For You (1982) - Tatsuro Yamashita

I could sit here for hours and reel off essays attempting to describe the type of music that westerners refer to as 'City Pop' and would still not be able to settle on a definition that satisfies everyone. Such a definition doesn't exist. City Pop is such an abstract concept, that pulls from so many different tropes and traits of bonafide genres (not to mention real-world social, political and historical context) that it is impossible to transpose into words. It is a blanket term, that spans so much yet seems to apply to so little, and I don't want to spend half a review trying to pinpoint its essence. Tatsuro Yamashita is often cited online as the 'King of City Pop' -  and just to point out how infuriatingly nebulous this label is, Tatsuro himself only became aware of its coinage in the late 2010s, several decades after his heyday as a recording artist. For now, all I want to do is establish that his 1982 album For You is a quintessential example of City Pop, whatever the hell that is.

As much as I find it impossible to define the genre, it isn't so difficult to point out the factors that contribute to this album's status as a City Pop classic. We'll start with the bold, stylised cover art, depicting Tatsuro standing next to a commercial white building in what is clearly a sunny part of America (idyllic Californian scenes and The Beach Boys being notable influences on his work), overlaid with Memphis-esque confetti squiggles, a design quirk firmly embedded in the 80s. The music is everything you'd expect it to be looking at this artwork - carefree and understated, yet precisely arranged with immaculate production; not a single note has been neglected or merely 'settled for'. For an early 80s record, the sound comes across as remarkably fresh by today's standards, which is a testament to the crystal-clear precision and polish that was somehow achieved without an over-reliance on synths or drum machines. No outdated or gimmicky electronics antiquate the sound, Korg keyboards are used only sparingly, and are so subtle you barely notice them.

His signature blend of sumptuously layered vocal harmonies, funky rhythm guitar passages and pithy slap bass is at its most finessed, this record showcasing just how breathable and digestible such complex structures can be. With his trademark sound applied to thematically simple songs about everyday life and love, the result is an undeniable slice of Tatsuro-flavoured City Pop, that makes for breezy, uncomplicated listening with a feel-good energy.

Let's see how I've rated each track:

1. Love Talkin' (Honey It's You)
2. Sparkle
3. Music Book
4. Loveland, Island
5. Your Eyes
6. Morning Glory
7. Futari
8. Hey Reporter!
   (Exempt from total score: Interludes A&B, Parts I&II)

Total Points: 26/40

Average Score: 6.5

For You kicks off with the textural delight that is Sparkle, full of bright and gorgeously balanced instrumentation. Like many of the tracks, there is nothing cloudy or contorted about the layers - every individual part can be picked out easily and appreciated on its own merit. Music Book follows, with a light, ambling tempo and a sunny and fancy-free vibe evocative of a summer drive in an open-top car; this kind of leisurely vision is something I can't help but picture when listening to the record, especially if I'm on the road. The apogee of the album is undoubtedly Love Talkin' (Honey It's You), which is so transparently straightforward and unabashedly sweet that its six minutes drift by like a funk-fuelled daydream. Thrice in the song does Tatsuro croon the somewhat sappy lyric 'honey, I love you' over the constant, strolling beat, and with each occurrence the length of time he holds the word 'love' is doubled; small touches like this demonstrate just how carefully built his music is.

At worst, the songs could come off as saccharine - the closing track Your Eyes being particularly at risk with its sugary English lyrics and chords sustained with gradients of melodrama - but luckily the album's overall sophistication manages to diminish this outlook. Lowlights would have to include Futari, which is harmless enough but a little dragging in its repetition near the end, and Hey Reporter!, which essentially feels like an imposter. Clunkier in tone, with jaunty, nonchalant vocals and far more abrasive timbres, there's nothing wrong with it as such - it just doesn't fit. A far better substitute would be the elegant and heady single release あまく危険な香り(usually translated as Dangerous Scent), which is thankfully available on modern remasters as a bonus track.

Calling For You innocuous could be seen as a rather backhanded take, but this comes from a belief that the album could slide quite affably into the soundtrack of anyone's midsummer drive or social barbecue without causing a stir. If heard on the radio, I doubt the songs would prompt anyone to change channel - one might even end up whistling along or listening out for the name of the artist. It's innocuous, but not to its own detriment - anyone who is drawn to take a closer look into those beautifully crafted layers will be able to discover the brilliance hidden in plain sight. Next time you've got a commute in hot weather, wind down your window, pop this on your stereo and let the music brighten up your day just that little bit more.

Homogenic (1997) - Björk

When it comes to albums, my fascination goes a little bit deeper than the kind of instinctual musical predilection present in us all. Instilled in me since uni is the specialness of bringing together a collection of singulars in an act of curation, to tell a story, to get the right balance and through line, to create an entity that is more than just a list of works reeled off in an unspecified and inconsequential order. This is why, whenever I make a playlist, I've been known to spend weeks or even months engineering the perfect flow through selection and order, because it makes all the difference when played from start to finish.

This is something I treasure within albums. Nothing makes me happier in music than when it's clear that an album was fully conceptualised, and in fruition is restrained, fluid and of one singular flavour. The latter in particular - instrumentation, mood and style that fits together that feels as one - is, for me, the crux of an exemplary album, This might sound something of a moot point to the average rock fan or classical enthusiast, where the consistent set of equipment and sole production team being used to create the music dictates a kind of uniform from the offset. But in electronic albums (and more widely, pop), this is not a given. It's a choice. And one that Björk took to heart on the creation of her third* studio album.

*fourth if you count her 1977 eponymous Iceland-exclusive childhood record, which I do not

Homogenic was thusly named due to Björk's desire to create an album with 'a simple sound' and 'only one flavour'. Her prior albums, Debut and Post, are far more eclectic, presenting like musical tapas, with Björk picking and choosing, going back and forth between a scattering of unique influences, from state-of-the-art electronica to traditional acoustic instrumentation. These efforts were examples of a musician who was having fun in finding herself as a solo artist, and relishing in the areas that gave her joy. Homogenic though, instantly feels more grown-up, more stable and more special, and I believe this is entirely down to the strictness with which the concept of uniform flavour was adhered to. Everything, from the 'volcanic', piston-like beats to the soaring string arrangements, comes together in unity, presenting a strong but dynamic (remarkably never monotonous or boring) cast that allows the individual tracks to shine within a perfectly bespoke framework. Even the artistic direction emphasises this unity, the steely exterior casing opening up to reveal rich, cyber-organic innards, presenting the whole package as a protective bubble, housing a kind of self-sustaining ecosystem of music.

While I admire this overarching trait, it is equally important to consider the individual tracks - after all, this is the foundation upon which my system is based. I'll keep this in the sidebar for future reference but, as this is the first implementation of it, I'll place it here too:

Blue (5pts) - God tier
Green (4pts) - Excellent and memorable
Amber (3pts) - Perfectly serviceable
Orange (2pts) - Inoffensive filler
Red (1pt) - Unlistenable, best skipped
Uncoloured (0pts) - Exempt/Ineligible for rating (e.g. interludes & hidden tracks)

Now for the tough part. Be kind, internet:

1. Jóga
2. Alarm Call
3. Hunter
4. 5 Years
5. Bachelorette
6. Unravel
7. Immature
8. All Neon Like
9. All Is Full Of Love
10. Pluto

Total Points: 30/50
Average Score: 6.0

For an album that, just a few seconds ago, I praised to high heaven for representing something of a gold standard for me, 6 might look a rather low mark out of a possible maximum of 10. Firstly, I need to make the point that in order for an album to boast a perfect score, every single track needs to be 'God tier', and this is pretty much an impossibility. In fact, I have a feeling that more than a single blue track on any given album is going to be noteworthy. Think of them as my version of Michelin stars. So, in effect, two blue tracks is quite something for me. Jóga is an obvious choice for this accolade - powerful lyrics and timbres amalgamate, majestically evoking the landscapes of Björk's native Iceland. Alarm Call, however, isn't one of her more iconic tracks - not nearly as iconic as the extremely low rated All Is Full Of Love - which brings me onto my next point...

In any project that is, to such incredible effect, a fully-realised and 'one flavour' article, there are going to be difficult choices about what makes the final cut. In a case like this, omissions are as important as inclusions, and when faced with multiple versions of songs, choosing one over another can be a crucial decision. The penultimate track, Pluto, is a hard listen, with its dark, industrial beats and filtered vocals, and while it still manages to feel like part of the ecosystem, it is extremely stark and abrasive when you've listened to 8 comparatively congenial tracks before it. All Is Full Of Love follows, and producer Howie B's version was probably selected to emphasise the feeling of a 'fresh start' after Pluto's themes of destruction. Lacking the signature beat style present elsewhere, this version instead is full of unbearably shrill torrents of what sounds like a flock of electronic birds flying overhead, and a bassline that is most accurately likened to the sound you experience when your ears are too full of wax and you can hear your pulse in them. Björk's sublime, raw and mighty vocals are the sole saving grace, and the only reason I've not rated it dead last.

The fact that there exists a far superior, more magical, more palatable version, which would have absolutely integrated with the album's soundscape, makes the chosen mix something of a tragedy in my eyes. However, herein exists a classic case of swings and roundabouts - my other album highlight, the bouncing and bombastic Alarm Call, could not be described as such in its incarnation as a single. Inexplicably sped up, amped down and bounce well and truly stunted, the single version's production does nothing to reinforce the lyrics which express a desire to 'go to a mountain top, with a radio and good batteries, and play a joyous tune'. I feel a bullet was dodged that this mix was not included in the album, and it is a true shame that the version I love so much was shunned in favour of such a flaccid replacement for individual release and could not be known to a wider audience.

In typical Björk style, Homogenic boasts an incredible breadth of emotional and musical range - the introspective contemplation and ambient piano phrases of Immature at one end, the ambitious scale and grandiosity of Bachelorette and Jóga at the other. The latter are collaborations with Icelandic poet Sjón, who Björk worked with to come up with 'epic' lyrics, and whose poetic virtuosity has been periodically employed in her songwriting over the years. It is a testament to the album's atmospheric continuity that such diverse songs can resonate in conjunction without conflict. As well as the strong-handed creative direction, it is Björk's confidence and conviction that really enables this synergy between the tracks.

Homogenic is a shining, critically acclaimed album, which is never too far away from your average music zine's GOAT lists, and is a timeless and enduring staple of many a music collection. Hopefully I have conveyed my agreement with this consensus, despite my gripes with some of the later tracks. To many, it is Björk's magnum opus, and I certainly can't argue that the record adeptly encapsulates the qualities she is best celebrated for - her childlike charm is as prevalent as her emotional awareness, the interpretation of her messages is meticulous and her voice is at its most expressive. For a first review, I must admit that it's rather a superfluous one, because you don't need a review to understand that this album is a masterpiece. I knew that the first time I listened. But perhaps, through my garbled and scantily-informed analysis, you'll give it a spin and see it in a way you might not have thought of before.

Reincarnation/The Future of the Blog for a Future Generation

Cast your mind back to 2010. You're browsing Blogger and you stumble upon the creative diary of a quirky teenage student. You can see, from the striking .PNG banner which enables the unusual effect of semi-transparency, that it is entitled 'Blog For A Future Generation'. It's full of this teenager's WIP photography projects, frequent instalments of his desperately derivative Youtube content, scathing paragraphs of unsolicited shit-talking and, occasionally, the odd album review.

Perhaps something (I couldn't imagine what) compelled you to subscribe, and you've somehow managed to maintain a vague commitment to this platform over the following decade. Personally, I assumed it had long been bought out and shut down. And now here you are, startled by the apparition of an out-of-the-blue post from a blog you'd long condemned to the darkest recesses of your brain.

Let me give you the full story of how we got to where we are.

I decided, shortly after quitting my job as an NHS 111 Health Advisor, that I wanted to write. Not as a career (I'm not one for freelancing!) but as a hobby, to help distract from any future work-induced doldrums. I'm an imaginative and literate person with an above-par vocabulary, and I didn't want to leave these attributes to waste any longer. Initially the plan was to write a novel. But the conscious effort I've made in recent years to read more books (and the subsequent discovery of incredible literature that I know I could never live up to) has somewhat deterred me from this idea. Still, though, I wanted to write. So I got myself a Wordpress account. That's what people use to write these days, no?

I was immediately confronted by the insistence of a username. I went with a frequently used alias. Now I was being pressured to come up with a domain name. I went with the aforementioned alias .wordpress or whatever the extension is for the free default option. Then it wanted a title. I closed the tab at this point, having not yet decided what I wanted to write. I'd signed up on a whim and, truth be told, I felt somewhat assaulted by these demands for immediate nomenclature. I recalled my only previous semi-successful attempt at keeping a blog, something about a future generation, taken from a Chicks On Speed song that I didn't at the time know was a cover of the B-52s, despite it featuring most notably on an EP called 'Chix-52'. 'Blog For A Future Generation' - it was a dumb name, I certainly wouldn't be repurposing it.

Over the next few days, I was harassed by automated emails, encouraging me to continue the creation of my new blog, and each time another one came through, I tried to think what on earth I wanted to write about. Again, my mind kept drifting back to my only previous semi-successful attempt at keeping a blog, trying to remember what I used to post. I recalled a painfully ill-informed collection of posts about cyberpunk - these days, one Sprawl Trilogy and a Matrix later, I cringe at the thought of considering myself some kind of aficionado on the matter, when I now realise I've still not amounted to more than a mere novice. The only other thing I could remember were music reviews. I didn't remember the actual albums I'd appraised, but I remembered the system I used to do so - tracks were rated in order of preference, and colour-coded for easy categorisation.

Having been a longtime dweller on 'what my all-time favourite album is', I started to think about how this colour-coding could actually be implemented practically. If the colours represented preference, perhaps I could assign each colour a value, therefore giving each album a total score which could be averaged and used for comparison, in turn quantifying the qualitative data I was collecting. Furthermore, a recent foray (recent as in about the same amount of time I've been a novel reader, since around 2017) into Japanese pop music of the 80s, retroactively umbrella'd under the term 'City Pop', has had me itching to speak about the subject for quite some time. But my struggle to mentally integrate this genre into the eclectic sea of 'other music' I'm interested in has prevented me from doing so thus far. But a blog with a systematic tiering solution would be ideal for comparing all the music together. It just needed, as Wordpress kept reminding me, a name. I settled on 'The Sound System'.

Wordpress, I soon discovered, is an impractical and impenetrable Rubik's cube of a website. Several features are obscured behind mysterious paywalls, with very little indication to a layman of what unlocking them will actually facilitate. Demos make basic operations look simple, but illogical layouts, unexplained terminology and a maze-like 'structure' soon render any tutorials useless. Worst of all, googling the solutions to your rudimentary queries is utterly futile, as even the most recent of troubleshooting guides (labeled 2021) are outdated, and the screencaps used as an example do not even begin to correspond to the latest 'version' that you're desperately trying to navigate.

Frustration overcoming me, I gave up. If I couldn't simply individually colour items in a list, the whole idea would be snuffed. Then it hit me in the face - I could simply do this. I'd done it before! I googled 'Blogger' and found that not only did it still exist but that, presumably through the magic of Google accounts linking together, I was already logged in and ready to go! I had a quick skim - it was every bit as cringe-worthy as expected, but my flare and verbal prowess were both sharper than I'd recalled. If all this can be archived, I thought, I'll settle here. Fuck Wordpress.

And here we are. All previous posts 'redrafted' (not deleted, you never know when you'll need something from the archive) and the blog soon to be visually transformed with a slightly less ostentatious fascia. And renamed, of course, to match its repurposing. And so it's time for the Blog For A Future Generation to climb into the time capsule, to be forgotten by all civilisation and never unearthed again. Whether or not the reader of this new venture is of a future generation, I hope you'll join me on whatever this new musical journey turns out to be. Let's be honest though, it sounds like it'll probably be tediously formulaic.

Oh, and yes. Blogger is so much easier to use. Once again, fuck Wordpress.