Musicwhore.org Archive The original

Damn — those are melodies coming out of the speakers, aren’t they?

On past albums, Bleach epitomized the sound of unbridled rage. They were the kind of albums you saved on days when you were thisclose to going postal on the world’s ass.

But on the first three tracks of Bleach’s self-titled third album, it’s actually possible to sing along.

The first single from the album, “Canary Teikoku no Gyakushuu”, actually sounds like a single.

“Canary Teikoku no Gyakushuu” is an old-school ska song that transforms to a double-time punk song at the chorus. Compared to most of the band’s songs, it’s kind of slumming.

Don’t think, though, that Bleach has blunted its razor edge — single or not, “Canary Teikoku no Gyakushuu” still packs a one hell of a wallop.

In a way, it’s nice to see Bleach expanding its range. Rather than concentrating a narrow focus on rage for rage’s sake, the all-woman trio from Okinawa instead refract different styles of music through its own hardcore lens.

There’s a very successful shot at a slow song (“Chousen”). There’s a twisted stab at a disco beat (“Shiri”). And there’s a military beat that could turn the walls of Jericho to dust all over again (“Sun-dance(Moon-dance)”).

But Bleach still leave a lot of room for the usual modus operandi — hard riffs, screaming vocals, intense noise.

“Howling” and “Arigatoo Gozaimasu”, two tracks which finish the album, remind listeners just how hard these women can hit.

And like previous albums, Bleach goes by quick — 31 minutes, this time around. Still, it’s probably the most exhausting half-hour a pair of ears may ever encounter.

The tunes on this album make it Bleach’s most accessible to date, but the trio has lost none of the vitality that powers the voltage in its music.

Second albums are pretty tricky.

It’s not enough to establish a pattern, but it’s more than enough to indicate a direction.

And in pop music, rarely is the distinction made between continuing success and repeating it.

Hayashi Asuca delivered a strong debut with Saki in 2003. Rather than dress her up in techno beats and walls of synthesizers, Hayashi’s handlers gave her a relatively unconventional sound.

The maturity of the young teen-ager’s voice demanded it.

So it stands to reason what worked the last time on Saki would work again on her second album, Hatsukoi.

Thing is, this time around, the producers and writers have backed off.

The non-single tracks on the album aren’t very distinctive. Some are pretty forgettable. “Zutto Issho” is a predictable electric piano ballad, while the light jazz of “Shinryoku” is just plain trite.

(Aside: Although AJICO named its album and title track “Fukamidori”, it’s spelled with the same kanji as “Shinryoku”. What if Hayashi had covered “Fukamidori” instead?)

A lot of the tracks attempt to incorporate the tribal rhythms and acoustic guitar combination that worked well for Hayashi on the singles “ake-kaze” and “‘Haha'”.

“Negai” nearly quotes Sting’s oft-sampled “Shape of My Heart” guitar lick, while “Hanamusubi” and “Juuni Hitoe” refer to flamenco and Latin music for inspiration.

The singles from Hatsukoi are a bit more blatant about referring to the past. The chorus of “Rin no Kuni” possess all the drama of “ake-kaze”, while “Sanctuary” avoids a straight-forward pop beat, instead relying on tablas to provide rhythm.

Oddly enough, the singles are where Hayashi takes the most risks.

“Rin no Kuni” may resemble her past work, but it’s the kind of drastic song that challenges her to give a full-throated performance.

“Moo Ichido Anata ni Aitai”, on the other hand, numbers among the album’s weaker tracks, and a second acoustic version at the end only confirms it.

Hatsukoi finds Hayashi playing it safe, not fixing a formula that isn’t broken. Thing is, the album doesn’t exactly rise to the expectations set the last time around either.

Through it all, Hayashi gives more of the same wonderful, magnetic singing, which is perhaps the biggest saving grace on this disc.

But it wouldn’t be very responsible if the next time around, the material doesn’t serve the instrument.

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.