what extent it would go.

At Apollo Records, after hearing the assistant’s report on the sales frenzy and nationwide restock requests for “Summer Colors,” Arakawa Kazufumi fell into deep contemplation. He’d always known it was a good song, but had expected that such an unpromoted underground single would slowly build momentum, relying on word of mouth, achieving a steady, gradual success.

But whether it was Ye Zhao’s talent or sheer luck, the song had somehow caught the attention of someone as influential as Kuwata. As its momentum surged, threatening to explode into a phenomenon, Arakawa’s own ambitions stirred. If this song could replicate the legend of “Road,” then, as the executive who greenlit it, his portfolio would be gilded with a shining achievement.

His heart pounding, Arakawa seized the phone and dialed the pager service.

Ye Zhao, guitar slung over his shoulder, was about to head to Shibuya when his pager beeped. He called back from the downstairs public phone.

“Hello, this is Ye Zhao.”

“Ye, my friend, this is Arakawa Kazufumi,” came the enthusiastic reply. “I have fantastic news. Your single ‘Summer Colors’ is on a meteoric rise—every record shop in the Tokyo area has sold out! All are requesting restocks from Apollo. So tell me, do you want to play big and print another batch?”

“Well,” Ye Zhao hesitated on purpose, “I’d love to, but my budget is really…”

“No worries. If you agree, the company can front the printing costs and later deduct them from your royalties.”

With that assurance, Ye Zhao agreed readily, “How many do you plan to print?”

“Fifty thousand—no, let’s do a first batch of one hundred thousand! I’ll persuade the company myself!”

One hundred thousand units, with printing costs exceeding six million yen, but Ye Zhao unhesitatingly raised the stakes of his gamble once more.

And, as it turned out, his bet won.

On July 12, 1994, when newspapers carrying the ORICON CD sales chart appeared in convenience stores, people discovered that a singer named Ye Zhao, with his single “Summer Colors,” had captured fourteenth place on the singles chart, with 22,852 copies sold. The single had appeared quietly, its singer unknown, prompting many to ask: Who is this person?

Meanwhile, with radio and karaoke lines open, as Kuwata’s broadcast impact faded, the song’s popularity not only persisted but sparked a new wave. In the 1990s, one key measure of a song’s potential for success was its catchiness—this became even more crucial in the era of karaoke, where most people simply wanted to sing along and enjoy themselves. “Summer Colors” fit perfectly, and once it entered karaoke libraries, word of mouth turned its sparks into a roaring blaze.

On the CD sales weekly chart of July 19, “Summer Colors” climbed to ninth place, with cumulative sales reaching 56,200. An underground single breaking into ORICON’s top ten was remarkable, whether in the ‘90s or after the millennium. Now, not only the public but the industry itself took notice. The renowned music magazine “CDDATA” devoted a substantial article to the phenomenon.

Last week’s singles chart wasn’t particularly noteworthy, the article began; there were no major artists releasing singles, and the week’s champion sales were unimpressive—a rare lull in the fiercely competitive music industry. But this conclusion was shattered when the author noticed a single at number nine: “Summer Colors,” an underground release by a singer named Ye Zhao.

Underground singles face far greater obstacles than mainstream releases; major labels provide comprehensive promotion and carefully selected tracks, advantages underground artists lack. Yet, in such difficult circumstances, this single, quietly released on June 21, not only avoided obscurity but achieved a stunning reversal.

The title track, “Summer Colors,” is a quintessential summer folk song. Its three and a half minutes flow effortlessly, with guitar and playful hand bells conjuring the refreshing sensation of sea breezes. The lyrics brim with youthful energy, perfectly complementing the melody—a clear stream in the heat of summer. The B-side, “Secret Base,” marks a dramatic shift, presenting a rhythmically distinct rock song that showcases Ye Zhao’s versatile talent.

In conclusion, the magazine’s editor declared, “Before listening, I might have doubted this song’s success. But now, I’m convinced: this is a masterpiece destined to stand the test of time!”

“CDDATA” was one of Japan’s most famous music magazines—a must-buy for music lovers. Its coverage propelled “Summer Colors” sales even higher.

On July 22, Ryoko Shinohara, produced by Tetsuya Komuro, released the biggest single of her career, “Love, Heartache, and Strength,” which ultimately exceeded two million in sales. That week, all other songs faded beside this runaway hit. Shinohara, who debuted in 1989 and would later dominate screens as a strong woman, was still an unknown minor star until she caught Komuro’s wave—her success drew much attention.

In stark contrast to Shinohara’s dominance was Ye Zhao’s “Summer Colors.” The day after “CDDATA” went on sale, a new wave of fans rushed to buy the single. Throughout the week, except for being pushed to sixteenth place by new releases on day one, it surged onward, defeating competitor after competitor and breaking into the top five. If not for another stock shortage at record shops, the results would have been even greater.

At Apollo, the company president personally approved all printing costs, contacting pressing plants to work overtime producing the single. Arakawa Kazufumi’s standing soared in the company for landing such a lucrative deal.

Meanwhile, as the single’s popularity skyrocketed, record labels, management agencies, and even TV stations eager to feature Ye Zhao all descended upon Apollo Records, hoping to secure him for themselves.