 Thank God for Maria Kannon.
Readers of this site may have a valid question: why don't we ever hate
anything? Well, this site is a research tool for a forthcoming book
about Japanese rock music, and given that, there's not really any good
reason to spend valuable writing time on something I don't think
anybody needs to hear. That may make Jrawk seem a bit sycophantic at
times, but trust me, it's just appearances. There's a LOT of utterly
abysmal crap in the Japanese rock scene, spanning all decades, and if I
still had hair, I'd be tearing it out over the seemingly insurmountable
piles of drivel that find their way onto my stereo. If I had a yen for
every time I made a sour lemon face at the stuff that polluted the
sound space of my office, I'd be able to retire.
This past week, I went through no fewer that FIVE discs IN A ROW that
had, to my ears, no reason to exist: three pop punk bands with earnest
vocals and no hooks, and two post rock bands that sounded exactly like
Mono, except not good. Maybe this has something to do with why I was so
taken when Maria Kannon's 義眼 (The Artificial Eyes) finally came to save
my ears, but then again, maybe not: either way, there's no way in Hell
you'd confuse them with anyone else.
While that makes listening an infinitely more pleasurable experience,
it does a number on my ability to explain what this stuff sounds like.
Even long time fans of Japanese weirdness aren't going to find much in
the way of familiar signposts here, not that there aren't reference
points. There's a clear element of prog, although it doesn't sound like
prog (shifting time signatures, airtight musicianship,) there's
straight ahead rock 'n' roll (power chords, guitar heroics) although
this stuff is absolutely unpredictable, and it's a safe bet that
vocalist/leader Tosuke Kowata owns his share of Beefheart records,
although there's none of Mr. Van Vilet's crazed swamp preacher attack.
No, everything that makes up Maria Kannon's singular universe has been
throughly digested, creating an immediate yet bewildering sound that's
so thoroughly intense it grabs your attention, whether you want it to
or not.
Let's take "夏の二人" ("Natsu No Futari," i.e. "Two People In Summer.")
Saying a song is a kaleidoscope of different elements is pretty common,
but that's literally true here. The song shifts from straight ahead
Grand Funk style power rock to a contemplative, earnest chorus, to
guitar god soloing, to who knows what, all in the space of eight bars,
only to move on to a different set of ideas in the next eight. Reading
that description, one would naturally assume the song is a mess, but
it's completely seamless, and almost uncomfortably direct. The very
next track, "泥人形" ("Doro Ningyo," i.e. "Mud Doll") squeezes sexual
moans, power trio thrust, disjointed, atmospheric verses, and an
ELP-esque keyboard solo in just under two and a half minutes.
All that, and we haven't even gotten to the forceful, deliberate, and
completely bonkers vocal attack of Kuwata. He'll move from extreme,
precise emphasis to Tasmanian-Devil squeals and burps in the same
breath, piling on yet another out of left field idea into the
band's already filled to bursting compositions. This isn't Yamatsuka
eYe style shit-losing: it's crystal clear that Kuwata has nailed down
every miniscule detail, shone light on every crevice of his eccentric
delivery. The final product is dense, powerful, and above all focused,
yet precariously overloaded, like someone trying to carry a full to the
brim bucket of water down a hill without spilling a drop. That cover
isn't just an intriguing graphic, it's a perfect representation of
what's inside, all dark, manic, staring intensity that's tied up
painfully tight.
In fact, if there's a criticism to be leveled at The Artificial Eyes,
it's that it's a little too intense. There's zero breathing room here:
every moment is in your face, and the sonic palate is far too shifting,
with far too many unpredictable turns, to really allow for settling
into this stuff. It's a miracle the band is as unified and coherent as
they are, but it's not a comfortable miracle: one really has to strain
to take it all in.
Three plus decades of record geeking leave me at a loss, but if I
absolutely had to make a comparison, I'd bring up Stump, a British four
piece whose one album, A Fierce Pancake, was similarly tangled and
spastic, but with considerably less focus, earnest intensity and
darkness. Even digging deep into obscurities doesn't really do the job,
though: people like to talk about how one band or another sounds like
no one else, but with Maria Kannon, it's the literal truth. If only
more Japanese musicians followed their lead.
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It seems the Maria Kannon catalog is currently out of print, but here's part one of a live video (the other parts can be found in the links menu to the right.)
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