Review Summary: power pop supremacy 2024
Every year, at least one Japanese power pop band reaches into a tired slew of heartaches, misgivings and bittersweet reflections, and pulls out the miracle of a refreshing statement, a sharply-written, vitalising outpouring that ends up strangely essential to its time and place, whatever they be; this year, at least one of those miracle acts is yonige, and I for one counted this as a welcome surprise! This Kansai two-piece has picked up a decent-sized following over the last decade, but had yet to prove themselves beyond the level of individual tracks. They stand out in a sea of ebullient seishun acts and fatalistic emo-adjacencies by playing the pep of the former against the latter's moodiness; they radiate an uncommon maturity for both the exuberance and the sullenness they take as core songwriting ingredients. Vocalist/guitarist Arisa Ushimaru plays a key role here, the depth and reserve of her voice a soothing contrast against the ecstatic stylings many of her contemporaries employ. Good for her! If what I've heard of yonige's past output was infrequently engaging as far as writing and hooks go, Ushimaru still gets credit for seeing it off with both feet on the ground — but this is dust in the wind now:
Empire is a great step forward that shows off yonige's sharpest writing instincts and leans into the full breadth of their dynamic spectrum. Its opening trio kicks off with a set of immediate upbeat highlights; the closing trio is a comparatively sombre, though no less excellent affair that counts on the audience having cottoned onto the heavy-hearted undertones camouflaged within the brighter opening run. This gradual offloading of energy doesn't follow an entirely even gradient – late-game showstopper "Exorcist" is proof enough of this, with its surprise lurch into heavier, industrial stylings – but it does create a misleading first impression of the album's central appeal. Get to grips with its downbeat side, however, and it's a much more even listen: a returning audience will hear the note-perfect pop rock of opener "Super Express" less for its upbeat dynamics and bright hooks, and more for the melancholy undertones of its opening guitar lead and the yearning behind each inflection. The song's soaring chorus line is a near reflection of this:
Sometimes a shooting star comes by / or I pull up a four-leaf clover / and I have nothing to wish for. On first pass, this comes off as a heady cry of contentment, but anyone attuned to the band's emotional wavelength will know to read it for its darker inferences, as a disgruntled pang from a narrator weathering a stagnant patch. yonige make great work out of this interplay between moment-to-moment gratification and ongoing moodiness: the album's perkiest track ("Walk Walk") divulges in its earliest moments that the wind blowing at its back carries the force of however many weary sighs, while a track billed as "Club Night" proves to be a keynote introspective moment, replete with a guitar solo that seems keener to cry itself to sleep than soak up the spotlight. By the time the gentle jangle of closer "a familiar empire" has come to an end and Ushimaru has seen off yet another set of uneasy reminiscences, all fumbled words and faltering self-confidence, she has practically adopted the serenity of an R&B vocalist and her band has never sounded smoother. Their confidence is infectious — it's rare to find a record this enlivening that goes to such lengths to nourish its downtime.
