Awakening (1982) - Hiroshi Sato featuring Wendy Matthews

Hiroshi Sato was part of the City Pop scene since its inception, but I never see him attributed with the same prestige or influence as the likes of Tatsuro Yamashita or Toshiki Kadomatsu. That said, his landmark album, 1982's Awakening, is about as classic a City Pop record as one could imagine, but in a far quirkier, organic and individual way than what could be expected from most other artists. Vastly ahead of its time, this work is an unlikely product of Sato's yearning for something he felt Japan could no longer afford him and a magnetism that continually drew him back to his musical roots. To Sato, it really was an awakening, because it represented a renewal of possibility, and the resulting work is one of the finest examples of genre fusion to come out of Japan that decade.

Long-time readers of this blog (who?) will know the value I place on an album with a succinct flavour, whose songs exist as part of a self-contained ecosystem. Awakening is very much one of these albums, but in such an imaginative and unusual way that fuses ideologies and tech to create something quite unique. At one end of the spectrum, there exist within the record slow, after-midnight, smoky jazz-club ballads, full of soul and emotion, centred around the acoustic piano. At the other end, we have the hyper-futurism of the Roland Jupiter 8 and the Linn LM-1 drum machine (I know, I know) which feel to be at the very frontier of music production, sounding almost otherworldly, let alone innovative. Such a fusion shouldn't work, but it's to Sato's credit that he had such inspiration and vision with this record, that he seemed to just make them work. The blend is inexplicably effortless. Even that drum machine, when incorporated with flush production value, choice timbre and carefully monitored accompaniment, can be part of a truly stylish, palatable yet avant-garde soundscape.*

*I maintain that Prince had no place using it in Sign 'O' The Times, feeling more of a convenience in his case, whereas for Hiroshi Sato it feels integral to his overall concept.

1. Say Goodbye
2. Blue And Moody Music (Wendy's Version)
3. Only A Love Affair
4. Blue And Moody Music
5. Awakening
6. It Isn't Easy
7. I Can't Wait
8. Love And Peace
9. You're My Baby
10. From Me To You
    (Exempt from total score: Awakening (覚醒) )

Total Points: 30/50
Average Score: 6.0

Say Goodbye is about as close to a City Pop anthem as you can get, yet its sound actually encroaches more on the contemporary 'future-funk' offshoot from the last decade. Though the staple of funky guitar fills are prevalent, as well as Awakening's signature semi-automated arpeggiated motif, it's the introduction of Sato's robotic vocoder-processed voice and the wobbly low synths that project this song so far into the future. This combination makes for a distorted, submerged-under-water feel that evokes the kind of overproduction that has only really come about since City Pop was rediscovered in the internet age, messing with its bare bones and 'retrofuturising' the music within a new context. Here, the heavy affectation to the tones create a bubble around the relatively simple song, making it the most immersive moment on the record.

Collaborating with Australian singer Wendy Matthews for multiple vocal tracks was a key factor in the album's blanket mood of genre-mashed sophistication. Her clear, high voice performs a careful balancing act with Sato's deep, rich tone, and the whole album feels like the most grown-up of duets. Their two separate versions of Blue And Moody Music act as opposing ends of the electronic-acoustic spectrum - and though both are magnificent, the rendition with Wendy's vocals trumps it for me; the brighter, perkier sound bypasses the literal content of the lyrics and cuts straight to the feeling they're trying to convey. Her voice is an exquisite fit for another highlight, Only A Love Affair, in which she passionately but sagaciously confesses her irrepressible love for someone, as the coolest of electric pianos tinkles around her vocals. The song is restrained, chic and perhaps the most refined on the album, whilst still feeling very much part of the same world as the thick, competing layers of Say Goodbye.

Though it's true that I applaud how effectively Sato was able to marry acoustic jazz with pioneering electronica, I will say that every track errs one way more than the other, and it is unfortunately those jazzier influenced ballads that I feel are weaker. They are undoubtedly beautiful in their moodiness, but that moodiness is a double-edged sword; at worst, they're sluggish, dense and drowsy. It Isn't Easy, when isolated, manages to ride the soul to a greater degree of success than the rest, but is mildly hampered by its positioning directly after the equally-slowly-paced I Can't Wait. Furthermore, its aloofly virtuoso piano solo is offset by the overarching prevalence of a particularly lumpy pentatonic scale motif, feeling a little too remedial of a focus when in such a high class of music production.

While City Pop contemporary Tatsuro Yamashita (who, incidentally, plays guitar throughout Awakening) is obsessed with the Beach Boys, Hiroshi Sato always had something of a hyper-fixation with another western entity - The Beatles. Barely an album surfaced without a slightly awkward cover of one of their more overlooked songs, their original 60's sound rejected in favour of synthesisers and clunky 16-beat rhythms, attempting to update them for the 1980's. Sato always had great melodic and harmonic instincts, a vivid imagination and an excellent grasp of the English language; by this logic, these covers shouldn't be ill-advised disasters. Unfortunately though, these strengths are hard-countered by a frequent lack of restraint, a desire to constantly push the envelope, and a preoccupation with unnecessarily reworking old material (others' and his own alike). The results were often shambolic arrangements full of mad, goofy-sounding synth sounds, that stink of trying to fix something that isn't broken. From Me To You is no exception, sounding rather like a demo playing out of a Casio midi keyboard. Its slowed-down pace renders the music patchy and insubstantial, and the poor choice of song turns the sophisticated and modern vibe from the rest of the album utterly on its head, this track absolutely lacking synergy with the rest of the material.

The aforementioned envelope pushing is perhaps the reason why I don't harbour as much love for Sato's subsequent works, which are far more synth-heavy and clumsy, despite his ever-prevalent skilfulness as a programmer and producer. Awakening marks an interesting juncture in his career, freshly back from America (a point of significance for many City Pop artists), increasingly interested in where technology could take him and the boundaries it would broaden, but still wanting to scratch an itch that existed from a time where his music was more atmospheric and acoustic. It is this in-between-ness that perhaps makes this album such a standout, not just to myself but in the general view of City Pop connoisseurs. Marriage of cultures and genres has always been elemental to City Pop, but never has it been quite so exploratory and to such serendipitous effect. There is, quite simply, nothing else like it.

Sunshower (1977) - Taeko Onuki

It feels crazy to think it today, but Sunshower by Taeko Onuki was not a commercial success upon its initial release in 1977. Disliked by her record company and underperforming in sales compared to her 1976 debut, Sunshower sounds like it was the black sheep of Onuki's discography until the western world was introduced to City Pop in the late 2010s. The very definition of a sleeper hit, it gradually gained more traction with the genre's exposure to a new audience. Now, several rereleases later, it is considered a landmark City Pop record, a true melding of some of Japan's greatest musical minds and a must-have in any enthusiast's library.

Instantly recognisable to many as 'the one with the girl in front of the washing machine' on the cover (even though it's actually just a round window), Sunshower is one of the most 'alive' records I can think of. There's a real sense of 'everythingness' to it, and despite being a 'crossover' work of both eastern and western influence, this immersion in the thick of life and ability to break it apart and observe its fragments feels like a succinctly Japanese sensibility. To me, it's akin to the work of photographer Rinko Kawauchi, whose beautifully captured snapshots of often unremarkable moments speak of minute details and the rush of life all at once, and purvey both a corporeal matter-of-factness and a kind of ethereal magic within them. That is how listening to Sunshower makes me feel. I've talked previously about the time-travelling capabilities of City Pop, but with no other record can I mentally place myself so palpably within an album's specific universe.

1. Summer Connection
2. Tokai
3. Dare No Tame Ni
4. Karappo No Iso
   
5. Furiko No Yagi
6. Nani Mo Iranai
7. Silent Screamer
8. Law Of Nature
9. Kusuri O Takasan
10. Sargasso Sea

Total Points: 32/50
Average Score: 6.4

The album kicks off with Summer Connection, the opening bars of which are a cockerel's crow to wake the listener up to an idyllic song full of breezy momentum and cheery string flourishes. Onuki's nonchalant and unadorned vocal style is at its most carefree and innocent when accompanied by the track's perky yet chilled out instrumentation. After this tremendous opener, a tonal shift occurs, and we start to see how Sunshower is a tour of emotions and moods that echoes the various facets of not only a hazy summer's day, but of Onuki's curiously diverse range. Delicate moments such as Dare No Tame Ni and Karappo No Isu act as serene, private contemplations in the cool of the shade, the latter of which drifts and drops into the ears with almost accidental-sounding phrasing akin to Fleetwood Mac's Albatross. In another moment, Tokai brings us back into the sunlight and the buzz of a city, of people bustling and numerous intertwining happenings, further exemplified in the busy but untangled layers of instrumentation, from waspy synths to bouncy bass guitar.

Above all, Onuki's voice resonates with simplicity above the music, whether it be the babbling crowd of a full orchestral arrangement or a stripped back jazz band set-up. Even with the legendary Ryuchi Sakamoto's input thoroughly detectable throughout the album's DNA, the record comes across as distinctly personal to Onuki, and without a shred of an English lyric present for me to understand. Onuki has an ability to project her sole presence with her voice, in a remarkably isolated way, even while a host of Japan's most renowned and talented musicians relish in their combined virtuosity beside her. Their instruments become the drifting thoughts behind Onuki's vocalised observations, the songs her own private and intimately shared meditations, regardless of the harmonious collaborative effort involved in their making.

In terms of expression and adjustment of mood, the tracks I've not rated so highly manage everything my best scorers do. On a structural level, I find Law of Nature and Kurusi O Takasan less interesting, a bit stagnant with their arrangement. While their flutes and rattling rhythm sections do wonders for conveying a kind of inquisitive scrutiny of, respectively, a societal desire for naturalness or over-prescription of medication, they're simply not as pleasing as Karappo No Isu's moody sunset saxophone or the brilliant burgeoning drums during Furiko No Yagi's climax. Onuki's vocals are no less perceptibly melancholy or resolute in Sargasso Sea than in any other track; it is just a harder listen. Bare in rhythm and experimental in timbre and arrangement, you can't 'kick back' to this one like you can with the rest of the album - it exists to make you feel, but in stark and still way, removed from syncopation, electric piano flares or bold, brass section stabs.

Before concluding, I feel it would be negligent not to mention a couple of songs that would be further highlights if not for their status as bonus content on various rereleases of the album: the light and sanguine Heya, an aestival b-side to the single release of Summer Connection, and Kōryō, a fragile and despairing duet with Masataka Matsutoya created for his 1977 debut album 夜の旅人 = Endless Flight. These songs act as additional isolated moments in our summer daydream, effortlessly complementing the album's overall ambience in a way that makes me lament that they are not integral to its original lineup.

Sunshower feels like City Pop at its most raw, far removed from the flashiness of mid-80's, bang-in-the-middle of the economic bubble City Pop that is often at the forefront of the genre. It is every bit as polished, but clearly part of an earlier generation, much more organic and undiscerning in approach - still very much a meshing of eastern and western elements, but expressed in way that feels so void of thought, simply and purely as if straight from the soul to the ear. Like Kawauchi's photography, it speaks of life in an all-encompassing fashion because it is so direct and unfussy, unglazed with contrived staging or special lighting. I love letting this album wash over me, barely perceiving it in a conscious way, simply absorbing its ebbs and flows and allowing my mind to wander without rein. It has grown on me more and more because with each listen I bathe in its atmosphere and gain more from simply relaxing into it than I do from intentionally picking apart it's nuances. As much as I felt it necessary to review, that's not what Sunshower is for; listen to it with your body and your soul, not your mind, and you'll be able soak up all of its glorious light just as I have done.

Sexy Robot (1983) - Hitomi 'Penny' Tohyama

Considering that one of my main goals with this blog was to find a way of integrating City Pop with my favourite western music, I think it's high time I looked at another record from that particular region and era. Sexy Robot by Hitomi 'Penny' Tohyama (who from now on, as her debut album implores, I'll just call 'Penny') is quite a different take on the broad and blurry-bordered umbrella term of City Pop when compared with the previously reviewed For You by Tatsuro Yamashita, but it is no less quintessential to the genre. It simply showcases another side of it - the roots and influences come from similar places, and ultimately both albums boil down to being outstanding products of the 1980's Japanese economic bubble. While busy exporting brands to the western world that we now consider household names, something of a cultural exchange was occurring without us ignorant westerners even noticing, with Japanese musicians borrowing from soul, disco, funk and pop, and infusing with it their own sensibilities and the latest technologies. The results were, as you may expect, both extremely varied and oftentimes very transparently referential. 

When you listen to certain (excuse the colloquialism, but I need to be frank) bangers from Sexy Robot, it's hard not to let a part of your mind guiltily think of the music as derivative. If you've ever lurked such dark and hostile corners of the internet as City Pop themed reddit pages, you'll have seen posts about how artists like Toshiki Kadomatsu have 'ripped off' forgotten 12" bass riffs from the 70's. You'll click on the link and listen, and think to yourself with immense reluctance, having thought your Japanese discovery was a work of original genius, "yeah, ok, that is almost identical actually". The most glaring parallel when it comes to Penny's music is Wanna Kiss, whose thudding bassline is the fraternal twin of Queen's Another One Bites The Dust. I didn't notice until I saw one of these obsequious posts pointing it out, the commenter almost salacious in trying to discredit Penny's song, and now the comparison has forever (admittedly, mildly) tainted Wanna Kiss in my mind as a known imitation, no matter how much I adore it and how much effort I can see has been put into making it unique and wonderful in its own right.

But here's the thing: who fucking cares? In addition to such melodramatic exposé-type posts on these often insufferable forums, largely kept aground by Gen Z-ers hiding behind excessive emojis and memes, you'll also find posts of 'new' music, praising acts like The Weekend for 'sampling' Tomoko Aran's Midnight Pretenders (sampling is an understatement, it's basically taking the track unaltered and singing over it) and 'bringing it to a new audience', as if the majority unfamiliar with Tomoko Aran's original track would even consider that he didn't come up with it himself. And you can guarantee they'll be the same people who prefer the 'slow and reverb' version of an Anri song, or gush about bootleggers like Macross 82-99's bare-minimum remixes of 80's tracks being passed off as their own work, without due credit to their original sources. In my opinion, these are far worse crimes than a bit of light musical imitation - these are bonafide regurgitations! City Pop exists because of its western influence. I'd much rather listen to something independently generated from Japan that sounds a lot like (for example) Kiss by Prince than something that literally steals and recycles and bastardises a heartfelt article of musicianship and turns it into a mangled effigy of something that was once pure. I have no problem with sampling, but when the line is crossed and these lazy 'mixes' are passed off as new creations by new artists, it boils my blood. Especially when the whole movement is carried by zoomer trolls with moral compasses so warped by modern concepts like cancel culture that they can't see any kind of evil or injustice that isn't based solely within political correctness.

Ok, rant over. Let's rank this shit!

1. Wanna Kiss
2. Let's Talk In Bed
3. We Are In The Dark
4. Tuxedo Connection
5. Be Mine
6. Sexy Robot
7. Cathy
8. Behind You
9. Try To Say
10. Slow Love

Total Points: 29/50
Average Score: 5.8

Before the advent of the compact disc, it wasn't uncommon for albums to be divided in theme by their sides of play. Overt examples are Kate Bush's Hounds Of Love or, to stay on theme, Mariya Takeuchi's Miss M. While not explicitly annotated as such, what would be 'side A' of Sexy Robot on vinyl or cassette is definitely the more upbeat, danceable half of a clear division, while the second half of the album is slower in pace and much more soulful. While both halves are smoothly but boldly rendered and certainly not disparate, the division itself between the two moods feels a little jarring. Also, the first part is just so much catchier and alive! Of course the slower, moodier side is going to waver somewhat after listening to the strutting, fun, outspoken flamboyance displayed across the first five tracks - there's no escaping this. And it's not a criticism as such, more just an observation, and something of a justification for why my ranking echoes the two halves of the record so closely, with just the middle-most two tracks saving the order from dividing the songs down the middle in the same two parts as the actual tracklist.

Putting any derivation aside, Wanna Kiss is still my top-rated track, and it's a blunt, booming spectacle of sophisticated, refined disco, brought up-to-date for the 80s, with a synth bass laying down the foundations for more experimental ancillary electronic fills. These sounds, by today's standards, are almost retro-futuristic, the wonky, artificial timbres verging on cute or humorous. But just before they reach the level of comical, they evoke the bygone era - that familiar safetynet of nostalgia for something you were never part of that City Pop manages to oh-so-often conjure - and you're transported to a time and a place where these quirks aren't quirks at all, but part of the biome of the music. Along with Wanna Kiss, the confident yet coquettish, partially rapped Let's Talk In Bed carries a kind of restrained sparseness in its musical arrangement, foreshadowing the conventions of modern-day r&b. Reinforcing their western inspiration, songs such as this one and Tuxedo Connection use English lyrics to punctuate the cosmopolitan soundscape with references to alcohol and sexual attraction, selling the record as a soundtrack to a hedonistic and aspirational lifestyle, exemplary of the aforementioned economic bubble long before it was due to burst.

Penny's voice matches the music well - there's something a little ham-fisted about the way she sings, exuberant and verging on brassy, but a gentler or more restrained singer would risk being overshadowed by all of the cutting-edge synths and such. By competing with the instrumentation a little, her voice's boldness wins out and actually reinforces the prevalent themes of confidence and frivolity, and her decisive, expressive phrasing makes sure the spotlight remains on her vocals. That said, she's never uncompromising to the point of being detrimental; when a mellower vocal is needed, such as for the silken and understated We Are In The Dark or one of the more heartfelt tracks in the second half, she is able to rein it in and channel her power into emotion. Penny's voice, to me, feels more typical of a musical theatre or cabaret singer than someone making pop records. But her personality and its placement within the bubble-era zeitgeist is what makes it work, and the result is an unorthodox but striking sound that really distinguishes her from her 1980's peers.

With all the fandango around electronics and drum machine, the music can, at stages, feel a little clumpy and overly automated. The title track suffers from this in particular; despite its distinctive hook and zealous vocal performance, the four bars of solo drum machine at the 2:13 mark do it zero favours, tipping the balance from state-of-the-art sophistication to sounding like it was homemade on a primitive home computer and saved onto a floppy disc. Luckily, the virtuoso guitar and key contributions throughout, from the likes of multiple other City Pop dignitaries such as Makoto Matsushita and Hiroyuki Nanba, bring the music back down to earth and, alongside Penny's singing, insert some much-needed corporeality into what could easily have been quite a robotic affair. Of all the album's offerings, I found Slow Love to be the weakest - assumedly some kind of relaxed, modern take on Motown, but bumbling and quite diluted, and not suited to Penny's ability to bring the levels of drama achieved in the comparably epic closer Be Mine, or any of the funky jams from the first half.

 

It can sometimes be difficult to know where to start with certain artists, especially when it comes to City Pop, with Penny herself having made too many albums to count on both hands, and a lot of her repertoire similar in flavour. Sexy Robot feels perhaps the most exemplary of her vivacious, flirty, courageous side, and is definitely the harder hitting sibling of her other 1983 release Next Door, which touches on these strengths but pulls several of its punches and feels a little 'naff' at times. This overarching cheapness is something that does unfortunately find its way into other examples of Penny's work, but is largely avoided when she opts for a more acoustic accompaniment (see Just Call Me Penny and Five Pennys). However, with these albums, her unique brand of charismatic, girly confidence is lacking, and the themes of luxury and pleasure-seeking take a backseat. Only with Sexy Robot are all of Penny's biggest strengths able to be experienced without compromise, making it the perfect entry level album to help decide what in her discography to explore next.

I know I spent a little longer on this review than others (not least because I got sidetracked by my resentment of modern appropriation of my favourite musical genre) but hopefully it has been informative and beguiling and not just fanatic rambling. I think it's pretty obvious from the length and depth I went into, as well as the sheer quantity of hyperlinks to discogs pages, that this is something of an area of passion for me. If it inspires anyone to listen to some City Pop, for the first time or the umpteenth, or even just piques your interest or sets off a spark somewhere in your brain, then I am happy.

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.