Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want from life. My goals, dreams, and (surprising lack of) ambitions. What I got from these ruminations was a renewed dedication to the quiet life, eschewing the hustle, grind, and self-optimization of our loudly accelerating days and enjoying the little things; in short, I want to practise living in the moment, not through some semblance of worth and achievement. As far as one can, that is. Removing yourself from society and its expectations is a pitfall in and of itself, so you have to find a balance that works for you.
The source of this contemplation was my current obsession with the Wim Wenders movie Perfect Days, which has these thoughts (and many others) at its core. Like its protagonist, I desire to spend my life in the quiet contentment of being at peace with my pace, to admire the world around me not through the lens of where it might get me but with genuine care and adoration. To live with the everlasting dance of light and darkness, as if watching the sunlight trough the dancing leaves of a forest – komorebi.
I don’t mean to bore you with the more pedestrian details of a writer’s quotidien; I do, however, believe that it’s necessary to know these things to get a feel for the perspective from which I view Luminescent Creatures, the latest record by Japanese singer-songwriter Ichiko Aoba. In many ways, I felt my thoughts reflected back at me through its sound, where earnest emotion and whimsical wonderment are tangled in a delightful tapestry of delicate folk tunes.
Lacking both a lyric sheet and a grasp of the Japanese language that surpasses the thinly strewn vocabulary of a regular Vtuber enjoyer (feel free to pause and cringe for a moment if you must), I will not attempt to decode the words and themes Aoba has chosen for her new album. Instead, I will simply continue to feed off its vibes and atmosphere.
Indeed, it’s the overall feel of this record that makes it so wholly engrossing in my eyes. At its heart sits Aoba herself, an acoustic guitar in her hands, softly playing the songs she dreamed up; around her, further sounds materialize – lush strings, keyboard instruments, the occasional flute or auxiliary woodwind. The gently psychedelic, woozy sound that emanates from these songs makes me feel the way I imagine Hirayama, the protagonist of Perfect Days, felt in a key scene of the movie: lying in his small apartment, the afternoon sunshine on his face, he smiled as he listened to one of his prized cassettes. To me, Luminescent Creatures as a whole evokes that same sense of slow contentment.
Like most of Aoba’s recordings, Luminescent Creatures isn’t terribly long; 11 tracks with a combined runtime of roughly 36 minutes. This isn’t a chip on its shoulder, though. If anything, it boosts the self-contained atmosphere while leaving enough room for consecutive replays, should one choose to linger in its sun-dappled forest of song for just a little while longer.
Ichiko Aoba is one of the finest songwriters of our generation; one doesn’t even have to understand her language to grasp this fact with certainty. Her new album archives the sound she’s been refining over the past 15 years, while also documenting the extent of its growth within that same timeframe. Hers is a well-tended garden of music, each crop finer than the last. In her quietly self-assured stride towards the future, I find comfort and reassurance. My life isn’t brash and adventurous; I may not be significant, but I am happy. Eventually, I will reach the same destination as everyone else, but on my own terms.
I feel a deep gratitude for Aoba and her music.
