Review Summary: Tentenko I: Context dump! Idol, techno, crowdfunders and cats!
This review marks the start of an ongoing series on Tentenko’s discography. As the specifics of Tentenko’s platform as an ex-idol freelancer and their significance given the nature of her solo work will likely seem obscure to anyone without wider awareness of idol pop, it is intended to be used as a reference point for both future instalments of this series and other reviews pertaining to idol.
There exists a ballpark of musicians so prolific that casual listeners find it flat-out impossible to keep up with them; a select pool of masochistically productive artists whose discographies cannot be named in full within a single breath without volunteering a death sentence several times over. We’re looking at names like Buckethead or John Zorn, for whom it’s outright unusual to release fewer than two or three albums per year. These guys will throw whatever wayward ideas they so please all over the shop, while upholding such high standards of artistry in concept (if not always realisation) that they’re just about safe from quality-not-quantity write offs. Crucially, they’ve both been in the game so long that their names have cemented themselves in our minds over and over, both in how often they're cited and in the underlying impression that
it would be actively unwise for most artists to work this prolifically. With their extremely high pedigree of musicianship, the way these artists routinely challenge this presumption is a vital part of what makes their work so impressive.
Now, if there’s one consideration that will prove indispensable over the course of this forthcoming megaodyssey, it is that while the aforementioned category of artists’ quantity of output is beyond the scope of most musicians’ production and release ethics, their particular level of prestige is all but impossible to come by. Any aspiring startling determined, for whatever reason, to churn out a similar stream of output would find the minutiae of their craft, talents and process vulnerable to profound scrutiny, their faults laid bare from release to release and their strengths continually punching above their weight. This sets the scene nicely for a fresh, loosely comparable figure with only cult exposure on the international stage but an impressive quantity to show for it. Enter Tentenko.
Tentenko is a cat devotee, a former member of the idol group BiS, one of the smaller humans in the universe, and the owner of a record label, Tenten Records. Through her label she’s released more CD-Rs of experimental techno/pop/industrial/ambient/noise/whatever than I think it would be wise to count. She’s best known for two focal releases, 2016’s
Kogyo Seihin and 2017’s
Kiken na Anata, which are both slick, forward-thinking pop with prominent quirks and an inviting sense of fun. However, these are just the tip of a very deep, very obscure iceberg: her output has been relentless since early 2015, to the point that laying down a current sum total would be all but pointless, swiftly outdated by whatever she churns out next. Most of her releases are bitesize, but we get the occasional DJ mix or extensive collaboration to switch things up. It’s a lot. Some of it is great, some of it is terrible, but almost all of it is at least somewhat
interesting; the speed and confidence with which Tentenko shifts from one set of wayward ideas to the next is engaging in and of itself, but the key thing here, the part that makes her a particular curiosity, is the relative paucity of experience she had as a composer and producer prior to this career. This reflects both positively and negatively across her output, but immediately sets her up as a wildcard in the light of the ultra experienced connotations of the Zorn/Buckethead school of Doing Everything: All Of The Things All Of The Time.
As such, both because she’s an interesting study and because this is likely the only way that an extensive, coherent account of her discography will ever be produced, we’re going in. All the way (maybe): this marks the start of a review series that will ideally cover
everything Tentenko has put her name to thus far. Live albums, DJ mixes, collaborations, you name it: we’re going to go there, in chronological order. I can’t promise that this series will ever catch up to the present (or beyond) but one thing I’m going to make damn certain of is that anyone with the patience to read this the whole way through will be left with more information on Tentenko’s stylistic twists, highlights and lowlights, creative attitude, weapons of choice, and background context than they know what to do with. Strap yourselves in, team.
Of course, ‘right now’ actually means ‘imminently’; we’re still in the tutorial stage for now. Anyone who dropped in specifically to read a review of her first single, “Good Bye, Good Girl.”, we’ll come to that. First, however, a little more background: Tentenko hails from Hokkaido and her first musical project was a collaboration with her friend Tomoe Takizawa named Florida. Florida started in 2006 and continued through the ‘00s and early ‘10s; their output from this period was reportedly more concerned with tape experiments and field recordings than conventional production or songwriting. None of this material exists online in any form I’m aware of, but judging from Florida’s self-titled mini-album from 2015, it was likely a cogent foundation for her solo work (with the benefit of Takizawa’s somewhat more refined ear for melody).
Florida was put on hold when Tentenko began her stint in BiS (Brand-new Idol Society) for the final year of their first generation (2013-2014). This is where things get complicated; her creative independence and autonomy over her means of production are particularly striking given her background in idol pop. For those unfamiliar, idol is essentially a business built from the cult of personality surrounding young, hyper-visible, hyper-clean stars. It’s different from Western celebrity showbiz in that idols are produced image-first in order to draw a fanbase, and their artistic output is considered auxiliary to this - the cognitive process is less “Wow that group has an amazing singer, I guess I’ll follow their personal stuff on social media” and much more “OMG my favourite member of Group XYZ is singing two lines in this song’s verse isn’t it amazing to see them trying their hardest up there.” For idols, concerts and albums are as important (or even less so) as their endless photoshoots and meet-and-greets; they are evaluated as personalities, not professional musicians, and anyone wanting to be considered as the latter tends to avoid identification as an idol. This isn’t to say idol albums aren’t worthwhile; BiS’
Who Killed Idol? was no slouch and several of 2019’s finest releases came from the alt-idol field (see: recommended albums). However, idols generally have minimal autonomy over their image and output; BiS wrote a significant chunk of their own lyrics, and that was pretty much it. All in all, the idol platform is just as about as at odds with Tentenko’s free spirited solo extravaganza as can be imagined.
Things get trickier when you consider that BiS were by no means a normal group. They were pretty much to idol pop what My Chemical Romance were to ‘00s rock music, taking everything tasteful and savoury about their scene and turning it inside out as sensationally as possible, opening an excited new demographic whose previous interest in such things ranged from limited to non-existent. For My Chemical Romance, a few strokes of eyeliner and full-blooded anthems about death were sufficient; BiS had to go several extra miles to sell their brand of idol-against-idol. Their early years were marked by a neverending set of controversial lineup changes, strikingly sexualised and/or violent content, and merciless fan baiting (their Wikipedia page is an entertaining and worthwhile read). For all they appeared to embody the opposite of the sqeeaky-clean image every other group stood for, their internal management and approach to fan interaction were both textbook idol. The seemingly wildfire impression of subversion that surrounded BiS in their first gen (and since) was tightly engineered Malcolm McLaren-style on the girls’ behalf by their manager Junnosuke Watanabe. Watanabe had, ehm, limited respect in practice for those under his wing - the full specifics of this need their own time and place to unpack, but suffice to say that Tentenko’s year in BiS gave her ample exposure in the pages of Playboy and in conversation with experienced pornographers. BiS members were as hard pressed and strictly controlled as those of more conventional groups; this is captured in a nutshell by their video for “MURA-MURA”, which parodies the infamous episode of a member of megaidol group AKB48 being forced to shave her head after being caught violating the group’s dating ban (needless to say BiS had their own, significantly less publicised dating ban all the while…)
Tentenko’s BiS saga is pertinent to her subsequent solo work for a variety of reasons. First and foremost is that this career might as well be treated as work in a different sector; for all she’s still technically an entertainer, her work in BiS likely gave her next to no songwriting or production experience and it’s consequentially interesting to see her start out on a new craft on the back foot. Moreover, the public platform she gained from BiS is significant and predetermined a large amount of her solo success. This is particularly evident in economic terms: being a member of BiS was less than lucrative, and Tentenko was making something between 100 000 to 150 000 yen a month (likely on the lower end) from the group, roughly £700/$900. There are probably convincing theories about idol groups paying their stars peanuts to keep them beholden to the industry, but the upshot of this was that independently funding a label and sustaining a livelihood exclusively dedicated to music would have been a steep challenge for Tentenko off the back of her BiS savings. Fortunately, the group brought her a comfortable level of wealth in proxy: while she herself might have been skint, she was able to crowdfund two million yen within a short timespan to set up Tenten records. Off the back of this, it’s significant that much of her release pattern has been built around direct engagement with her fanbase as a priority, with many of her albums primarily distributed as CD-Rs included with copies of her fanzine. For all her work from this point has adamantly been that of a musician, there are still distinct traces of the ethic of neverending fan-directed content that makes of an idol’s bread and butter. This is an important factor for much of her lower key solo outings, as it carries a distinctive dual valance as both her personal creative output and a means for fan interaction - for Tentenko, these albums are too scattergun to count as her Big Name releases (for which she would later sign to another label), but also too important in terms of artistic development and prolific assertion to be written off in the same way as most fanclub material as generally understood by that model.
With all that taken into account, there are three distinct angles on Tentenko, all of which rub together throughout her solo work: first you have the face-value solo artist making a living out of exploring alternative pop and techno stylings; second, you have the ex-idol capitalising on the remnants of her old fanbase, without whom this new career would have been a potentially inviable uphill struggle, all while consolidating a new one; finally, you have someone with the experience of a near amateur adopting a prolific independence and churning out whatever comes into her head on a routine basis. When you dig into each of these respectively, you end up with a crucial set of criteria for assessing any given Tentenko release:
1. What’s going on creatively? How refined is this release, how much shit is being thrown against the wall, and what does it get across musically?
2. To what degree does this release seem to a) nod towards, b) impassively disregard, or c) actively reject Tentenko’s platform as an ex-idol?
3. Whether a refined set of techno pop bangers or an experimental throwaway, how competent does Tentenko seem here (and if not very, does this add to or detract from things)?
The last part is the most interesting for me; it’s not often that you’re able to openly question the competence of an artist without immediately holding their work in disregard, but Tentenko’s bold production ethic is so quickfire and unpredictable that slip-ups are inevitable, to a point necessary, and very much forgivable. Part of the charm here is hearing her grow through trial and error; her work starts from a position of great inexperience and her development is captured comprehensively from release to release. It’s rare to have a chance to watch an artist find their feet in this much detail.
With all that accounted for, it’s finally time to dig into this debut single! “Good Bye Good Girl.” was instrumental in putting Tentenko on the map from an early stage, and it remains the most iconic song in her canon. Co-written with 'Papico’ (a pen name for a musician who remains anonymous), the track would later appear on her landmark 2016 album
Kougyou Seihin. It’s upbeat techno pop pulled straight from the ‘80s and originally released on VHS as a structuralist nod to its stylistic roots. Tentenko’s solo work has always maintained a retro, analog (or, at least, semi-digital) focus, and the single is a firm statement of identity in this regard. All things considered, it’s catchy and likeable, although this has less to do with Tentenko’s vocals and more with the deliciously prominent synth bass. Tentenko’s voice in general is a tricky variable that her solo work will continually find ways to navigate, with diverse levels of success; her voice is somewhat personable but far from tuneful, often sounding most convincing when she dips and weaves around her arrangements rather then steering them. On “Good Bye Good Girl.” she takes up the mantle of the conventional pop singer, and the results are accordingly mixed. On the (literal) flip side, the B-side “Hot Pants” is a sweet instrumental affair, bar a few innocuous vocalises and background laughter. It doesn’t add all that much to “Good Bye Good Girl.”’s mission statement, but it does sustain a tone of endearing optimism that feels both appropriate for a debut release and a little tongue in cheek given the single’s surprisingly dark matter of a famous unsolved murder.
And there you have it: Tentenko’s solo career is underway!
Good Bye Good Girl. resonates like a confident letter of introduction; it’s by far the most polished, fully realised track we’ll hear from Tentenko for quite some time and it hovers over her 2015 and 2016 work like a question mark, both in its superior production standard and relatively sophisticated arrangement (just you wait to see what it’s up against!), and in its own internal misfit as a decent pop song that defined its creator in the eyes of many without entirely suiting her palette. Unrealised potential is very much the key here, and it’s a theme we’ll be seeing a lot more of in a kaleidoscopic range of permutations…
