Best New Music, Part One

July’s best releases from Korean and Japanese artists!

View the Substack version of this piece here!

#20: Kenshi Yonezu, “Yodaka” 
“Yodaka” is not about the calm after a storm; it is about nocturnal birds who are the storm. “We’re Yodaka / A storm that sweeps across a hollow sky,” Kenshi Yonezu declares. The Clash of Souls theme song is perfectly designed for a crucial moment in the show’s plot. Anticipation is sparked by a flute-led clarion call, sticky computerized stuttering, and a percussive pivot into a drumroll instead of spaced-out drumbeats. The ominous air stays charged by the choir, rattling and beeping noises, and gasp-ready moments. One of those moments is before a horn-backed round of the chorus, when Kenshi Yonezu lets out an anguished cry as if struck by a bad memory or terrible premonition. Another anguished cry cuts through a tense moment of quiet later on, and the song’s ending burst of synthesized chaos makes it seem like a decisive battle scene has been abruptly interrupted. It sounds as if someone has snatched the singer, halting the performance and its related chance to declare vindication.

The “story’s not over yet” feeling extends to the music video. If one were to watch the “Yodaka” video’s start and end but not the in-between scenes, one would have no idea that light-exposing cracks formed in the human-resembling cluster of statues. The statues are back to looking intact at the end, as if the sign of a silver lining was merely an optical illusion. (There is a similar symbolism in the unreliable presence of a green light.) Another sign of hope that comes with a note of caution: the museum artifacts, like the skeletons of a couple still holding each other. The cinematography choices compound the perpetual, purposeful unease, helping “Yodaka” fit both the letter and the spirit of the rules of making a high-quality soundtrack for a decisive moment.

#19: Hangsuk & Boogiemonster, Human Scramble
Human Scramble is a cross-cultural collage of classic and contemporary styles that was made with the open-minded and collaborative spirit from which the best blues music originates. The band pays homage to their native South Korea through a new gospel rendition of “Gunsan Blues” and a reinterpretation of a Pansori classic, “Love Swamp.” Artists from elsewhere also get to celebrate where they’re from: “Human Scramble” is inspired by Son House, local New Orleans musicians are featured on “Love Swamp,” “Vegan Boy” was recorded at Memphis’s iconic Royal Studios, and American artists worked closely with the band to make this body of work a truly multi-perspective blues tribute. 

Human Scramble tries to and succeeds at highlighting basic human commonalities: a liveliness that comes from feel-good tunes, an ability to make creativity blossom when working in groups, and a wish for a world with more peace and love. The album tries to reach people on as many levels as possible, including spiritual (hence the scripture in the opening track), visual (hence Lee Ho-seop’s painting on the album cover, which symbolizes a melting-pot lifestyle), humor (the album’s most acute pain points, like “DEAD END” and “Memories in This Song,” are separated by doses of levity via songs like “Vegan Boy” and “Cheeseburger Blues”!), and, above all, the universal language of music. 

Although each song has immense meaning, “DEAD END” stands out for pairing such compelling, gravelly vocals with the rawness inherent to a single-take session. 

#18: KARD, Where To Now? (Part.2) : NOWHERE
This groundbreaking co-ed K-pop group’s farewell project is a bittersweet one that checks off every box. They have gifted fans group-wide songs which remind them why KARD will be missed, putting their one-of-a-kind interpersonal dynamics and global genre-merging on full display, and four solo songs that remind people why the future is bright for KARD’s individual endeavors. JIWOO’s and SOMIN’s solos let their very different but equally enticing voices shine, while BM’s and J.seph’s more rhythm-centric solos show off their comparable and compatible coolness and confidence. These songs show that KARD make a great team and each have a valuable and distinguishable role in it. The “Back To Life” music video attests to this; they hang out and party together but march to their own drums fashion-wise. It is a simple yet meaningful choice, much like the choice to borrow from Latin pop, Afrobeats, R&B, hip-hop, and more for this album. Down the road, KARD ought to be remembered for showing that being in a group does not necessitate diluting any member’s personal music-making approach and preferences — in fact, they show how a mix of solo and group-wide components can actually increase the creative juices that flow through both.

#17: HYOLYN, OriginaLyn 
HYOLYN reminds listeners and viewers of her many natural talents, with singing and performance skills that share the core component of (deserved!) confidence. Whether making people want to travel with her via the “YOU AND I” music video or making people want to follow her lead as she struts down the streets and dances in “ChecK,” the videos emphasize how drawn people are to her. She effortlessly keeps all eyes and ears on her, all ears thanks to channeling a throwback pop/R&B sound and all eyes thanks to her contagious smile and spirit. Beyond just showing off her magnetic aura and triggering welcome early-aughts nostalgia, HYOLYN proves why she has stayed popular for years longer than some industry peers through flexing vocal versatility (the best example being in “Bon appétit,” with its vocal runs and unique rasp), deeply immersing herself in the album’s behind-the-scenes process, and offering fans a peek behind the curtain (thanks to the grateful and humble ballad “Standing On The Edge”). 

#16: HANZ, A Diary of One I Loved
Both personally and from a technical standpoint, HANZ sounds more mature than ever in these soulful serenades. The delivery is diverse, with some love songs’ foundations resting on pianos (“Write and Erase,” “Last Flower”), others on guitars (“Day by Day,” “Circle,” “B.F.”), and others synth and piano layers (“Falling,” “Happy Blue”). All the while, there is an immobile groundedness in HANZ’s voice. He sounds firm in his stances, as he processes a romance in real time, rather than singing about it being in his rearview mirror. This is not a generic love-themed album that revisits emotional ups and downs; it is a pensive pause, a static phase of looking at a memory as it comes into being. The corresponding music videos reinforce HANZ’s belief that there is power in a love story that lingers without teaching particular lessons. He simply sits with his recollections — or, rather, stands with them, as a projector screen layers a montage on him in “Happy Blue.”

HANZ keeps memories central to his story in the “Last Flower” video, too. Mid-montage, the scenes are replaced by blank space except for text that forms the shape of mountains. This follows a series of scrambled numbers, letters, and music notes. Whether the language of speech or music, the past’s relevance endures in some shape or form. Visually and figuratively, HANZ’s love letters continue giving his empty-seeming world some contours. The perfect period on his statement: the timing of him hitting a dramatic note during a “Last Flower” scene transition. 

The ultimate takeaway from A Diary of One I Loved is that the subject of HANZ’s love songs will always be with him in some way. The particulars of that stay an open question, and HANZ wants listeners and viewers to accept that ambiguity.

#15: Yutori-kun, Turn Off the Mirror Ball
Turn Off the Mirror Ball is a meta, mischievous, musical manifesto. Yutori-kun’s credibility is purposefully left debatable. How much of his critiques of all things corporate can be sincere given the fact that he started his own corporation, and given that he appears to “sell out”? The seemingly mundane-on-purpose packaging of this project, with a simple and black-and-white album cover and a lack of corresponding music videos, seems like a protest against industry expectations. But he could be seen as playing into those expectations or reinforcing them in an ironic way on the last track, “babu-ritai.” The play-on word usage involves “baby talk” and an interest in virality. He sings, “More than cool / I want to be loved,” but how much does he really mean it? Everyone is the product of their environment to some extent — although he claims his main “luxurious” environment is the opposite of the one that others define: “To see the glittering scenery / Everyone checks into the high-rise apartment building / My everyday life is too dazzling / Alone in a dark room flexin’” (“Feel Real Me”). 

He repeatedly uses clothing as an analogy and means of criticism. “Fashion” is about how “[r]ighteousness is just a passing trend” these days and how people swap opinions like clothing, favoring “fitting in” over principles. In “Paradox,” he cleverly notes that a common nightmare is being naked in public, being unable to cover up one’s real self. In “Turn Go,” he scowls about the time that has to be spent in self-promotion that might never pay off anyway (“Connections and networking are meaningless”). Overall, he is sick of what he sees as arbitrary “cloth[s] of glory” that people stay in, and the “price tags placed by anonymous accounts” (“Paradox”). Where is the line between denouncing something and confessing to it? After all, he calls himself “The Emperor’s New Clothes” in “Feel Real Me.” 

One interpretation of these songs is that they are personal revelations of being the “sellout” he lambasts. Another interpretation is that he is saying, “Hate the game, not the player.” Either way, he brings attention to the conformist layers people drape themselves in, making this EP a curious source of commentary.

#14: BLOOM VASE, BLOOM MUSEUM
BLOOM MUSEUM is a musical pop-up book! A carnivalesque introduction sets the scene — a dream world “beyond this door” with a “gathering of folks” with “complicated backstories.” It turns into a rap song, as if the members cannot even wait for the intro to finish before diving headfirst into this alternative world! They stay flying high in the “do-da-da”-filled “Merry Go Round” and “na-na-na”-filled “Adrenaline!” At the same time, they stay wary of growing complacent and falling for this dream world’s tricks. “Can’t let escapism go too far,” and, “Finding balance is a must,” they insist in “Merry Go Round.” “I strain my eyes to see the trick behind it all… can't reach the answer,” they complain in “Magician Girl,” and they have similar complaints about the “psychological game” of communication in “Adrenaline!” They won’t let fears of playing games wrong and losing them stop them, though. They embrace an unleashed “wild state” in “Adrenaline!,” despite acknowledging they might cross the “fine line between a fool and a genius”! The excitement in “Night Museum” also comes with a side of apprehension, but a weak one: “I'm getting carried away... I'll enjoy it all, and when I wake up, I'll be full of energy… it's all good”!

Regardless of how listeners visualize the puzzling fantasy land that is the BLOOM MUSEUM, it all comes down to a period of surreal indulgence. This “play hard” concept makes the auto-tuned excesses and offbeat instrumental choices not just forgivable, but fitting!

#13: WONHO, CORE
WONHO does not only express how he feels; he makes the audience feel it along with him. He translates his lovesickness, fears, and impatience into the music video’s claustrophobic chaos and the EP’s frantic nature (although there are some slower, gloomier moments). He makes listeners experience many ups and downs that come with falling head-over-heels: confusion (“Answer”), ecstatic delirium (“Don’t Wake Me Up!”), a sudden willingness to be vulnerable (“Promises”), and more. The most impactful and high-octane of them all is “Don’t Wake Me Up!,” with an overpowering techno beat that synchronizes with intense flashing lights and dance moves in the music video. The intensity is both indoors and outdoors; wherever WONHO and viewers go, there is no escaping the throngs of people. The crowds can be just as reasonably interpreted as being full of supporters as they can be seen as full of protestors; they hold up signs that could indicate WONHO inspires them or that they have personal vendettas (“WE REFUSE TO BE SILENT,” “I WANT MY VOICE HEARD,” “THEY FEAR WHAT MOVES”…). Either way, the crowd is an unshakable swarm. They never actually get to WONHO or “you,” the viewer, but the omnipresent threat lingers and represents an external influence on how public figures think about relationships and their own emotional guardedness. 

WONHO effectively gets to the “core” of not just what it’s like to feel things intensely, but what visual representations can help everyday people see what it’s like to have those feelings be publicized.

#12: idntt, <itsnotover>
This subunit is the most exciting iteration of idntt yet! itsnotover mixes and matches previously-debuted subunits’ styles, adding a more alternative slant to the hip-hop style of unevermet and drawing on similar EDM inspirations as those of yesweare. “Kids Return” is a particularly good example of itsnotover offering a refresh, not a repeat, of another idntt subunit’s style. They take the hip-hop-derived format of “Pretty Boy Swag” in their own direction, not just sonically but visually. Like the song, the “Kids Return” music video leans into grittier textures. They fear no extremes, and more is more: harsh neon lights, lots of firecrackers, a blue sky in an unnaturally-saturated shade, and opaque oddities. Those oddities are often unsettling: a black-tar-like nosebleed, unexplained injuries, appearances that turn out to have been illusions, and a scene in which one member is swarmed and lifted into the air in what might be crowd-surfing but could also be seen as the moment before getting thrown aside.

The simplest way to summarize how itsnotover differs from other idntt subunits is that itsnotover is extra! They are more intense, more emotional, more sonically expansive, and more narratively twisted. This stays apparent across the album’s tracks, which alternate between more polarizing and more broadly-pleasing. Whether a rage-fueled rush (like “Twenty” and “Trainspotting”) or smoother and more palatable pop (like “It’s Not Over”), each song sticks its own firm landing. 

#11: Hello Sleepwalkers, ///////
Reasonably, this rock album’s alternative title is The Layers; there are plenty of them, both sonically and narratively. Passionate guitar-playing and equally galvanizing percussion steal the show, and extra “oomphs” take unexpected forms, with some electronic skittering, vocal filter swaps, and framing of life in bleak terms. They compare life to a high-stakes gamble, but one that is always worth betting on, even if one anticipates a “DEAD END.” “Villain No Sahou” not only compares life to a game, but says if that is true, then life also lacks meaning and substance: “A zero-sum game of morality and utilitarianism;” “Linking the spiral of creation and destruction… The premise holds no value / Nor do their voices.” The game-of-chance analogy continues in “Sabaku No Shounin”: “My destination is a total gamble;” “Time is a sand-driven mechanism.” They make “nothing matters” a self-fulfilling prophecy, indignant about their inadequacies in “Kisetsu No Boueri” (“I wish I could be your ideal”) and describing being drunk on hedonistic urges in “Daraku Shugi” (“A life spent serving desires / Like something mixed in a flask / I want to fall to the very bottom”). The addendum to their expressions of apathy is key: Since this life seems like a silly waste, they decide to preserve this life as a historical artifact and then start a new life instead! They describe painting and drawing their recollections in “Tsuioku To Camvas,” which is followed by a song that mentions several escape routes. In “Nocturnal Whale,” they sing about “sinking into the sea,” but also a mysterious spaceship! The album ends with questions about the narrator/protagonist. Those questions remain in the “Villain No Sahou” music video, which intersperses “real life” moments with animated graphics and the appearance of different television screens.

The Layers cleverly tucks nihilistic notes into nuanced commentary that, like the songs themselves, deserve a second, third, and fourth look.

Stay tuned for the rest of the countdown!