| Kahimi Karie - Specialothers |
| When
Kahimi Karie first erupted on the Shibuya Kei scene in the mid 90s, it
was with the help of her producer, label head, and then boyfriend
Cornelius (then going by his real name, Keigo Oyamada.) It wasn’t long
before English avant-perv Momus came on board, and while her
distinctive little girl lost/femme fatale persona grew, it seemed to be
the construct of others. Many, in fact, still associate her with Momus,
which is understandable: her whispery blend of innocence and perversion
seemed to be tailor made for Momus’ ongoing world of upper class erotic
sleaze. It didn’t take long, however, before it became clear that Karie’s hands were firmly on the steering wheel, and while collaborations have always been at the heart of her work, her personality has effortlessly dominated. Since her initial work with Cornelius and Momus, she’s worked with such diverse acts as The Olivia Tremor Control, Jim O’Rourke, Seagull Screaming Kiss Her Kiss Her’s Aiha Higurashi, The High Llama’s Sean O'Hagan, Otomo Yoshihide, and countless others. Like, Say, Madonna, she doesn’t rely on collaborations so much as choose them for where they will take her. Unlike Madonna, however, she has a taste for the avant garde that can border on the severe, and has shown a considerable talent for keeping even the most extreme forms of aural challenge well within the borders of her well defined persona. This has been true of every album she’s released since 1997’s “Larme de Crocodile,” but nowhere has it been as explicit as “Specialothers,” an album technically credited to various artists, but which unmistakably follows her singular, wide ranging aesthetic. She doesn’t make it easy: opening track “Something Stupid” (a Frank and Nancy Sinatra cover recorded with noise punk terrorists Struggle For Pride) is essentially unlistenable, an impenetrable wall of metallic feedback that makes The Jesus And Mary Chain’s early efforts seem downright acoustic. When I say impenetrable, I mean impenetrable: it takes serious effort to distinguish Karie’s trademark whisper from the toxic blob of noise, at least until everything subsides, leaving only a hushed “I love you” at the end. If the pure of heart make it past that test of courage, they’re rewarded with considerably less abrasive material: a smoky, tranquil version of “The Look Of Love” (with Naruyoshi Kikuchi) immediately follows, and is much more indicative of the album as a whole. It’s one of four straight up traditional lounge jazz tracks on this surprisingly placid collection…in fact, with the exception of “Something Stupid” and the final track, “Eureka” (an 11 minute experimental workout with Otomo Yoshihide’s New Jazz Orchestra that culminates in apocalyptic noise,) this is Karie’s least difficult album in years. The tracks between those confrontational bookends could pass for a particularly luscious slice of neo-easy listening, barely rising above a restful hush. Even when the structure gets a bit wonky (“Blue Orb,” one of three tracks credited to Karie solo...and yes, the intro is supposed to sound like that,) the feeling is one of calm. Another solo Karie track, a sitar heavy cover of “Comment Te Dire Adieu,” is essentially a laid back version of The Beatles’ “Within And Without You ,” which it explicitly quotes. As experimental as Karie is, the more traditional tracks are a natural continuation of the mood of her previous album, the superlatively blissful but extremely challenging “Nunki.” If one were so inclined, they could simply skip the first track and have a sophisticated, gorgeously smooth 35 minute lullaby. Careful, though, not to be fooled by the quiet opening of the previously mentioned “Eureka” which slowly grows from its deceptively quiet beginning into confused but still laid back abstraction, which inches, bit by bit, towards a hurricane of instrumental mayhem, concluding the album in a furious wall of noise, bringing us back to where we started. All the talk of skipping the first and last tracks above should not be taken at face value. As uncharacteristic as they may be, they are nonetheless key elements in the album as a whole, and give the proceedings a compelling sheen they would not have otherwise had. Good as it is, the middle of “Specialothers” is a ultimately a bit pedestrian, but when bookended by these two sonic body checks, they become something else entirely, an oasis of relaxation contained by walls of extreme tension. It makes for an excellent example of an endangered species, an album made to be played front to back, in one sitting. The fact that this is actually a compilation is testament to the power and coherence of Karie’s vision, one that has mutated, shifted, grown and expanded through years of collaboration, but which has steadfastly remained very much her own. So where will she take this vision? There’s no telling, but then, there never has been: the basic shifts that have marked the sequence of albums starting with 2000’s “Tilt” have been understandable only in hindsight. It’s a shame that Karie’s popularity in the west peaked as early as it did (some time before “Tilt.”) Even she seems to have stopped concerning herself with the west, in terms of promotion: her English website’s discography stops with 2004’s “Montage.” As heralded as Radiohead’s work has been, Karie has pushed farther, with deeper aesthetics and warmer results, than even that band’s most compassionate work. The Occidental world needs to forget the image of the cute girl with the innocent voice and start exploring one of the most challenging major artists of the last decade. “Specialothers” takes the underlying elements of her approach and frames them in less abstract terms, making for a particularly attractive entry point. Highly recommended. |