Issue #46: BAD Mode
Exploring the new Hikaru Utada album, Seiko Matsuda's "Akai Sweet Pea" and the rappers behind the ODDTAXI soundtrack
Hi! Welcome to This Side of Japan, a newsletter on Japanese music, new and old. You can check out previous issues here.
Anthropomorphic animals tend to otherwise regular human jobs in the world of ODDTAXI. But then after a few episodes, the anime introduces the porcupine Yano, the crime boss who raps his entire dialog. While the absurd premise makes for one of the show’s best running gags, his freestyle-as-dialog is also crafted with care. Rapper and Yano’s voice actor METEOR teams up with rapper/producer PUNPEE to weave in clever internal rhymes and double entendres within Yano’s elaboration of his threats and business schemes. The other characters look at a mumble-rapping porcupine as puzzled as the audience, but the porcupine himself isn’t one to be taken as a joke.
Yano’s freestyle only represents a sliver of the hip hop featured in the show’s soundtrack. “The characters of ODDTAXI look cute from the outside, but they can be ugly in the inside,” director Baku Kinoshita said to FNMNL last April. “I wanted the music to have that kind of gap too. The material is heavy, but the music is unique and light.” While Kinoshita initially called up PUNPEE to strike that balance of pop and edge, the rapper soon divvied up the work with VaVa and OMSB, two of his label mates in the hip-hop imprint SUMMIT. From the assigned 45 or so tracks, the three ended up with a collection of 27 cinematic songs that expand their hip-hop production work into different palettes and moods very much outside of their usual comfort zone.
The three rappers explained to FNMNL that they chose which song each would work on based on how the description suited their personality: “OMSB usually got the ‘cool’ or ‘angry’ ones,” PUNPEE said with a laugh. OMSB brought ruggedness in “Kyohaku” and “Saiaku”; VaVa handled melodic tenderness in “Inko No Maru” and “Uwasa No Onna.” PUNPEE rounded out the rest by bringing out diverse sounds and tricks from his toolbox as well as inspirations from other soundtracks like Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’s for The Social Network.
Indeed, the kind of moods struck by each of the rapper’s respective tracks are ones also represented from their respective solo material. Each boast a rich catalog of their own, some spanning a decade or more worth of work. Here are the three artists featured in the ODDTAXI soundtrack.
Hello, readers! I hope you like more anime! ODDTAXI also recently announced a movie slated to be released in April in Japan. Hopefully it eventually makes its way into the U.S.
And of course, more music! This issue’s Album of the Week is definitely PUNPEE approved: while doing research for the above feature, I stumbled upon a mix he did of Hikaru Utada for their radio special around the release of Fantome, and it is wonderful how his feeling as a fan spills into the whole thing. I’m also pretty satisfied writing about this issue’s look back at the Oricon and doing a deep dive for an idol classic.
Happy listening!
Album of the Week
BAD Mode by Hikaru Utada [Sony]
*Recommended track: “BAD Mode” | Listen to it on Spotify
Hikaru Utada breaks down the music in BAD Mode, their first album in four years, to its bare necessities, enough for much of the songs to consist of just their skeletons. No space nor detail goes to waste in the production; every lyric fits cleanly into the pop meter like a jigsaw puzzle. Impressive as their perfectionism can seem, however, the album also feels exhausting in its austerity: “Hope I don’t fuck it up,” Hikaru Utada sings in the otherwise bouncy title track, as if one wrong move can send them into full collapse. Despite them appearing so articulate of their ideas and emotions, BAD Mode admits even the most headstrong artist such as Utada can reside at the brink of losing all control.
As for what appears on the surface of BAD Mode, Utada strikes awe not only from their laser-sharp precision but also the fluidity in which they fit their rhymes into meticulously arranged melodies. They weave a mesmerizing, zigzagging cadence in “Darenimo Iwanai,” their graceful flow serving as an elegant vehicle for pieces of their everyday wisdom. But their alluring rhyme scheme can also obscure the darkness lurking in the actual lyrics: “Rather than living alone / I want to be hurt by you forever,” they sing with each syllable landing right on the pocket. For a song about how pursuit for pleasure can lead you away from a sensible path, perhaps it’s fitting to be betrayed by such a seductive melody.
The unease comes through in the album’s shadowy production. Utada applies cold subtraction to their R&B beats, often leaving behind just lonely wisps of synth pads and ghastly echoes of drums, and the sparse, vacuous music lets inconsolable tension linger within the ocean of negative space. “Kimi Ni Muchuu” sounds so haunting with its stark bass line growling underneath the tail-chasing piano, like a nightmare Utada can’t shake. Deep melancholy shades even the album’s most blissful track: the warm synths of “One Last Kiss”1 glows not so much like a firework than fading ember.
Utada’s obsession with careful precision eventually comes undone in the album’s centerpiece, a seven-minute track “Kibunja Naino (Not in the Mood).” The languid hip-hop beat allows them to finally unwind. They let their mind roam, gathering the somber details around them in a remote cafe, without much care if they land on anything particularly profound. Rather than come up with another complexly twisting melody, they reach for a commonplace nursery rhyme to express one straightforward thought: “I’m not in the mood today.”
Prior to the arrival of “Kibunja Naino (Not in the Mood),” Utada had gone through a series of intense fuck-ups, salvaging a different, harsh lessons from each. They figure out in “One Last Kiss” how to best cherish a doomed relationship, and they then try to overcome a fear of losing love in “PINK BLOOD.” Utada’s deft grasp of melody and rhyme lets the latter shine into one powerful track, its spotlessness communicating such clarity of mind despite them walking out of a burning fire. But it’s the trial in “Time” where the cracks deepen: “let’s stop realizing what we had after it’s gone,” they close the song in pain and regret. No matter how much wiser Utada seems to get, they can’t seem to prevent the disasters from happening.
“Kibunja Naino (Not in the Mood),” then, provides a moment of deep exhale in BAD Mode. Utada appeared almost superhuman in the way they picked up the pieces from the crash and laid them out into the most articulate language and precise rhyme. But here, they surrender their perfectionist tendencies, reaching instead for the immediate and instinctive. How casual they let their feelings spill only intensifies the emotions, however, as they open up so candidly about their loss of direction: “Hey, how are you? How has your day been,” they calls out into the void. “I’ve been quiet / It’s just one of them days.” It remains unclear if Utada reached peace and resolution, but the drums keep slowly marching on.
Singles Club
“eyes” by Dirty Androids & RANASOL [MEGAREX]
While RANASOL had been frequently called upon to lay down vocals for speedy garage or maximal EDM in recent years, the singer lounges around a much cozy house beat in “eyes.” Dirty Androids is capable of faster, louder arrangements in the vein of their guest’s usual line of dance-pop: they contributed a 2-step collaboration with PuniPuniDenki in 2020 for the SPD GAR 003 compilation, where they also shared space in the track listing with RANASOL. For “eyes,” the producer decides to channel instead the magic-hour energy glowing in last year’s R&B re-arrangement of “On the West Coastline,” and the result is a luxurious, slow-burning deep house.
RANASOL sounds at home in the unhurried production, basking in the roominess of Dirty Androids’s patiently blooming beat. But to say she’s peacefully settled in this otherwise blissful-sounding space would be a misnomer. “I’m only looking at you / find me under the sunlight,” she pleads to her oblivious object of desire before the song enters its ebullient chorus, only for her to take back some of her confession as if to cushion herself from possible rejection: “Please laugh this off as a fairy tale.” RANASOL insists on maintaining harmony rather than potentially losing them completely, and the production complies by continuing on its idyllic drift.
See also: “Matenrou” by iri; “Choudai” by Miyuna
“Sparse Memory” by Ken Ikeda [PURRE GOOHN]
A highlight from PURRE GOOHN’s compilation Per Capita 2 comes from guest musician Ken Ikeda, who extends his hand after working with names such as Rie Nakajima and Chihei Hatakeyama these past few years. Like much of the ambient tracks by the rest of the label’s roster, “Sparse Memory” initially appears soft to the touch with a cozy music-box loop that hums like a lullaby. Slowly, though, the track begins to catch an intercepting signal that resembles a wisp of chirpy feedback and a distant bird song at once. The source is never made apparent, but it seems to be the beauty of “Sparse Memory”: it lets you hear what you wish to hear.
Per Capita 2 is out now. Listen to it on Bandcamp/Spotify.
See also: “Waves” by Shuta Yasukochi; “Curtain Seller” by Zeze Wakamatsu
“Memory Suddenly (Taku Takahashi Remix)” by Haruka Kudo [Nippon Crown]
A 2-step remix of a Haruka Kudo song can seem head-scratching on paper. The voice actress’s solo music is better understood as an extension of her role as the guitarist of the metal band Roselia of the BanG! Dream franchise. The remix of “Memory Suddenly” by Taku Takahashi meanwhile incorporates none of the features in the original’s synth-laced power metal and instead re-imagines Kudo as a candidate of a m-flo loves... project—but she sounds right at home in her new environment. Kudo sounds weightless as her light, high-pitched voice grazes the plush synths and gliding 2-step percussion; Takahashi chops her voice into a mesmerizing stitch in a classic garage-house move. The remix gains its novelty in contrast to Kudo’s main genre of choice, but it also wouldn’t hurt if the voice actress leaned more into this style of music.
KDHRemix is out now. Listen to it on Spotify.
See also: “EVENT HORIZON” by situasion; “Unstep” by somunia ft. Kenmochi Hidefumi
This Week in 1982…
“Akai Sweet Pea” by Seiko Matsuda [Sony, 1982]
No. 1 during the weeks of Feb. 8 - 22, 1982 | Listen to it on YouTube/Spotify
“The April rain began to pour, the two of us seated at the station / Not a person in sight, it makes me so uneasy,” Seiko Matsuda sighs in “Akai Sweet Pea.” Not a thing exists in the world of the song but the idol and the one who she pines for. The production further establishes a solemn solitude with the music played so stately, it seems to stop time altogether. From the song’s tender arrangement to Matsuda’s eternal yearning, “Akai Sweet Pea” presented a different kind of romance and drama than the ones shared in the idol’s singles by 1982.
“Akai Sweet Pea” came out barely two years after Matsuda debuted as an idol singer in 1980, but she had already quickly risen in the ranks as a national icon. The then-teen singer embodied a model cuteness, adopting it as a main part of her public identity, and her early singles like “Aoi Sangoshou” reflected the singer’s bubbly charm. Her character gained the idol a massive following, with a generation of women imitating her look, but it also brought her some scrutiny: Matsuda is credited for influencing the term burikko—a girl who plays up her cuteness to win the attention of the guys—to enter popular lexicon in the ‘80s with some calling out her gestures as being too performative.
With her public image attracting some blow back, it’s not that surprising to see Matsuda cutting off her signature haircut right before her second year in the industry. The dramatic shift in the music of “Akai Sweet Pea,” too, seems purposeful in retrospect to give an alternate look into the life of the song’s star. Winter provides a timely excuse to signal the change: the beatific power pop of summer jam “Natsu No Tobira” feels like a distant memory after the arrival of this hushed ballad.
A bittersweet mood sets in as the tempo slows into its pace. But the most marked change of “Akai Sweet Pea” comes from the lyrics that reveal a newfound vulnerability from Matsuda. She reverses roles in a way, from being the object of desire to the one who yearns for someone who’s always out of reach. And it hurts to see her remain so physically close to them with their scent (the hint of cigarette stuck on their shirt) lingering so near and items (the watch they keep looking at instead of her) constantly drawing her attention to what they can’t grasp. “Why, after half a year since we met / do you not even hold my hand,” the idol sings. The credit goes to her for making such a heavy sigh sound like a daydream.
Matsuda sounds heartbroken with some self-awareness that she won’t ever fall into their line of sight, but her devotion remains intact regardless. “I’ll follow you / I want to be by your side,” she cries out in the poignant chorus, ready to spend the rest of her life with someone who just can’t seem to notice her. Call Matsuda foolish, but it only colors her with more humanity to see her hold on to love despite knowing how hopeless it can be.
The idol fell in love more like a real person, attracted by a feeling she didn’t exactly choose to be pulled into. And she expressed hurt like a real person too. “Why do I feel like crying / every time you glance at your watch,” she softly wonders while seated next to them at the train station. She’s faced with a complicated feeling she’s not sure if she has the language yet to articulate or really understand, and the naivete attached to her bubbly image starts to slightly crack as she scratches at the surface of this new, different kind of emotion. The blooming of the titular sweet pea as a visual, then, figuratively wraps up the start of something new in Matsuda.
“It’s not that I didn’t like her. I really wanted to get to know her, But I couldn’t admit it. Because we couldn’t be ‘Seiko,’” a contributor wrote for the 1991 book 80’s Idol Liner Notes2. They shared how Matsuda once represented that girl in class who changed her behavior to fit in—“a burikko, you can say,” they wrote—and who the boys called using “-chan” among their high-school circle. “But right after the release of ‘Akai Sweet Pea,’ Seiko suddenly became ‘Seiko-chan.’ The girls officially saw her as one of them.”
This Side of Japan has a Ko-Fi as a tip jar if you want to show appreciation. A subscription to This Side of Japan is free, and you don’t have to pay money to access any published content. I appreciate any form of support, but if you want to, you can buy a Coffee to show thanks.
Next issue of This Side of Japan is out February 16. You can check out previous issues of the newsletter here.
Need to contact? You can find me on Twitter or reach me at thissideofjapan@gmail.com
You can read more writing from me about “One Last Kiss” on “You Can (Not) Undo: On Hikaru Utada's Songs for the Evangelion Rebuild Series.”