Review Summary: Here comes the Sun Queen
Ayano Kaneko has spent at least half a decade stuck at border control between goodness and greatness, and phwoar baby it was about time someone expedited her papers.
anyone? Uh, yes - hi! - opening statement: her new record
Towelket wa odayakana is
great beyond the yes-
but confines of goodness that have snared all her output since 2018’s
Shukusai! It’s a charm! Probably the fullest representation of her vision for vintage, folk-ish, mainstream-viable(ish) psych-pop to date. For those only just joining us, the brief here = husky Japanese singer-songwriter penning jangly palatable alternative histories for the likes of “Here Comes The Sun” (which here finds itself directly interpolated, not for the first time in her discography, on the delightful “Nemurenai”).
Towelket wa odayakana does approximately zero to flip the script on all this, but it does navigate its tracklist in such a way that poses a perfect foil to the traditional Kaneko catch: indistinct songwriting and homogenous pacing. These reduced her past records to glorified mood boards for a single writing inspiration that inevitably played out across two or three golden tracks to be logged immediately to whichsoever regularly revisited playlists, plus however many iterations of the-same-thing-but-not-quite-as-good.
No more! This record’s consistently excellent songs offer a far more distinct set of respective unpackings for practically every reason anyone would ever listen to Ayano Kaneko. Endearingly skittish flirtation with psych-folk and country romps? “Kisetsu no Kudamono” is an instant staple. Wistful episodes for sombre daydreamers? “Tsukiakari” is here for you. The perky earworm with just the right amount
push? “Konnahi Ni Kagitte”’s hooks are instant snags. Melodramatic indulgence for the wine mum hours? Get on that title track, right away this minute. These songs complement each other immaculately, with the occasional fresh addition to Kaneko’s palette thrown in as an added bonus: a wash of shoegazing fuzz instantly starts opener “Watashitachihe” out on a strong foot, while “Yokan” dips briefly into blazing psych rock and “Tsukiakari” sports both reversed guitar leads (
yes, probably directly inherited from “I’m Only Sleeping”) and, in its final seconds, glitching noise interspersions. These are unobtrusive yet colourful accents to tracks that would carry themselves perfectly well without - lovely stuff. It’s not
quite a clean sweep, though - much like its subject matter, “Kibun” (Mood) vacillates between a jumbled cluster of emotions over its protracted runtime, dragging its feet behind Kaneko’s rather weighty inflections. These are a little belaboured at other points, however innocuously (see “Watashitachihe”), and I also feel that her songcraft has room for more dynamic scope within individual cuts despite the huge step-up she makes here across the album-span. What else?
Towelket is a portmanteau of
towel and
blanket, and towelkets serve, uh, both functions. They have you covered - good.
