Available at Amazon Japan
| Loves. - JM |
| Ahia
Higurashi's work has been nothing if not an ongoing refinement of the
struggle between love, lust, anger and fear, all wrapped up in a ball
of openly acknowledged insecurity. Those four elements are hardly novel
in the world of music (or any arts, for that matter,) but her
directness in expressing one while being drawn to another is so
unflinching and (ironically) unselfconscious that she doesn't seem to
be performing so much as confessing. Confessions in music aren't
exactly novel either, but with Higurashi, it's all so unambiguous; no
metaphors or sly asides here. Her songs are so clearly inspired by her
up to the minute real life that they often seemed less like songs and more like
cries for help. This came to a head in last year's
so-nakedly-honest-it's-painful solo album Perfect Days. As arguably the
most openly confessional album in a career full of them, it was
strangely appropriate that she would forgo her typical chaotic
80s-esque pop slant for the standard issue confessional acoustic guitar
and voice. Coming after that effort, JM, the new album from her band Loves. (the
period is part of the name) seems a bit dressed up. But ultimately this
return to bigger, punchier sonics adds a distancing layer that
emphasizes the hurt; if Perfect Days was the tearful breakdown, JM is
the brave face that's put on afterwards. The group's tough, slithery mix of no wave art damage and soaring pop sells the conflicting emotions beautifully. Higurashi, and Loves., are getting progressively better at hitting their targets, so much so that taken as a whole, the vast musical ground covered by JM doesn't come off as quite so vast. The snotty, insolent strut of "Brain Washer," the Gary Numan electro of "Cinderellaize," the Judas Priest meets basement thrash of the title track and the 80s-John-Hughes-movie glide of "Call Me," taken separately, sound like they come from four different bands that would never share a stage, let alone appear on the same album. But they make perfect sense in the flow of JM, and not just musically; the disc jumps sure-footedly from one headspace to another, just like Higurashi's lyrics. This is embodied in the really-should-be-the-single "Book Of Love." A thumping, sneaky rhythm and sax intro eventually blossoms into an airy, relaxed, and catchy as hell chorus; the contrast is striking and fresh even after repeated plays. It's not just a chorus, it's a bit of a shock, like a splash of cold water on an oppressively hot day. The opposite tack is taken with the sinister "Kiss Kiss Kiss Kiss;" Higurashi sings "I'm choosing lipstick carefully/because I want you to like me," and a descending guitar mantra erupts like a bouquet of black roses. The lyrics by themselves are an insecure come on, but combined with the dark storm of the backing track, it's something else entirely, half sensuality, half cold sweats. There's an obvious appeal here for the non-Japanese speaker, in that Higurashi mostly writes her lyrics in English. Perhaps it's this writing in a second language that has molded her lyrical style, pushing her towards directness where others might pull punches or fall back on innuendo. That said, her obsessiveness in picking at the nooks and crannies of her psyche can't be explained away by linguistic influence, and that above all else has made her an enormously compelling songwriter and performer, all while managing to avoid the cloying self indulgence that would typically haunt that approach; her songs may be from her life, but she never over-personalizes, keeping things open enough that the listener can insert themselves at will at any point. JM closes with an invitation: "you can call me now." Pain and past failures notwithstanding, the thing that makles it all worth while is hope. |