Best New Music, Part Two

July’s best releases from Korean and Japanese artists!

View the Substack version of this piece here!

Read about No. 20-11 here! 

#10: OurR, Answer.
This rock album is about unraveling and then rebuilding, and that journey comes to life through details big (tempo and volume changes, atmospheric instrumentals…) and small (like dial tones). The cover art sums it up: A hand holds a cell phone in water, keeping an attachment to it while wanting to destroy it. Keeping this image in mind lends a specific interpretation to the descriptions of drifting, desolate lives. The internet is their target, as they lament a world in which dreams keep “drift[ing] farther” away (“Oasis”), “People scatter just as they seem about to become birds” (also “Oasis”), and people believe their dreams are silly and their potential is very limited (from “x0x!!!”: “I die / Like that flower, all dried up,” and, “I'm just mold, made to be prickly”). Remembering the cell phone cover art also adds a dimension to their frequent references to averted gazes and ignorance being bliss: “Seems happier not knowing… Eyes down” (“Dive”); “I keep my head bowed, unable to lift it” (“x0x!!!”); “I’’m better off not knowing” (“Did I hate you?”); “Since I’m looking down / It doesn’t matter what is forward” (“Hold My”).

“Wanted” is their moment of truth: “What I need isn't found in storybooks.” They are “[l]ooking for someone who will hold” them. OurR crave real human connections, and they cultivate those at the story’s conclusion, “small flower”: “Now let us all together / Make a sincere confession;” “Let us be born again… Take over the whole world / And rise up with a fearsome sound.”

The “answer” OurR come to is that the meaning of life can only be found in the physical world, an evergreen takeaway they touch on in many memorable ways.

#9: Soichiro Yamauchi, A
The most succinct description of this album is “open space.” There are lots of instruments, but the songs do not sound full; they seem to leave ample breathing room on purpose. The songs have a relaxed, inviting warmth as a result, which makes Soichiro Yamauchi’s words of wisdom go down easier. Not one is forced into buying what he is selling! His pep talks are not commands; they are gentle and always-open invitations to see the world through a sunnier lens.

The orchestral and electronic components value quality over quantity, and the more stripped, acoustic moments are more frequent anyway. A sounds organic but not overly simplistic, and standouts include the songs that start out simpler and turn into more powerful and momentous ones, like “Brand New Day” and “Suiseitachinocantata.” While those songs are the best instrumentally, each song is equally well-done lyrically and carries the message that each day is a gift worth cherishing. “Beautiful Notes” and “Brand New Day” make explicit the importance of living each day both like it’s a prologue and a final chapter: “Tomorrow simply becomes today / Let’s keep going” (“Beautiful Notes”); “It’s a brand-new era / Bid farewell / To the tangles of daily life” (“Brand New Day”). He continues to look forward to the future, because he is setting himself up for the most ideal one possible, by living each day with intention, at his own pace (the subject of “Ningendashi”), on his own terms (“You belong only to yourself,” he sings in “Anatanouta”), while keeping in mind the positive butterfly effect of doing so (the theme of “Slow Dance”), and while sharing the good vibes (“GOOD FELLOWS” declares it’s time for “A toast to everyone’s tomorrow!”).

This album conveys the excitement of someone who truly believes that each day is a priceless opportunity to start anew, and it is also a reminder that this mindset takes conscious, constant effort to maintain. The album practices his perspective, and he acknowledges how rough it is out there while staying fiercely committed to optimistic principles.

#8: ATARASHII GAKKO!, From Tokyo with Love
From Tokyo with Love suits the state of in-betweenness that clings to ATARASHII GAKKO! no matter what. They repeatedly reference “panic” over plans falling apart, from banquet-planning “hitting a snag” (“UTAGE HIKARU”) to running late (“Catch That Train”). They go back and forth between wanting to fit in and stand out (for example, in “Kore de E,” they say both “I want the… one everyone else has” and “God, please… Let me stay true to who I am”). They have strong aspirations but a simultaneous desire to keep living in the past: “Take Me with You” is about their disappointment about vibrant memories losing their colors, while “Waiting for Good Time” is about wanting to stop the clock for a day to “frolic” and “rest” in good company). Perhaps most notably of all, they are worried about the future because they worry it won’t have their best friends in it. They cope with turbulent transition times by leaning on friends, and song after song seeks reassurance that they can always do so: “Can you come with me?” (“Oi AG!”); “Take me with you” (“Take Me with You”); “I’ll never leave you behind” (“Waiting for Good Time”). The album comes across as a full-to-bursting diary of youths’ vast emotional spectrums. Much time is allotted to relatively minor inconveniences (like running late) and concerns (like not having the trendiest accessory), but much time is also allotted to big, existential questions (like how one can carry on without companions, and how to keep one’s individuality intact despite society seeking to quash it). The group’s refusal to choose between revealing wisdom and immaturity makes From Tokyo with Love commendably nuanced. ATARASHII GAKKO! stay impressively ambitious sonically, too, refusing to make their music widely digestible. There are uncatchable beats, unabashedly guttural vocals, stick-in-your-head repetition, and darting background noises that enhance the experience even more. Listeners enter ATARASHII GAKKO’s strange world with a sense of intrigue mixed with possible confusion — the same cocktail that life is serving the members themselves!

#7: MRCH, Mutualism
Across different rock stylings, MRCH thoughtfully sings about always consciously trying to engage in meaning-making. She describes her bleak and bland surroundings in “documentary” and calls this “a humble record… creaking as it goes.” She wonders, “Will someone love me as I am?,” and, “If I, who [feel] like nothing, gather [moments] up / What will I become?” She wonders who is who in this “documentary” in the purposefully repetitive “10/10”: “Are we friends or enemies? / Is it love or hate?” And she describes her life as “dull” and “tedious” in “misfit,” although she is not certain that will always be the case: “Our story is about to begin / Aren’t you curious?” The sonic switch-up indeed makes people curious and anticipatory, but a major shift still sounds far-off, especially by the way she describes trying to “pick up the pieces of [herself]” while “crumbl[ing]” in “seesaw,” and by the way she talks in “O” about other people also having to keep moving in a “[c]lumsy” way through “jagged day[s].” Mutualism sends an important message to take life one “clumsy” day at a time and doesn’t sugarcoat how much easier said than done that way of living is. MRCH shows herself struggling with that, making her advice seem less like a directive than a promise to keep trying and lead by example. 

Despite challenges, the “Seesaw Human” music video shows how people can broaden their own horizons with the right encouragement and grit. MRCH starts out sitting at a table in the middle of a quiet neighborhood with three arrows piercing the front of her shirt. Small television sets are turned on and spread out around her, and she eventually stands up and walks among them. The channels are turned to different people and places, and the only main consistency is being colorized, in contrast to the otherwise black-and-white video. But after seeing herself on one of those TV screens, the exterior world becomes fully colorized, too, and the next time the camera pans to MRCH, the arrows are no longer piercing her. However, she continues to walk slowly and backwards, so she faces the music video audience despite not engaging with them. She seems compelled to keep “giving the people what they want” in the same meek fashion as she did before her world became more vibrant. On this street, there is calm solitude and its opposite, a sense of reality interrupted by fictionalized portrayals on TVs, new signs of possibilities that are restricted because of stemming from artificial sources, and signs of change that take time to fully appear and be appreciated. 

Mutualism is ultimately about life as a confounding, collective work in progress, and if people spend their lives seeking clear-cut answers as to which puzzle pieces they play, perhaps they are asking themselves the wrong questions.

#6: Penthouse, Neon Garden
Neon Garden is both a blast and an album about having one! Fast and upbeat voices, an all-out brass band’s recurring presence, countless periods of playful piano-playing, and an overall air of exuberance are the status quo. They insist on having a dizzying amount of carefree fun, which is why they find cultivating inner flames so important and surprisingly atypical: “Everybody wants the smoke / But few of them can stand the flame / Everybody wants a story / Then you got to want the rain” (“Drop It Down”). They embrace their “flames,” singing “Let’s burn ourselves out” in “Burn Blue” and “Drawing… you and me / Even if it burns out someday” in “Another Love.” Theater analogies go hand-in-hand with the flame ones, as well as the framing of “selfishness” being ideal. They embrace living as the stars of their own “show” in songs like “One Two Three” (“Gather ‘round for a huge ovation… packed a crowd, clap your hands!”) and “Nonsense” (“Let’s send a curtain call to depression”). They also remind themselves they deserve sustained attention and acclaim by casting personal desires as righteous: “Get hyped, go wild, just stay selfish” (“One Two Three”); “[G]o on, be greedy” (“Burn Blue”). And in “Another Love,” they recall a back-and-forth with a devil on one shoulder and end up going with the advice to “dream selfishly”! 

Neon Garden is ultimately about reframing the concept of selfishness. The band argues that some selfish pursuits are good for one’s soul! By treating some “greedy” pursuits as not inherently negative, they lower one of the mental barriers stopping some people from following their dreams and believing in themselves. They fuel their own spirits by taking up the space they insist they are worthy of, and their palpable enthusiasm proves that fuel is helpful for the long haul that is life. Motivation can be maintained by a belief in one’s own mightiness — as they put it in “Dear Cupid,” the equivalent of “hijack[ing] destiny”!

#5: KIHYUN, BORDERLINE
There is an interesting evolution to the contradictions in BORDERLINE. The title track starts with KIHYUN saying he likes to live on the edge but also craves clarity, structure, and predictability: “I feel most at ease when the tension rises;” “I like the clear shape my days take.” He again expresses the belief that he thrives best when there’s clarity in “So Good”: “Where I’m headed… all so clear to me.” And he describes time “on the edge” as frightening in “Domino”: “I move while completely lost / Running with no direction;” “The madness trapped inside me keeps growing / I want to escape this panic.” However, there is a fine line between fearing and liking a moment of transition, and KIHYUN tips into the “liking” side after giving himself a day to mentally reset. In “Lazy Day,” he sings about the mindset shift after “completely stepp[ing] away / From the busy world”: “I just never know what to do… But I know anything will be just fine.” After recharging, KIHYUN’s calm in “Late Night Drive” is believable, as is his newfound buzz in the pop-rock finale that is “Howling.” BORDERLINE starts out sounding hypocritical, but it turns out, KIHYUN is just human! He has the same contradictions as anyone else, and those contradictions suit the stylistic range: band-rooted sounds, soft R&B, alt-rock, and more.

The “So Good” music video represents the lesson KIHYUN learns throughout BORDERLINE: that he has more agency over how the “lines” in his life are drawn and detailed than he thinks. After all, the video’s villain is merely a cartoon character, who KIHYUN quickly vanquishes. He can then access what the villain was blocking: a mountain of clothes. Atop this mountain, he sees a pool of water, akin to a wishing well. Things that once felt impossible suddenly feel like close-at-hand miracles, giving KIHYUN the same rejuvenation that the album represents. However, there remains a fine line between this confident KIHYUN and the older, more wavering one, and that line is portrayed through one version of KIHYUN smiling and belting out his song in a colorful environment and another version looking disheveled while stumbling around after a spacecraft’s crash-landing.

So does KIHYUN conclude that he thrives on the “borderline”? Yes and no, and the same mixed answer is one everyone grapples with every day, rooting this project in reality despite a few creative liberties music-video-wise.

#4: Kwon Jin Ah, SAVE ME
In the “MONSTER” music video, Kwon Jin Ah turns the tables. The monsters around her are humans wearing strange, homemade masks. She shows that these monsters — who never remove their cowardly disguises — cannot live without her, but she sure as heck can live without them! The monsters parade her around, pushing her conga-line-style, but they eventually fall like dominoes, and she keeps on walking. They objectify her, messing with her literal organs, but she still manages to grab a megaphone and finish her song. They hijack her talk-show appearance, but she succeeds with a “show must go on” mentality there, too. And they harass her until she feels physically ill, but she eventually escapes her captive status. In scenes with the group of monsters, there is always only the illusion of them having the upper hand, and Kwon Jin Ah strengthens her sense of self-worth when she recognizes that control’s superficiality. She further reclaims her narrative by showing that hurt people hurt people; their insults can bounce off of her and stick back on them when she notes that their cruelty is not really about her at all. Through individual moments under a spotlight, the monsters show their jealousy towards her and related reasons for bullying her to make themselves feel better. One shreds her headshot, and another is covered in pieces of paper with criticisms on them: “TOO FAT,” “TOO SKINNY,” “TOO IDEALISTIC”... As much as the monsters succeed at literally picking her apart, at the end of the day, Kwon Jin Ah stays winning. They want her convinced that she is a sad, small, shallow person, but while trying to do so, they only reveal themselves to have those traits. 

Kwon Jin Ah’s scenes alone in a bathroom are telling: She looks down and sees bear paws for feet, but she throws up sequins. The outside world sees her as a beast, but they don’t realize she is sparkling on the inside! “MONSTER” gives Kwon Jin Ah the last laugh and shows that joy and confidence are the best kinds of revenge.

While SAVE ME is about Kwon Jin Ah saving herself, the second half complicates that narrative. After rocking out in “WHO CAN CHANGE,” calling herself a “rebel” who can do anything; and in “MONSTER,” telling herself to “Keep going” and not “let them fade [her]” true colors, she solemnly sings about unrequited love on “Rain on me.” It is an odd draw-down from the ascendant trajectory her confidence seemed to be on, and that confidence’s next upswing takes a twistier path. “87days” is a villain origin story; she casts herself in the role of a revenge-hungry, trigger-happy outlaw and identity thief who feels “made to cross the line.” In “Don’t Save Me,” she sings, “Don't save me from this Hell… Even if I'm begging you / To set me free,” and, “Oh, darling, I'm finally yours!” The album’s first half represents cutting monsters out of her narrative, while the second half represents an interest in keeping them around. She wants to be saved, casting herself in a damsel-in-distress role at the end of the day. It might seem like a disappointing flip-flop, but it actually offers important insights into who becomes a “monster” and why. Kwon Jin Ah starts to internalize the monsters’ words after a breakup steals her self-esteem (the subject of “Rain on me”), moving her from one camp to the other: those who become stronger in their resolve after facing constant scrutiny, and those who wither under the criticism and turn mistreatment into fuel for revenge. She rises above and then falls back down to the monsters’ level, a very human trajectory that touches on why monsters are evergreen in both true stories and fairy tales.

#3: Cö shu Nie, SATURATED (in monochrome)
With raw words, risk-taking sounds, and a surprising amount of inventiveness when it comes to a color-themed concept album, SATURATED (in monochrome) excels at expanding the world of Cö shu Nie. “World in Monochrome” sets the scene with an instructional monologue about entering a programmed dream via headset, and the speaker reminds them: “Remember, you are a part of this wonderful error.” People in this dream can “error” as much as they want, but there are steep consequences, as the all-seeing narrator reveals throughout the album. The subjects are in a social experiment in which they are granted the illusion of control, while they are stuck in the brainwashing organization’s idealized environment. 

As they “error” throughout the monochrome, so-called “dream world,” they imbue it with more and more colors, but the process of doing so is full of dead ends and deception. The band doesn’t shy away from depicting the gruesome, graphic parts of the discovery process. They describe an agony akin to being poisoned and dissolving into a “festering body” with “the stench of burning flesh” (“Hollow”), a place they need to escape from that is so hopeless they turn to the “sweet” sounds of sewage pipes to feel calm (“Antiseptic”), and a realm where bright white light is anything but positive symbolism: “Another execution, viewed through eyes of sterile, blinding white” (“Low Down”). The experiment’s participants do not just have to find their way out without a shortcut, but they have to learn what “ways out” are actually decoys. 

The album’s climax is “Renegade,” which forces a reckoning with the impulse to mindlessly obey perceived authority figures: “You afraid to pay the toll, so you resort to lies, saying you ain’t being controlled;” “They will pain you, unless you paint you;” “Pull the plug on the hive mind.” 

As brutal as it might be, Cö shu Nie claw their way into a better world, “erroring” to redefine their surroundings. In “Noise,” they sing about being determined to “paint themselves,” channeling a “sensation so colorful it almost hurts,” taking the lead in labeling their new color (“Let me be the very first drop”), and nurturing their inner light (“I won't let the tiny light reflected in my eyes fade away”). The “burning pain” they described so viscerally earlier becomes “merely an illusion… because [their] eyes are shining” now. The thing they feel “wrapped in” is warm light, rather than a “decaying cocoon,” as they put it in “Antiseptic.” And, as they say in “evergreen,” the “bleached-white world” becomes the canvas on which passion bursts “in vivid red.”

SATURATED (in monochrome) is one of Cö shu Nie’s gnarliest and noisiest releases to date, with expanded, grimier, and more progressive instrumentation that suits its theme of creating bigger, better, brighter settings.

#2: i-dle, We made
The three singles on We made complete each other. The theme is singularity, and especially in “Mono” and “Crow,” it is not just people who are one, but their surroundings. Everything morphs into everything else, with fluid shapes and contours to everything from people to backdrops. The choreography also emphasizes linkage, with limbs holding each other like they are parts of a single organism. Text on the screen mid-video in “Mono” stresses that this synchronicity is not mutually exclusive from individuality: “How do you identify?;” “For sure. When you love yourself, you can love everyone.” In “Crow,” that self-love is evident in the confidence i-dle carry themselves with during both figurative nighttime and daytime. SOYEON commands a scene in short, dark hair while rapping and standing under gray skies. Later, MIYEON sings in that spot with long, bright blonde hair, and under the white flags people hold in a roof formation. SOYEON and MIYEON complement each other, like two i-dle members do who circle each other in matching outfits in a separate location, one where everyone else wears white but the duo wears black. They size each other up but do not proceed to fight, and their tense moment might as well have been an illusion; crows sweep through and morph the scene into something else. In “Crow,” morphing continues to include people, animals, and props alike, reinforcing how all things see themselves in each other.

While “Gimme Dat Love” differs from “Mono” and “Crow” in some key ways, like the exclusions of bird’s-eye shots (everyone now gets the camera’s front-facing gaze) and placement of people on the literal same level (a contrast to the tiered platform in “Crow”), it shares a fluid sense of connection. Water droplets morph into words, average hand-holding suddenly turns technicolor, pool waves and swirling clouds are one and the same… All the while, the scenes stay steamy and sun-soaked, representing the vibrancy produced through steps one (“Mono”) and two (“Crow”). 

“Mono” is i-dle attaining a blank canvas, supported by a loose, laid-back form of dance-pop and lyrics like “Turn the effects down, let it all fade out.” Once the noise is gone, they can hear what really matters to them, because “love is louder in mono.” 

“Crow” is the phase of drawing on a new canvas, assisted by the commanding glam-rock sound and depicted most directly via the video’s white but black-paint-streaked flag. The members of i-dle take time to figure out who they are while surrounded by support (the backup dancers) yet not distracted by that support’s magnitude. 

Part three, “Gimme Dat Love,” is the final phase, when i-dle show off their artwork! They feel confident showing their true selves in a brighter light and in more colors, as the video’s atmosphere and song’s sure-of-themselves, sultry sound attest.

While the B-sides strike a softer tone, they do not dilute the message of the singles. “Morning” just takes the message of “Mono” about tuning out naysayers in a more low-key direction, and the ballad “Love Is Pain” leaves room to interpret i-dle’s view of a past relationship as beneath them. They recognize how “[T]his [former] love was built on sand,” and they now have the pride needed to build their next relationships out of sturdier material, out of things that don't fall apart the second waves crash into them. Self-love is a core new building block, and the text in the “Mono” video is worth repeating: “When you love yourself, you can love everyone.” While committing to staying themselves, they can hold their significant others to the same standard. The ultimate EP takeaway is that i-dle value being seen as equals in every way, a way to make life truly feel as beautiful as a work of art.

#1: YEONJUN, NO LABELS: PART 02
It seemed like YEONJUN had entered his ultimate flow state on PART 01, but PART 02 says, “Challenge accepted!” PART 02 is one example after another of a “know it when you see it” “It” factor on full display. Rather than sounding like he is tailoring his voice and stage presence for the material, the material is always the one working with what YEONJUN initiates. If the music were a person, it would be someone who instantly obeys every command: to shut up for a sudden pause so YEONJUN can whip out a falsetto note, like the “C” when he sings “A, B, C” in “Vanilla;” to repeat his words for emphasis; to sustain momentum and not get distracted, as he suddenly starts slurring or whispering (the former as the repetitive “Fxxking Star” bridge unfolds, the latter leading into the “Ice Cream” chorus); to cooperate with his impromptu experiments, like when his voice jumps higher for the “ee” sound in “prodigy” on “Fxxking Star;” to be okay with not understanding the joke, like when he lets out a cocky laugh during “Vanilla”… YEONJUN says, “Jump,” and the music asks, “How high?”! On the other hand, there are clearly times when he decides, “I’ll just do it myself to make sure it’s done right!” His own voice often serves as the background layer, offering running commentary and ad-lib-driven self-hype!

What makes PART 02 even more effortless-seeming than PART 01 is how the songs on PART 02 pull off what the songs on PART 01 could with visual aids. The PART 01 short film was like several music videos strewn together, making each song feel connected to the others and making transition sequences feel obsolete. The songs on PART 02 already sound like one long story together, without a need for the trailer and “Ice Cream” music video to prompt that effect. Those videos don’t hurt his case, but PART 02’s premise is intuitive without them. The songs on PART 02 do the smooth roving-around that the PART 01 videos did, and the PART 02 videos focus more on static and “frozen” shots. 

How exactly do the songs on PART 02 come across as one story? The music is the message: YEONJUN is burning up! From lyrics about wanting a relationship to stay at a very specific temperature intensity-wise, so it is “cool” to have but doesn’t “melt” (in “Ice Cream”), to warning people not to stand too close because he’s on fire (in “F**king Star”), what is packaged as an easy-breezy, ice-cream-themed comeback is secretly filled with double meanings and depth.

While the umbrella theme of this era is maintained from song to song, the sound continuously favors a sense of spontaneity. YEONJUN is always on the verge of switching gears, changing his pace mid-song, pushing a sound-effects button, or otherwise straying from expectations. He lets the guitars gently rev up and wobble again to complete “Vanilla” in a full-circle way. He plays with a more talk-like delivery and goofy rhyming in “Baby Wassup?” (rhyming “okay” with “thirstay”!), but he doesn’t end before designating a backup role to a digi-fied voice so he can separately flex his vocal riffing skills! He proves a refusal to compromise on his contradictions on the next track, singing about “No More Disco” in a heavily-electronified voice and including a lengthier instrumental ending segment (relative to the other songs). He lets a crowd ride on the reverberations of his words in “Fxxking Star,” a song that ends with the auditory equivalent of leaving his signature: a hushed “YJ.” Lastly, a graceful glide to the end of the listening experience comes from the lo-fi sounds and final crooning of “whoah”s and “oh”s in “Long Way Long Ride.” He could have ended with the strident scorcher that is “F**cking Star” but instead went with another curveball; “Long Way Long Ride” admits to ongoing self-doubts. Then again, it is the conclusion listeners should have expected all along, since it furthers the “YEONJUN is on fire!” theme by implying there are drawbacks that come after flying too close to the sun.

By utilizing his natural ear for what makes a good song, YEONJUN starts, progresses, and ends each song on the right notes; each song satisfies like a summer treat because no ingredient is missing. Like an artist who laughs off a tripping-and-falling incident and plays on, his stumbles instantly become purposeful pivots. 

The bottom line is that YEONJUN is a true artist, an irrepressible force of talent and charisma who fully trusts himself creatively. That trust is the key that unlocks this musical treasure chest. 

Check out more of the best new music here and here, and stay tuned for the “Best of August” reviews!