You stumble upon a song that you like. Nice! You check out the rest of the album. Well-listened! You look up the band. Knowledge! They have a few other albums. Can’t wait! One of them was only available on cassette. Rough! No new music in over twenty years. Classic…
Everyone has at least one of those stories – a brief contact with something intoxicating before finding out you’ll never score another hit. It’s inevitable in a world of temporary media. Bound to an endless chase of that next favorite thing, knowing that there will always be a next, knowing you may not ever find it.
Such is my experience with the Japanese indie-pop duo 800 Cherries. The band was active out of Tokyo for a few years in the late nineties and into 2001, releasing four albums, three of which are not easily accessible, one of which I present today: Romantico. The short LP feels years ahead of its time, released in 1999. Whispered vocals signature to the genre remind the listener of shoegaze acts like Lush and Pale Saints, contrasting with the cheery (cherry) keys, guitars, and xylophone(?). The give and take between the vocals and instrumentals build a beautiful ambience throughout the album, with the singer practicing subtlety and restraint, allowing the noise to flow freely, her voice becoming one with its backing. The upbeat elements of city pop mask the mystic and dark lyrics – imagery of flowers, planets, and fruits hiding feelings of loss, fear, and regret – an album about heartbreak. The best part of the album is the two listening experiences it presents: the cheerful mask and the somber face underneath.
Romantico feels like a walk through the forest, and you’ve just discovered a new path. There’s a tingling sensation of anticipation, but no signs of danger yet. Only you, walking along, looking up and down, never turning back, pushing through leaves and branches, a chorus all around you. Searching for what comes next.
gone gazing 