There are so many exotic Japans to be conjured up in the minds of those (like me) who’ve never been to Japan itself but find much to be attracted to. A kind of theme park of western culture colliding with eastern, seen through one of those bendy mirrors creating absurd, quirky newness. I have no doubt the real thing is nothing like that, but albums like this maintain the fantasy for me.
This is Izumi Misawa’s debut album and it has all the diverse shards of underground Japanese music rolled up, dropped on the floor, then put back together again with sticky tape and flour paste. ‘Chairs’, for example, has random electro-blips, R2D2 style, under a throbbing kick and simple bass loop, with Misawa’s naive singsong style meandering over the top. Toy piano features on album opener, ‘Chocolate’ and ‘Hanabira’. What could end up cutesy is given significant depth by the processed atmospheres and bass booms flying around the background. Small digital blips with no apparent rhythmic or melodic purpose are constantly counterbalanced with idiosyncratic acoustic instruments such as piano accordian or glockenspiel, or Misawa’s voice, offering simple melodies on which to hook the ear. ‘Waiting For…’ sounds like a piece of discarded soundtrack from a 60s film noir thriller, while ‘Birthday’ has multiple child’s toy instruments building disjointed melodic shrapnel and what sounds like the recording of someone clearing the dishes following the title’s celebration. The album’s highlight for me is ‘Hakoniwa’, in which Misawa sings over a music box duetting with vinyl static – simple, haunting and totally effective.
This is everything that an under-educated (in terms of Japanese culture) western listener like myself could want from the Japanese underground. Quirky Tokyo-naive-pop, abstract electronics, moments of sonic minimalism, processed field recordings, all thrown together with apparent abandon yet forming a continually engaging whole.
Adrian Elmer
