URBANGARDE - Showa 90 nen

Contrary to the rose-colored image many non-residents have of the country, Japan, like all nations, has its fair share of problems. Those who follow the news may gather that when it comes to dealing with social and international issues, the Japanese media and government are often ineffectual and indecisive. It is a sickness of the culture, one that values "tatemae" — the "public face" or "official position" that dictates interaction with others — over one's true thoughts, called "honne". Luckily, URBANGARDE is here to diagnose and hopefully treat this particular social ill with their latest album, Showa 90 nen.

Lasting from 1926 all the way until 1989, Japan's Showa period is synonymous with both the horrors of war and the glories of economic triumph. URBANGARDE's newest album seeks to reflect these myriad ups and downs on the present day, with the album's title translating to "Showa Year 90". Assuming the current (Heisei) period never began, this date would correspond to the year 2015. Showa 90 nen is a concept album that imagines a bizarre Japan that is still at war in some way, the very Japan currently being presented to its people via the "public faces" of politicians and the media.

Appropriately enough, the opening track, Kuchibiru Democracy, is ominously militaristic. However, at the same time, bouncy synthesizers and Yoko's intentionally gentle voice paint a glossy, outward sheen over the whole experience. Temma's speech mid-way through the song serves to set the tone by instructing listeners to express their true emotions, while a particularly moving instrumental section establishes that this is not an upbeat album.



Frantic beeps and whirrs herald the next track, Love Letter moyu, which for all its pep and energy is very clearly a sad song even without the pyromaniacal imagery of its lyrics.



Next comes Coin Locker Babies, a retro, techno-phantasmagorical condemnation of those who spend their lives staring at a screen in lieu of interacting with others.



The mood lifts a bit on the next track, Shinjuku Mon Amour, which compares the hustle and bustle of Tokyo's titular business district to a theatre. Yoko's voice gets to shine even atop the dynamic instrumental section, a testament to her rather understated vocal ability.



Temma is next in the spotlight as the main vocalist of the disco-flavored Shijin gari. The highlight of the track is an extremely fun bit of wordplay, with the lyrics guiding listeners through the entire Japanese alphabet.

Next, listeners are introduced to "The Box Man" through the song Hako otoko ni kike. The lyrics paint a damning portrait of Japanese media fear-mongering, with the instruments taking the "fear" part of the equation and crafting an inspiredly intimidating metal-techno hybrid. Hako otoko ni kike also makes it abundantly clear that the two vocalists have mastered the art of the duet, complementing one another with knife-like precision. Showa 90 nen 12 gatsu follows with a spine-tingling fusion of grim orchestral strings and metal riffs so effective it borders on unforgettable.

The 80s are alive and well in the eighth track, Icon aika, which takes musical cues from the Silver Age of Idols and gives them URBANGARDE's own quirky, electronic twist. Yoko's vocal work is kept intentionally simple, which serves to bolster the idol allusion and give listeners a break after the emotional potency of the previous tracks. Zombie Powder, a sharp, swing-tinged song, is next and comes as a welcome surprise before the gloomy duo that closes the album.

Heisei shibou yuugi is subdued, dreamy, and somber, offering a look at the mental and emotional difficulties many Japanese people face. Much of the track consists of interviews with female entertainers, who detail the depressing and often shocking contrasts between their public and private lives.



Closing on a lively-yet-ominous note, the album finishes with the foreboding All-Doubt Nippon. The title references a long-running Japanese radio show, "All-Night Nippon," that began in the Showa period, once more tying the present to the past. The track is musically similar to Hako otoko ni kike, with relentless drums and guitar riffs crashing around the perfect union of Yoko and Temma's voices.

Showa 90 nen, much like URBANGARDE's other releases, is equal parts intelligent social commentary and musical experimentation. An overabundance of both, however, makes this concept album something truly special. Even for those who can't speak Japanese, the songs are all so expertly composed and performed that language is no barrier to experiencing all of the album's emotional intensity. Those who are able, however, would do well to give the lyrics some long, hard thought. Though cryptic at times, they paint a troublesome picture of a world not guided by its own actions, a world in which no one is truly free to think for themselves. Showa 90 nen is both an important warning siren for all of Japan and, somewhat ironically, one of the best albums of 2015. Japanese or not, though, anyone who appreciates music would be smart to make this album their first purchase of Showa Year 91.