bloodthirsty butchers
Kocorono

There are two main trends, easily recognizable, in the Japanese alternative scene. The first one is imitative, which starts from an uncritical genuflection to the West, leading either to a slavish imitation or a sincere homage to our styles; the second is to take a Western approach, sound, or genre and rework it, perhaps taking the Japanese sensibility as a base, mixing it up in a fair of strange outcomes, ideally very original, or if not done well, akin to a mess.

Now, while the second variety, far more exotic, nevertheless finds an audience outside the island, even if restricted, the first tends, as a result of its derivative nature, to remain obscure. These hybrids, halfway between East and West, are much less known, naturally, than their experimental half-siblings.

But it’s clear that Japan also has its rock masterpieces.

I'm not an expert on Japanese music, and I don’t know if the bloodthirsty butchers are indeed revered in their homeland or if they have had any influence on subsequent indie scenarios. They hail from Hokkaido, the northernmost island of the archipelago, the least populated, and the most inhospitable. A cold landscape saw them grow, and its melancholy is glimpsed in the album.

Kocorono is a minor album, a heavyweight in every sense, like the era it's from, its duration, its theme, its sound care. It requires attentive listening but rewards abundantly.

Except for the concluding ones, the tracks on the album are titled according to the months of the year. From February to January, it's easy to imagine the changing environment, which from the angry spring tones down and expands into a summer full of crescendos and overdrive – the peak of the album, July, is a true blossoming of sounds and life – which, after September, pushed to the limits of voids and pauses, bursts again in the fall with distortions, this time darker and more desolate. The bass becomes leaden and weighty, the guitar, at the same time sharper and more closed than before, doesn’t feature the dreamy melodies of the first part of the album but rather bends towards electronics, only to return to the starting point, or rather to reunite the two styles, autumn-winter and winter-spring, in the final January.

If the seasons go around, the album, however, drifts. The distance from the loved one (forced? Lasting a year? It reminds me of the Megadhūta) initially has the grit of strong and passionate love, culminating in the poignant summer, a season in Japan nostalgic par excellence, but then the voice, even in the mix, becomes more distant and even sadder, and the tones and structures of the pieces become more disconnected and suffered, like a memory fading away, and the conclusion in its catharsis suggests at the same time a goodbye and a reunion, and even having the translations of the lyrics I wouldn’t read them nor would I ever recommend doing so because it's much more beautiful as I'm telling it to you.

Also because I’m polite and I won’t talk about the actual ending of the story, since in the end, the tracklist continues beyond the limits of the calendar and reaches the true big piece.