Every morning when we wake up we are barraged by the latest madness from the United States, what crazy irrational executive order has the American President enacted now? What democratic norm has he destroyed in his latest spate of political trolling in his march towards wanna be authoritarianism whilst we sleep? And that’s just the political situation across the pond. So amidst the bad news on our screens and doom scroll of our timelines what we need is pause for breath, moments of calm and space. A soothing album that helps us rediscover the empathy and wonder buried somewhere in all of us.
Ichiko Aoba‘s new album, Luminescent Creatures is just that record and it’s absolutely wonderful, offering moments of quiet isolation and meditative beauty and hope amidst the overwhelm of doom scrolling.
Aoba is a Japanese artist who has been gaining attention for her work since she was just 19, she has worked with artists like Haruomi Hosono, Cornelius, and the late Ryuichi Sakamoto in Japan. A natural evolution of Ichiko’s earlier work. Her previous album, 2020’s Windswept Adan, was the soundtrack to an imaginary film about a girl who journeys from her home to the fantastical Adan Island.
On Luminescent Creatures she opens an even wider portal into her mind, exploring the origin and essence of life with with a constellation of musical vistas. A central theme of Luminescent Creatures is the theory of bioluminescence, the light emitted by organisms such as deep-sea fishes. Another evolution in her artistry, she seamlessly blends a tapestry of experimental instrumental folk with poetic Japanese music, and explorative shimmering synth sounds intensely personal and adventurous yet it’s no less universal.
Opener ‘COLORATURA’ has delicious echoes of the work of Françoise Hardy, with the whirring instrumental motifs, and pungent wood wind notes guides us into a new terrain of the environment man has sought to destroy, while colourful wisps of melody comfort as you are submerged in slumber. It captures this feeling of isolation, of escapism, of plunging deep into the depths of the ocean to find the essence of life. “I feel unable to resist the pull of the ocean,” Ichiko says, “and know how easy it would be for my small body to be swallowed by the sea.”
The evocative ‘mazamun’ twinkles in the arms of a sighing lullaby Aoba’s vocals are less notes and more expressive sighs bathe you in their glow, twinkling somewhere between the most magical moments of Bjork‘s work on Post and Homogenic and elements of Joanna Newsome, yet sounds unique, utterly beguiling.
‘FLAG‘ distills pure simplicity and transfixing majesty, with her beguiling isolated voice and a guitar, Aoba reflects on life while gazing at the sea and singing: “Is it true that we are reborn so many times over?”
Each note is rippling with a celestial purity from coo to soaring falsetto that reminds one of the early work of Sigur Ros, tumbling down a solitary classical guitar motif, it’s like a lighthouse at the centre of the ocean offering you hope and light in the middle of the darkness. A quiet, soothing and transcendental form of escape.
Wondrous lead single ‘Luciférine’ meanwhile is a central song, fluttering with textures and waves of instrumentation lapping in on your feet like the tide of the sea, twinkling pianos and sighing strings, in a productional glow, allowing Aoba exquisite vocal to tiptoe through this fantastical, cinematic soundscape that divines the illumination of our dreams, it sounds heavenly. “Inside each of us,” she sings, “there is a place for our stars to sleep.” It conjures an image of creatures pouring off light like celestial bodies, lighting a path to close the distance between galaxies.
‘SONAR” blinks with sonar (sound navigation and ranging) as a metaphor for finding human connection amidst the depths of loneliness. Centered on Aoba’s voice and a keyboard at once solitary and universal, struggle and hope when there is none, in Japanese she sings a poignant melody that somehow offers an escape and connection at once. “Beyond the darkness, a glimmer of /somebody’s voice / I am here, although / I know not where, and yet / I hear it.” Aoba’s voice is low in the mix as if suppressed by insurmountable depths. An echo of Aoba’s voice creeps in, reverberating like the graceful song of a marine mammal trying to find its friends.
At the heart of Luminescent Creatures is the push and pull between the beauty and brutality of nature, one moment its vast landscapes and oceanic depths can make us feel insignificant and powerless to its cruelty, and the wonder and awe of nature and the glowing illumination of the core of every living creature: it’s these dichotomies that Ichiko Aoba channells quite exquisitely. In these times of uncertainty, overwhelm and darkness Aoba offers a comforting call. A beacon to call you home in the dead of night, safe harbour, a reminder of what it means to feel grounded, to be alive and it sounds absolutely magical.
