WINO has often been described as Japan’s answer to Oasis, and given the big influence of British rock on the quintet, it’s easy to understand the comparrison.
Since its debut in 1998, WINO has delivered album after album of hook-filled, psychedelic-tinged, fast-paced rock ‘n’ roll. Strip away the ’90s-styled aural acrouments in the band’s music, and they might just sound like a Beatles knock-off. (Three of the band’s members lists the Fab Four as an influence.)
In terms of aesthetic, 2001’s Dirge No. 9 doesn’t sound terribly different from WINO’s 1998 debut, Useless Music.
All the basic elements that made Useless Music a winner are kept pretty much in tact on the new album — Hisanaga Chokko’s and Togawa Shinichiroo’s two-guitar wall of sound, Yoshimura Atsushi’s versatile vocals, and hooks, hooks, hooks.
If anything, the songs on Dirge No. 9 are just a tad harder to warm up to, something easily remedied after two listens.
Dirge No. 9 is also something of a telling title — the songs on the album are noticeably darker.
“Taiyoo wa Yoru mo Kagayaku” and “Imagine, Still” are both big-chord ballads with Lennon-McCartney undertones. The reverb-drenched drumming on “Hurt” and “Butterfly” subtly hints at a “Funky Drummer”-meets-“White Rabbit” vibe.
“Empty Soul”, sung in English, sounds like Phil Spector missing a dosage of Prozac. Even the title track is a simple voice-and-acoustic guitar number, mournful and sparse.
That doesn’t mean the band has forgotten how to rock out. After a suitably raucous opening with “New Dawn F”, “Resolution” comes out blazing with both guns pointed.
“My Life” and “Sullen Days” bring Dirge No. 9 to its dramatic climax before the title track provides a soft denounment.
All told, WINO isn’t the kind of band to shake things up radically, but they are excellent songwriters. And Dirge No. 9 proves it time and again.
There’s something absolutely familiar about the band’s music, a moody mix of wailing guitars and intense introspection.
Sort of like Radiohead but not as dour. Or Stone Temple Pilots but a lot more dissonant. There’s even something Garbage-like with how frontwoman Suzuki Yuki can go from raspy whisper to plaintive wail at the drop of a proverbial hat.
But compare Bugy Craxone side-by-side with any of those aforementioned bands, and it’s evident they’re really doing something on their own.
One thing is for certain — Bugy Craxone can play the hell out of its instruments. The band’s 2000 album, Yuganda Ao to Tsukenai Kanjoo no Soko, puts listeners through a doozy of an emotional ringer.
By the end, you almost feel like you need a shower to wash off the sweat.
After the misleadingly sparse “Yoake” opens the album, “Oto mo Hikari mo Nai Basho de Ugoku Koto wo Yameta Shin” quietly segues in. Toward the end of the song, guitarist Oikawa Tsukasa hammers on a single riff while Suzuki delivers a soaring performance.
“Milk Bar de” follows much of the same arc — quiet start, then dramatic finish.
But not all is soft-and-loud-loud-and-soft. When Bugy Craxone decide to throw everything into a song, things can get pretty crowded.
The fast-paced instrumental “Musooka” doesn’t let up one bit. “Hikasa” starts off with a wall of rough-hewned guitars Billy Corgan should have been playing around the time of Siamese Dream. And Suzuki demonstrates the concept of ganbaru (i.e. “to do one’s best”) on “Niji”.
Bugy Craxone make only a few minor missteps. The shuffle beat and out-of-tune vocal of “Gekkoo” doesn’t do much for the song. “Karada”, meanwhile, feels like such a perfect conclusion for the album, “Hodokareta Mune” almost doesn’t seem necessary.
Those awkward moments aside, Yuganda Ao to Tsukenai Kanjoo no Soko is still a dramatic album. Bugy Craxone throw themselves into delivering one of the most impassioned performances ever set to disc.
Shiratori Maika belongs to the Joni Mitchell School of Singers — she could sing a traffic sign and move people to tears.
When she first courted labels for a record deal, executives told Shiratori she needed to write her own music before she could be taken seriously.
As such, Shiratori set out to write her own material, most of which could fit well in the Lilith Fair scheme of things.
Thankfully, Shiratori pairs up with Cocco producer and Dr.StrangeLove bassist Takamune Negishi on the singer’s debut album, Hanazono. Takamune replicates the production style he used with Cocco with Shiratori, and the combination makes for a potent force.
Hanazono is a beautiful work, full of soaring melodies and dramatic arrangements.
Shiratori could have fallen into the latter-day Sarah McLachlan trap of introspective schlock, but Takamune puts some real viscera into the singer’s music.
“Listen to Me” starts off with Shiratori and a guitar, then bursts into a full-band for a chorus. The contrast is striking as it is brilliantly delivered.
“Android” sounds like Shiratori and Takamune took a page out of the Walrus playbook — loud, grunge-y guitars alternating between sparse, tender moments.
“Sen” goes straight for a Celtic feel that doesn’t result in international culture clash, while “Flashback” doesn’t relent in giving a charged performance.
Cocco fans may either embrace Shiratori as a suitable torch-bearer for the seminal Okinawan icon or accuse her for riding Cocco’s coattails. Hanazono, as a member of a Japanese rock mailing list pointed out, sounds a lot like Kumuiuta.
The two artists do have enough differences to tell them apart.
Shiratori’s lilting soprano is actually more reminiscent of Bonnie Pink, right down to her excellent command of English. Plus, Shiratori isn’t so overly intense — wailing isn’t part of her M.O., nor should it be.
All this doesn’t stop Hanazono from being an excellent debut. Shiratori’s pristine voice, well-crafted songs, dramatic performances — all these elements come together nicely.
Supercar didn’t mess around when it dove head-long into electronica.
The band’s first forray into club beats resulted in the dramatic Futurama, an album that approximated the feel of an all-night mix but ended up being a rock epic instead.
Like most great albums, it set up some pretty unreasonable expectations for a sequel.
Highvision, Supercar’s follow-up to Futurama, continues the band’s seamless marriage of synthetic beats and huge rock guitars, but this time around, the quartet has scaled back.
The album feels like an album, not a CD-length mix, nor a concept piece. Two-second gaps, the mark of a work not beholden to an Overriding Concept, are in great supply on Highvision.
This less ambitious approach seems almost anti-climactic at first, but after repeated listenings, it turns out to be a smarter move. By freeing the songs from interludes and segues, Supercar gives each track its own identity.
“Storywriter” is a straight-on rock song with live drums, buzzing guitars and Nakamura Koji’s soothing croon. It would have been difficult tying that track in with “Warning Bell”, a non-descript techno song that precedes it, or “Aoharu Youth”, a mellow, ethereal track that follows.
On the whole, Highvision feels less cluttered than Futurama. Unlike the heavy-handed arrangements of “Fairway” or “White Surf Style 5”, tracks such as “Otogi Nation” and “Starline” breathe in the spaces not occupied by lots of strange effects.
At the same time, there’s something of a live component seemingly missing from Highvision. Drummer Tozawa Kodai feels buried, if not altogether lost, on “Warning Bell” and “Yumegiwa Last Boy”. Even with the drum machines, his presence felt more prominent on Futurama.
Supercar does leave some room for experiments. A chipmunk-voiced Furukawa Miki punctuates the drum ‘n’ bass ambience of “I” (no relation to the recently-released Buffalo Daughter album of the same title.)
“Strobolights” gets remixed for the album, those analog arpeggios that assaulted listeners on the single version are reigned in till midway through the song.
Although it’s hard not to cast Highvision in terms of Futurama, ultimately Highvision stands on its own. Its seemingly humble ambitions are no less tuneful or appealing than its predecessor.
Even the album’s relatively short length — 48 minutes — isn’t too much of a bother. Probably most important is the fact Supercar has managed to prove yet again that guitars and club beats go well together.
Given his uncanny ability to layer singable melodies over dissonant chords, Number Girl leader Mukai Shutoku could have gone in one of two directions: more accessible or more weird.
On Num-Heavymetallic, he’s definitely chosen the latter route.
Right from the start — with the title track opening the album — all is not normal. Guitarist Tabuchi Hisako grounds the track with an eerie arpeggio, over which drummer Ahito Inazawa plays a spare, dub beat. Inazawa also sings on the track, his voice wrung through an arsenal of effects.
“Inuzini” is no less weird, with shifting tempo and meter and muddy effects being the order of the day. The band even quotes one of its own songs, “Urban Guitar Sayonara”, at the end.
Hints of Number Girl’s experimental tendencies showed up on the pre-release single, “Num-Ami-Dabutz” — the chorus has a disco beat, a first for a Number Girl song.
(Trivial interjection: “Num-Ami-Dabutz” is a play on the phrase “namu amida Butsu”, which means “praise the Buddah”. That must mean the album’s title translates to “praise heavy metal”.)
By the middle of the album, Number Girl goes back to being the hyper-energetic punk band of its previous work, but not without a few tweaks to its fast-is-more work ethic.
“Cibbico-san” starts off with the double-time intensity that gave “Teppu Surudoku Natte” some guts, but half way through, the band switches tempo and changes the character of the song. Aside from Tabuchi’s reverb-heavy noodling, the song’s second half sounds almost pop.
“Tombo the electric bloodred” is so loud, digital clipping occurs at points in the track. Clipping is the digital studio equivalent of scratching nails on a chalkboard, but smack dab in the middle of a Number Girl song, it sounds almost downright appropriate.
“Fu-Si-Gi” trods along at a hulking pace, with thick, atonal chords punctuating the song, but at the end, Number Girl gets thrown down a hill, the song hurtling to a blur of a conclusion.
Dub seems to be a favorite rhythm for Mukai and Inazawa this time around.
The drummer is the most prominent accompanist on the reasonably mellow “delayed brain”, following the singer’s phrases with thoughtfully timed fills.
“Frustration in my blood” calls to mind the Police in the way the song alternates from a half-time reggae-like beat to a double-time punk beat.
Through all the twists and turns, Number Girl still delivers a passionate performance. Nowhere is this more apparent than on the album’s closer, “Kuromegachi na Shoojo”. Mukai practically screams himself apart. He and Cocco ought to hang out.
Num-Heavymetallic has a lot of neat, brainy things going on to make listeners scratch their heads and pay close attention. But in the end, it’s Number Girl’s ability to put on a riverting show that draws listeners in.
For all the weirdness on the album, it’s still about four people making music in the end.
I just needed to say that because a number of bands out there are bass guitar-deprived and don’t sound the worse for it. Sleater-Kinney, King Brothers and, of course, the White Stripes — bass-less all of them.
But take a few dozen listens to the Stripes’ White Blood Cells, and it’s not even apparent Jack and Meg White do without some musical foundation.
Jack White manages to make a mean bottom out of his crunchy guitar playing, and when Meg White stomps on that kick drum, it sounds positively thunderous.
The White Stripes’ music is something of a sonic conundrum — the pair make a really huge sound out of very minimal elements.
Thanks to a bit of overdubbing, the guitars on “Fell in Love with the Girl” and “I’m Finding it Hard to be Gentlemen” occupy some large aural real estate. As a result, the band’s uncluttered sound gives its classic rock riffage a beeline to a listener’s subconscious.
To use fewer $10 words, this shit’s got its hooks on.
Jack and Meg also know the value of dynamics. Where some bands are content just to start loud, play loud, end loud, the White Stripes know a whisper can be just as good as a scream.
“The Union Forever” builds gradually to an ugly, dissonant chord, only to break into a singing-talking middle section with Meg’s rimshot as the sole accompaniment.
Jack starts “Now Mary” with some sweet singing, only to be answered by a crash of guitars. The call-response play on “I Think I Smell a Rat” is almost Mozart-ian.
Knowing when to pull back makes the loud parts of the White Stripes’ music even more so. And trust me — this duo can get pret-ty, fuck-ing loud.
All these musical tricks aside, White Blood Cells is a good album for the simple reason that it has good songs. Melodic but aggressive, tender in some moments but seldom sentimental (with the exception of “We’re Going to Be Friends”).
White Blood Cells certainly deserves the accolades it’s so far garnered.
First, a disclosure: I never listened to Judy and Mary.
Given the group’s popularity and judging from the various clips on Sony’s web site, JAM didn’t seem to target my particular tastes.
And yet, there’s ample evidence singer Yuki was capable of far more than what Judy and Mary afforded her.
Yuki has worked with Chara on numerous occassions, mostly recently as dual drummers on the all-girl grunge band Mean Machine. She also teamed up with Kate Pierson of the B-52’s on NiNa.
It’s not surprising, therefore, to hear Yuki take full advantage of her freedom as a solo artist.
Prismic, Yuki’s debut solo album, is a cornucopia of divergent rock ‘n’ roll styles. From the rough-hewned indie rock of “The End of Shite” (written by Seagull Screaming Kiss Her Kiss Her’s Higurashi Aiha) to the reverb-drenched drama of “Noroi”, the raspy-voiced singer sets out to show she’s not beholden to stylistic boundaries.
Of course, that’s a cocky gamble for any artist to make. A jack of all trades is a master of none, and a singer who doesn’t strike the right balance between cohesion and diversity ends up sounding amateur.
Yuki manages to avoid that pitfall by keeping the overall of mood of the album loose and fun.
The bouncy “Sayonara Dance” may come from a different mindset than the grunge-y “I U Mee Him”, but Yuki ties both performances together by keeping them rough.
“Wakusei ni Nore” depends largely on a hyper-fast electronic beats, but it’s tempered by breaks of live guitar. Even the whimsical “Rainbow St.” featuring the Zoobombs’ Don gets a bit of gravity from a buzzing, distortion-filled chorus.
When Yuki ventures into more conventional pop territory, she still manages to sound unproduced. Her grainy voice infuses “Ai ni Ikite” with a rough passion, and she sounds simultaneously vulnerable and unflappable on “Furete Nemure”.
From track to track, Prismic switches from one sonic universe to another, but the glue holding it all together is Yuki’s singular voice. She keeps things less than polished, and it results in some really good rock ‘n’ roll.
If the singles preceding the release of hyde’s Roentgen were any indication, it seemed like L’Arc~en~Ciel’s enigmatic singer was trying to elbow in on Gackt’s action.
“Evergreen” and “Angel’s Tale” were soft, sentimental ballads propelled by pretty melodies and sweet guitar picking. In other words, they pandered to Japanese popular taste.
The release of a third single, “Shallow Sleep”, bode no better. The gutsy guitars certainly hinted hyde still had viscera but not enough to defy the demands of the Original Confidence charts.
Thankfully, Roentgen turns out to be much better than those singles let on. They’re probably the most forgettable tracks on the album — its real strength lies in all the other songs.
Roentgen is a beautifully dark work, seething with a sensuality not commonly associated with hyde’s parent band.
Although lush with strings, acoustic guitars and muted jazz trumpets, the album never feels cluttered, and most of the songs bubble to climax that seldom ever happens.
“Unexpected”, the album’s opener, doesn’t offer much melodically, but between hyde’s cool performance and the song’s understated arrangement, it sets the tone for everything else to come.
On “Oasis”, hyde’s near whisper matches the quiet intensity of the song, while “A Drop of Color” feels like a number straight out of film noir.
“The Cape of Storms” could have been a collaboration with Moulin Rouge composer Craig Armstrong, complete with symphony orchestra and tasteful electronica beats.
And if hyde overdubbed his voice 500 times on “White Song”, he could have affected a really good Enya.
With L’Arc~en~Ciel, hyde took every opportunity to show off his versatile falsetto, but with this dark, brooding album, the singer stays in the lower registers, where his voice takes on a fuller, resonant sound.
In short, Roentgen does a tremendous job playing up hyde’s strengths as a singer, while employing a modest but no less dramatic musical backdrop.
And it’s more than popular taste would ever require.
Only in Japan’s hyper-cyclical music industry can a band record three albums in two years and qualify for a retrospective album.
Even if Do As Infinity stuck to releasing a singles collection at this point, it would still fill a good hour of music.
Of course, retrospectives are tricky propositions — how does a band lure its most rabid fans to purchase songs they already own? Since the advent of compact disc technology, the answer is clear — bonus tracks with new songs, live recordings and rarities.
Do the Best is an apt title, not just for the quality of songwriting on the album but for what it offers fans and casual admirers alike.
Two new songs, “Hi no Ataru Sakamichi” and “nice & easy”, attempt to lure completists who need to own every single Do As Infinity song on the planet.
Released as a single, “Hi no Ataru Sakamichi” doesn’t offer anything the band hasn’t done before. The chrous almost follows the same contour as “Tooku Made”.
“nice & easy”, on the other hand, traffics in the effortless hard rock-pop Van Tomiko and company have mastered in the past three years. Not very many bands can dress up a blatant hook with grunge-y guitars.
More interesting are the live tracks which conclude the album. In the studio, Do As Infinity is totally fleshed out, complete with overdubbed guitars, vocals and an arsenal of keyboards.
The “Great Tour Band” songs, in contrast, are stripped down and practically unplugged. It’s Do As Infinity thinking they’re the Police circa 1978.
And these live versions give the songs new identities. “Tangerine Dream” turned from melancholy ballad to slow rocker with guts. “Bookenshatachi” transformed from studio experiment to red-hot jam. By contrast, “We are.” went from corny jumped-up jazz to a more suitable, wintery vibe.
Even the laid back reading of “Welcome!” manages to maintain the song’s original vibrancy.
Do the Best is rounded out by two album tracks, which is a curious choice given all the b-sides Do As Infinity could have tossed in those slots instead. “135” is a good song, but one of their best? That goes to “Raven”.
Despite its seemingly pre-mature release, Do the Best is a satisfying album. The live tracks alone are worth the effort for fans.
Avex Trax decided to copy-protect Do the Best in an effort to prevent fans from sharing the CD on file trading networks.
Allow me to disclose that I found all four live tracks and both new songs easily on said networks. After ripping the rest of the songs from the Do As Infinity CDs I already own, I pieced together my own copy of Do the Best.
I usually buy the CDs reviewed on this site, and I do intend to purchase a legitimate copy of Do the Best in the future. For review purposes, I went to the Internet.
The bassist’s new band shares pretty much nothing with his old band’s seminal sound.
Echobrain’s self-titled debut is, in fact, an unabashedly alternative rock album, chock full of listener-friendly melodies and post-grunge guitar work.
Singer/guitarist Dylan Donkin doesn’t seem to mind that Chris Cornell came before him. If anything, the trio has recorded the album Cornell should have three years ago.
“Keep Me Alive” has some fine Soundgarden-worthy moments, and it’s hard not to expect “Spoonfed” to sound like “Spoonman”. It doesn’t, by the way, but “Spoonfed” is still reminiscent of a Smashing Pumpkins outtake Billy Corgan stupidly ignored.
“Colder World”, on the other hand, calls to mind Fastball’s “The Way” — it’s probably that lo-fi-intro bursting into hi-fi thing at the start of the song.
Of course, tossing around the “G”-word nowadays is tantamount to saying around the word “disco” when New Wave was the shit. It’s a pejorative that really doesn’t apply in the case of Echobrain.
In between big guitar moments, the band makes room for lots of string-laced, psychedlic-tinged introspection. “We Are Ghosts” sounds what you might expect from its title, as does the conclusion to “Adrift”.
Shimmering guitars on “The Feeling Is Over” gives it a space-age feel, while “Suckerpunch” starts off unremarkably, then turns into a rocker’s epic.
Thankfully, Echobrain’s solid songwriting and the album’s non-flashy production saves it from any pitfalls of rock redundancy. Producer Brian Joseph Dobbs didn’t find any need to give Echobrain any sort of metallic sheen, and it works. These guys can show the Calling and Creed what the hell it’s all about.
Yes, folks — this is alternative rock the way you remember it. You know — when it didn’t suck?