Album Review: Ichiko Aoba - Windswept Adan
Part of what makes Japanese folk artist Ichiko Aoba so remarkable is a result of her own self-imposed restrictions; for someone who too often limits herself to the bare-bones setup of one singer equipped with one acoustic guitar, so much of her music feels on some level transgressive, as if her existence itself is a testament to just how far the singer-songwriter framework can be taken. Even at her most minimalist, the melodies she pens are consistently memorable, while also boasting far more complexity than those of anyone attempting to occupy a similar musical lane. The other half of her appeal is more nebulous; despite the language barrier, Aoba’s music wields an immense emotional potency that largely comes down to how captivating her voice itself can be in isolation. Put simply, her singing on records like her 2013 masterpiece 0 is in turns haunting, serene, and quietly beautiful, in such a way so as to make an understanding of her words entirely redundant (for what it’s worth, translations of her lyrics paint the artist as no less talented a writer than any of her contemporaries).
Aoba could have probably kept making albums in this style for the rest of her career and no one would have complained, so uniquely excellent is her approach to the genre of folk music. But Windswept Adan absolutely refuses to rely on the proven merits of her style, and the lack of compromise in her exploration of new sounds is likely the foremost reason why this record is so unfathomably good. As brilliant as projects like 0 and qp are, many of the less notable tracks on her recent efforts have felt perfunctory in their execution, an issue completely absent from even the least impressive arrangements on her latest work. Listening to Windswept Adan is a helpless gaze out to sea at an endless expanse too vast to comprehend, and even Aoba can only wade in so far before she is as out of her depth as the rest of us. This album is Ichiko Aoba’s emphatic refusal to persist with merely going through the motions; in fact, she has never sounded more alive.
The purists among Aoba’s fanbase will assuredly not let it go unnoticed how reminiscent her newest sonic direction is of other musical eccentrics, even if many will view such associations as a compliment above all else. From Joanna Newsom to Julia Holter to Bjork’s Utopia, the comparisons have already begun to appear in earnest, yet for as talented as these artists are, several layers would have to be stripped from any of Aoba’s compositions before these parallels would truly begin to hold weight. In branching out from her well-established preference for acoustic minimalism into the realm of chamber folk, it is only natural that songs such as Pilgrimage, with its blend of delicate strings and unconventional percussion, would owe at least an unconscious debt to earlier art pop innovators, but the way Aoba’s voice dances among it all empowers the track to breathe with a life all its own. Similarly inspired oddities like the vibrant flute and undulating guitar strums on Porcelain are undeniably evocative of albums like Divers or Have You In My Wilderness, their animated brilliance compressed here into a much more concise package without sacrificing an iota of Newsom’s personality or Holter’s ingenuity. By contrast, Sagu Palm’s Song is a return to the pairing of plucked acoustics and whimsical vocals that enamored Aoba to so many in the first place, albeit with a proficiency that could stand up to any of her most celebrated ballads from earlier records. It must be stressed again that even without an understanding of what Aoba is singing about (normally the focal point of any classic folk tune), her control of melody is completely unmatched by any songwriter to come before; as unassuming as her music may seem, the singer’s power over the emotions of her listeners is utterly absolute.
Most of what Windswept Adan has to offer, though, is appreciably distinct from Aoba’s earlier material; the singer may have dipped her toes into genres such as ambient and chamber folk on past projects, but here her compositions flow from style to style effortlessly without ever idling long enough to allow for stagnation. Parfum d’etoiles and its cascading, idiosyncratic piano melodies prove Aoba’s flair for intricacy cannot be constrained to just one instrument, her ambient vocals barely audible in the background amidst a tapestry of elegant chords and birdsong. Field recordings, often of crashing waves and other pieces of seaside ambience, play a significant role in generating this record’s version of her trademark organic serenity, and on this song in particular such sounds are a perfect compliment to the singer’s voice as it drifts in and out of focus like the gentlest of breezes. Often the shorter interlude tracks represent Aoba’s most divergent experiments; chinuhaji is a gorgeous piece of ambient music buoyed only by soft wind chimes and a subtle hum of woodwinds, while Kirinaki Shima is delivered entirely a cappella with multiple incarnations of Aoba’s croon dancing around one another, eerie and spectral yet beautiful in their own way. Not all of these shorter cuts are equally as engaging, but the sheer variety of ways in which her creativity astounds throughout the album more than make up for the occasional misstep.
Nowhere is the singer’s genius more evident than on the three tracks which conclude the record, even if Dawn in the Adan initially appears to be another return to the stripped-back acoustics of her earlier projects. As the song progresses, however, its complexity spirals outward in a tempest of piano, strings, synthesized ambience, and so much more, with Aoba’s vocals articulating a distinct, vulnerable refrain that perfectly augments the track’s more traditional arrangement. The purely instrumental ohayashi is no less elaborate, shaped around a fervent display of technical prowess driven by a graceful melody on the celesta and, later, a frenetic guitar passage, the two weaving in and out of focus in a dazzling crescendo of tension. The talented musicians Aoba brought in to fill out her expansive arrangements perform masterfully on this track and throughout Windswept Adan, but the album’s orchestral apex is saved for the closer Adan no Shima no Tanjyosai, a carefully paced ballad with Aoba’s tenuous crooning tuned down to nearly a whisper. At first accompanied only by the occasional strummed chord, her voice is soon joined by a diverse string section and murmuring alto flute, each instrument entering discreetly to contribute another layer to the polyphony until it all fades away to the sound of crackling ocean water; the overall effect is nothing short of magical.
Even if Ichiko Aoba’s thematic intentions are often murky at best, the feeling of something profound hiding just below the surface is universal within her music, a sense of indeterminate mystery that keeps so many fans spellbound even if her words themselves are beyond their understanding. Windswept Adan is what Aoba’s entire career has been building up to, proving definitively that her artistry is not, and never will be, comfortable with inertia. No more can we marvel at how emotionally resonant the singer’s music is despite not understanding a single line she utters; here her compositions are so tangibly moving precisely because their ambitious creativity is both unceasingly alien and yet so easy to get lost within. Every inch of Windswept Adan is a venture into uncharted territory for her, yet so much of its experimentation comes off as entirely natural and effortless, and that sense of composure translates into an immensely comforting listening experience. There are only so many ways to describe how incredible this album is, but Ichiko Aoba herself is proof that sometimes words aren’t necessary; sometimes just a melody is all you could ever need.
9/10
Favourite Tracks: Dawn in the Adan, ohayashi, Sagu Palm’s Song, Porcelain