Review Summary: Through colorful soundscapes, patience, and precision Fishmans crafts a masterful work that celebrates humanity within nature. This record makes you feel reverent, secure, and grateful for your place on this earth.
Open your eyes. See the leaves. Breathe in.
And ask yourself whether you are apart of nature, or merely an observer？
In their groundbreaking 1996 work, Long Season,
Fishmans explores this question of humanity and nature. This is explored in a language most of us do not speak - the band is Japanese - yet their answers are clear, melancholic, and joyous. That this album delivers such a powerful message regardless of language barriers and minimal lyricism is a testament to the record's emotive power and deeply human character.
Fishmans is a band difficult to categorize; they are too colorful to be Progressive Rock, but too composed to be Psychedelic Rock. They are too ambitious to be Dream Pop or Dub, but too gentle and approachable to be Experimental Rock. This isn't to say that this record is an easy listen; it demands considerable patience, as the album is a single long 35 minute track. However, I encourage you to cast aside your notion of one-track albums as an indulgent musical trope; this record deftly avoids cliche', as the work fits effortlessly in its lengthy run time. Much like the gradual changing of the seasons Long Season has room to breathe, but it does so without a single wasted note.
This record is brimming with atmosphere, scenic imagery, and sentiment. Within the first few minutes it's clear that this album is built for reflection. The foundation of the record is its delicate, ever present keyboard progression, which hypnotizes the listener and grounds the work as a whole. Sharp, syncopated drum beats bolster this foundation giving the work an excellent sense of momentum between its gentle interludes. As the work progresses delicate shamisen and shimmering guitar licks enter the fray, alongside violin and brass flourishes - all coming together in joyous evolution.
The human element of the record slides in naturally; a gentle chanting chorus accompanies the tender melodic falsetto of Shinji Satoh, granting the work added emotional gravity. Once the vocals are set comfortably in the arrangement the singer breaks out and above the hypnosis, crying out a declaration of his humanity in a vocal solo so powerful that it can only be compared to The Great Gig In The Sky. What follows is an admirable demonstration of this records' restraint; the powerful drum beat that accompanies the vocals gradually recedes into an introspective compilation of field recordings as it is replaced by the thump of a rocking bamboo fountain. Wind chimes swaying in the breeze. Skipping rocks across a pond. Leaves blowing in the wind. The singer's declaration is answered in the language of mother nature. You can feel the seasons changing as the record shifts focus effortlessly, without ever losing it's grounding.
Before it overstays its welcome the instrumentals return to join natures ambiance. The keyboards maintain their hypnotic control and the guitar slowly builds as its accompanied by additional human elements: gentle hums, harmonized chants, and melodica flourishes. All of which come together with calming, meditative precision. At this point the lyricism of the album makes it's fullest statement. You can grasp the sentiment of the message regardless of your native tongue, the sentiment being a rumination on man's place in nature and the passage of time:
"Running in the evening twilight"
"Calling the wind, calling you"
"What things can you remember？"
"We are half in a dream"
Once the record states its message the 30 minutes of latent anticipation reaches its breaking point; the slow building strings and brass overflow as the guitars erupt in a final climax that is simply triumphant. This album is outstanding on a technical level throughout. Each slight shift in the guitar line or keyboard progression is meticulously placed in ways that make your heart skip a beat every time - and your chest will swell with each vocal, string, or brass harmony that penetrates the keyboard's hypnotic pull. They even pull off an accordion solo to accompany the final climax - and somehow it works perfectly. The performances are tight but come across as relaxed and effortless, not only in the studio but on the magnificent live recording as well - 98.12.28.
Long Season closes with the same level of patience, the same relaxed pace, and the same precise execution with which it opens. The ambiance of the work expresses the beauty and serenity of nature - while the meticulous precision emphasizes the interconnectedness of its order. And when the chants, the hums, and the harmonies enter the picture you can see man's place in this natural order. This message of humanity within nature ties the two together with a single idea, a single shared experience between the two: the passage of time. Memory. The slow, swelling progression of the piece, the aching sentimental vocals, and the lengthy meditative interludes invite you to reflect on the sorrow and joy of strings and voices straining and swaying like cherry blossom branches in the wind. Indeed,
Fishmans encourages you to meditate on this, as one day you will be standing under the falling autumn leaves, and as the wind catches your hair you will ask yourself:
"What things can I remember？"
"I am half in a dream"
