The click of a power button, the whir of fans as a computer boots up, the song of Windows Explorer calling out into the darkness of a library or family computer room. An LCD screen glitches out and devolves into a colorful explosion of blocks and lines of barely constrained light before resolving into a pixelated picturesque frame — a portal into the digital (or out of it).
To a generation of so-called digital natives, the technologic presents itself as a familiar magic. We were born of screens, weaved into being with wires and knit together on the net. We speak a language that is heavily influenced by the tones of the internet, by the phonemes of our phones and the canting of our computers. So much of the visual landscape of our childhoods was deeply influenced by the digital explosion and advances in technology which have come to symbolize the era. Tech connects us—it bridges space and time, crossing distances between decades and continents with the movement of a mouse pad. It also separates us—algorithms dividing netizens into impregnable bubbles of the attention-content economy. It is a tool, without consciousness or agenda, molded by users and built upon by innovators.
In this issue, Vinyl Tap taps into the mainframe with a new perspective. With this semester’s articles, we explore the nostalgia of stepping into a dead mall or watching a coming-of-age film with a hypnotic soundtrack. We also return to our own roots of music journalism, with a deep dive on Swedish rapper Bladee and his artistic collective Drain Gang, an analysis of the controversial double release of Conor Oberst’s folk and electronic albums, and a thoughtful consideration of the Arctic Monkeys’ Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino. We pay homage to our campus’s growing techno and electronic scene through conversations with DJs. We tackle the significant challenge of trying to render the admittedly abstract concept of technological influence though art and photography, and gloriously rise to the occasion. Be prepared for our usual dose of sincerity, creativity, and care through our album reviews, collages, and haiku reviews—now with an extra bump of neon.
This issue, and every issue of Vinyl Tap Magazine, would not be possible without our amazing staff and executive team who continuously put in the hard work and dedication to make this magazine each semester, to update our website with even more exclusive articles and to create a lasting community of music and culture lovers. It is only through their outstanding effort that this magazine sits in your hands and on your screens. This is my eighth and final issue of Vinyl Tap, and I can attest to the value of this community and of any place which brings together people who, through it all, keep on listening and sharing music in any and every way possible.
In the technologic, we seek connection. We reach out into the void of digital space and call upon the sounds of others to remind us that we are not alone. That on the other side of the screen are other people who are also waiting to be heard.
Turn up the volume,
Natalie Lopez, Editor-in-Chief
Part 1: The Sellout
“I just wanted to be one of The Strokes // Now look at the mess you made me make” – “Star Treatment,” Track 1
In 2013, the Arctic Monkeys released their self-titled fifth album, AM, to immense critical and commercial success. The album’s goal was clear: service what long-time fans wanted, making the tracks as appealing as possible, and tailoring it to the American audience they had been chasing since 2010. AM is chock full of memorable riffs, with accessible, simple and catchy lyrics; it’s pop music with a rock sound, along with some hip-hop elements. The world (and Tumblr), were forever changed. The Arctic Monkeys ultimately succeeded at their goal. While AM is an amazing rock album, it falls flat in the Arctic Monkey’s discography, being their least ambitious project to date.
“I just wanna be yours // I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours // Wanna be yours // Wanna be yours // Wanna be yours.” – I Wanna Be Yours (AM)
The Arctic Monkeys lost themselves during the AM era. Always known for singing about— and for—U.K. nightlife and doomed young lovers, the Arctic Monkeys’ shift to cheesy and simplistic love songs for American listeners went too far on AM. My gripe with AM does not stem from the evolution of the Arctic Monkeys’ musical style, but from their motivations. The Arctic Monkeys didn’t “sell out” because AM was popular and palatable to American audiences, but because that was their only goal.
“It’s never gonna be like [AM lead single] ‘R U Mine?’ and all that stuff again.”Matt Helders, drummer for the Arctic Monkeys, during a 2022 retrospective interview with NME.
Following AM, Alex Turner, the band’s lead singer and songwriter, experienced writer’s block and lost interest in writing guitar-led music, his iconic style that had spanned countless projects over his entire career. However, while Turner was living in Los Angeles, he was gifted a grand piano for his 30th birthday. Just like that, with new inspiration, Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino was born.
“I’m a big name in deep space, ask your mates // But golden boy’s in bad shape // I found out the hard way // That here ain’t no place for dolls like you and me” – “Star Treatment,” Track 1
Part 2: The Escape
“Take it easy for a little while // Come and stay with us, it’s such an easy flight // Cute new places keep on popping up // Since the exodus, it’s all getting gentrified // I put a taqueria on the roof, it was well reviewed // Four stars out of five, and that’s unheard of” – “Four Out of Five,” Track 6
The main subject of the record is the titular, conceptual, moon-based Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino, made possible by near-future technology, and expedited due to an impending apocalypse. The core idea of the album is to mock this image in order to convey how humanity has reached a point where the spectacular no longer exists. We live in an age of constant technological consumption, where society is always seeking the next big thing— the latest micro-trend, the most recent news cycle. Fleeting distractions have replaced truly incredible feats. Tranquility Base, the album argues, is the next step of socalled technological advancements for the empty pursuit of short-term entertainment and gratification.
“The World’s First Ever Monster Truck Front Flip” – “The World’s First Ever Monster Truck Front Flip,” Track 7
A passage from my favorite book, White Noise by Don DeLillo (1985), raises an appropriate question: In a world full of technological advancements, how much better off is the common person? How much more knowledgeable? It poses multiple queries— even “after centuries of progress, what can we do to make life easier for the Stone Agers? Can we make a refrigerator? Can we even explain how it works? What is electricity? What is light?... What good does it do if we find ourselves hurled back in time and we can’t even tell people the basic principles much less actually make something that would improve conditions?” Continuing on, he writes, “We think we’re so great and modern. Moon landings, artificial hearts… What could you tell an ancient Greek that he couldn’t say, ‘Big deal.’ (DeLillo, 147) This critique captures the album’s central theme: technological progress does not necessarily translate to meaningful human progress. Just as DeLillo questions the value of innovation without proper understanding, the album mocks a society obsessed with advancement, yet emotionally stagnant. The Arctic Monkeys connect this to the real, “milestone,” of the world’s first monster truck front flip.
“What good is knowledge if it just floats in the air? It goes from computer to computer. It changes and grows every second of every day. But nobody actually knows anything.” – White Noise, page 149
“Finally, I can share with you through cloudy skies // Every whimsical thought that enters my mind // Dance as if somebody’s watching, ‘cause they are” –“She Looks Like Fun,” Track 9
As the world waited for the band’s inevitable follow-up to AM, no one would have ever guessed that they would go celestial. While the Arctic Monkeys always changed their sound, Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino marks the biggest shift in their sound and direction. Electric guitars were traded in for grand pianos, and space-age, 1960s vintage synthesizers replaced their iconic baselines; It was a release from every expectation. Tranquility Base represents an eerie vision of the future, serving as both a playground for the wealthy and a metaphor for the illusion of escape. Nevertheless, it is a place where problems are ignored rather than acknowledged. At the same time, the album provides the Arctic Monkeys with a
vessel to reclaim their artistic identity, allowing them to break away from the ultra-commercialized sound of AM. In rejecting mainstream appeal, the band creates a world that clings to technological glamour and space-age aesthetics, attempts to mask existential hollowness, and ultimately, mirrors the society they once hoped to appease.
“So when you gaze at planet earth from outer space // Does it wipe that stupid look off of your face? // I saw this aura over the battleground states // I lost the money, lost the keys // But I’m still handcuffed to the briefcase” – “American Sports,” Track 3
Part 3: The Cryptic “I wanna make a simple point about peace and love // But in a sexy way where it’s not obvious” – “Science Fiction,” Track 8
Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino is layered with obscure metaphors that reward repeated listens. The track “Science Fiction” shows Turner’s self-awareness. While the album doesn’t have a masterfully unique message, it’s about the narrative. Turner parallels the style of the album to that of science fiction, a medium that utilizes imaginative
music that a casual listener could enjoy. These critiques do have some merit to them; this was also my opinion of the album after my first listen, as the album lacks the upbeat hits that drove their previous projects. However, rather than viewing the album like any of their previous, (a collection of songs that share similar topics and genre,) Tranquility Base should be understood as a singular, thematic piece of art. The offbeat references to French movies, film noir, dystopian novels, and 2001: A Space Odyssey, all contribute to the deep, complex world that the album seeks to create. Turner’s experimental lyricism and storytelling bear similarities to his work with The Last Shadow Puppets and his solo projects, which have always embraced a more theatrical, conceptual style. While Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino may not offer the instant gratification of AM’s hooks and riffs, it offers a deeper experience of enjoyment.
“Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino // Mark speaking // Please tell me how may I direct your call?” – “Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino,” Track 4
and futuristic concepts to communicate social commentary, or represent long-winded metaphors. Take Frankenstein, the story of a self-obsessed man, who, reeling in the death of his mother, turns into a mad scientist and creates a monster. Mary Shelley, the author, was inspired by the scientific revolution to write a cautionary tale of the disastrous impacts of when Man tries to play “God.” Or Star Wars, a story of rebellion against tyranny, told through intergalactic super-powered humans with light swords. Tranquility Base similarly leverages this tactic: the futuristic lunar hotel-casino is used as a lens to critique technology and modern society.
“So I tried to write a song to make you blush // But I’ve a feeling that the whole thing // May well just end up too clever for its own good // The way some science fiction does.” – “Science Fiction,” Track 8
Its obscure nature is also seen as the album’s biggest downfall. On release, many fans viewed Turner’s lyrics as unnecessarily pompous and self-serving, arguing that Turner ‘ruined’ the Arctic Monkeys by trying to appeal to critics and the intellectual community, rather than actually making
Part 4: The Commodification
“Love came in a bottle with a twist-off cap” – “Star Treatment,” Track 1
“I launch my fragrance called ‘Integrity’ // I sell the fact that I can’t be bought” – “The Batphone,” Track 10
Beyond the technological advancements explored in Tranquility Base, the album critiques a larger, pervasive issue: the commodification of life, driven by governments and corporations. In modern American society, everything and anything can be bought, reducing human experiences to mere transactions. Although these issues did not originate because of modern technology, they have certainly been magnified by it. Modern society, rather than fostering genuine improvement, often reinforces a culture of endless consumption. In the past generation, the expansion of consumer culture has extended beyond traditional shopping to digital dating apps, influencer-driven marketing, and TikTok shop, all of which further commodify personal relationships and self-expression. Convenience is prioritized over meaningful progress, reducing human interactions to financial transactions that value accessibility and
profit well above authenticity and fulfillment.
“Breaking news, they take the truth and make it fluid” – “American Sports,” Track 3
“The information action ratio, is the place to go” – “Four Out of Five,” Track 6
One of Turner’s biggest inspirations for the album was Neil Postman’s 1985 book, Amusing Ourselves to Death. The information action ratio is a concept presented in the book that refers to the helplessness people feel when faced with immense decontextualized information. The theory states that because people constantly receive digital information that is so far removed from their personal experiences, the perceived feasibility of solving any issue seems impossibly distant and unsolvable. Postman argues that the only time that the information action ratio was a perfect 1:1 was before the invention of the telegram. While this slight imbalance is not a catastrophe, the current-day explosion of readily-available and promoted information has dire consequences–a complete disconnect of action and meaningful engagement. This idea manifests itself on Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino, as the Arctic Monkeys describe a world saturated with overwhelming information yet devoid of genuine understanding or resolution. The album reflects a society where information is overflowing yet actual insight is scarce, leaving individuals powerless despite having access to limitless knowledge. The digital age bombards people with crises and controversies at every turn, yet meaningful, actionable change seems unattainable.
“By the time reality hits, the chimes of freedom fell to bits // The shinin’ city on the fritz” – “One Point Perspective,” Track 2
“Jesus in the day spa, filling out the information form” – “Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino,” Track 4
The album also argues that the soulless, faceless movement towards total automation and so-called “convenience” strips away individuality. The lyrics in the title track take this concept to the extreme; if even Jesus, the most famous figure to ever exist, must fill out an information form to be processed, what does that say about the rest of us? It underscores growing detachment in a world where digitalization overshadows genuine human connection. In a time where people are constantly put through forms and algorithms, the album asks whether we are truly advancing, or simply becoming more dehumanized, trapped in a cycle of efficiency at the expense of true meaning and connection. Those who do manage to stand out don’t seem to be for any good reason, but just because they
are the most sensational. Fame and influence are not tied to depth or substance, but to the ability to capture attention in an oversaturated media landscape, where spectacle overshadows genuine significance. The track “Golden Trunks,” referencing the first Trump administration, cements this message.
“The leader of the free world // Reminds you of a wrestler wearing tight golden trunks // He’s got himself a theme tune // They play it for him as he makes his way to the ring” – “Golden Trunks,” Track 5
By the time we begin to realize what has been lost, will it already be too late?
Outro: The Human
“Get freaked out from a knock at the door // When I haven’t been expecting one // And didn’t that used to be part of the fun, once upon a time?” – “The Ultracheese”
The album’s final track, aptly titled “The Ultracheese” after the moon, fully confronts the futility of life and the inevitability of change. While the rest of the album asks us to consider whether technological advancement has truly benefited our lives, “The Ultracheese” strips away the grand metaphors and futuristic settings in favor of something much more raw and deeply personal. No matter how much society and technology advances, no matter how far we try to remove ourselves from our experiences, human emotion will always remain. The ache of nostalgia, the pain of regret, and the strength of love will always transcend any escape we attempt to build, be it physical, digital, or even lunar.
By the time we begin to realize what has been lost, will it already be too late?
“Trust the politics to come along
When you were just trying to orbit the sun
When you were just about to be kind to someone
Because you had the chance
I still got pictures of friends on the wall
I might look as if I’m deep in thought
But the truth is I’m probably not
If I ever was
Oh, the dawn won’t stop weighing a tonne I’ve done some things that I shouldn’t have done
But I haven’t stopped loving you once.” –“The Ultracheese,” Track 11
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DO YOU FEEL IT?
Jonatan Leandoer, also known as Yung Lean, started as a young artist in Stockholm. With breakthrough viral singles “Ginseng Strip 2001” and “Kyoto,” he embraced the cloud rap style of producer Clams Casino and combined it with references to internet culture and self-referential, nihilistic delivery. Alongside Yung Lean, his labelmates in the collective Drain Gang, which included Bladee, Ecco2k, and Thaiboy Digital, had been building their own early fanbase. However, their collaborations with Yung Lean introduced them to a newfound level of success. As a result, rappers Bladee and Yung Lean embarked on a tour of North America, together.
This early 2010s wave of success produced records that are now considered classics in the Drain Gang/Sad Boyz discography. These included Yung Lean’s Unknown Memory and Bladee’s debut album Gluee. However, the North American tour ended in tragedy when one of their closest friends passed away from a drug overdose, and Leandoer, battling addiction himself, checked into rehab.
2016 saw Yung Lean step back from the limelight and focus on himself. He pursued a side project under the moniker jonatanleandoer93 and focused on more acoustic guitar-driven music. Later in that year, Yung Lean would return and release his most influential and cohesive record at that point, Warlord.
Few albums have been as prescient as Warlord has with its industrial influences and droning instrumentation. The album’s dark cloud rap was built on the traditional form of the genre developed by Clams Casino, and preceded the sounds of industrial rap and rage artists like JPEGMAFIA and Playboi Carti. The album was received positively by critics and solidified Leandoer as a serious force in the cloud rap scene.
Yung Lean’s dull and detached delivery works in tandem with brash atmospheric production to imbue the sense of a fever dream while recalling his days touring the US and struggling with drug addiction. On “Highway Patrol,” a collaboration with Bladee, Leandoer sets the tone of the album. A square-sounding synthesizer plays the core melody while a strong bass-driven beat takes the listener into the world of the album as Yung Lean says “I see green lights, missed, misfits smokin’ cannabis.” Yung Lean’s verses in the song illuminate a lifestyle of hedonism and partying. Bladee’s verse contrasts this, with his outside perspective of Leandoer’s experiences, with the lines, “Yeah I got the knife, I don’t wanna use it tonight / Let the stars decide if I’m gonna live or die.”
“Afghanistan,” one of the most successful singles of the album, notably anticipates the hard-hitting dark trap sound that would become incredibly popular in the late 2010s. The pattern of nihilistic and hedonistic lyricism combined with industrial and atmospheric beats comes together in “Hoover.” The saturated bass lingers on one note for most of the song. What sounds like a drone sound converted into a lead drives the beat forward. Most of the melody in the song comes from Leandoer’s delivery as he raps about a feverish, drunken night, “Wake up with some liquor in me / Wake up and the world is empty / Wake up, bet my bag is empty / Wake up, take a trip to Paris.”
This picture of hedonism starts to crack in “Stay Down” as the album slows down and the production shifts from industrial to pristine. This pristine aesthetic meshes with more introspective lyricism, “Rollin’ down the window, white widow, f*ck fame.” On this album, Leandoer’s delivery doesn’t pivot with the tone of the track. It instead anticipates his next project, one which would be packed with this sound. Leandoer’s 2017 follow-up, Stranger, would give, not just Yung Lean’s music, but the entire movement of cloud rap, a new musical identity.
Stranger opens with “Muddy Sea,” and immediately establishes an immediate contradiction of Warlord’s sound. Where there was brash, industrial synthesis, Leandoer instead opts to make use of dreamy, pristine, and atmospheric sounds. This shift in sound serves to contradict the hedonism of Warlord. Stranger is a deeply introspective record and confronts the realities and pressures Leandoer endured during his tour of the US. “Muddy Sea” highlights this in its very first verse as a beat-stop is accompanied by the line, “F*ck being famous, I don’t need all that sh*t.” The references to designer clothing and drugs that were frequent in the previous record are now often made in a facetious manner. Lines like this one in “Muddy Sea” often invoke the anxieties of the effects of drugs: “High! High! Do you high like me? / Why? Why do they stare at me?”
“Red Bottom Sky” has a beautiful, saturated, low-passed pluck synthesizer sound with minimal drums that is a microcosm of the sound of this entire record. These lush sounds predict the sounds of later atmospheric trap albums such as Whole Lotta Red boi Carti. The album revisits a lot of the same notes that Warlord from a very different viewpoint. Leandoer’s boastfulness is only sarcastic, his references to drugs are panicked and fearful. The climax of the album, instead of being a drug-fueled rampage, is a slow, devastating, piano-driven ballad titled “Agony.” Today, this is known as one of Yung Lean’s greatest songs. Leandoer abandons his rapping for the off-kilter singing style of his jonatanleandoer96 side-project. The piano is lush and rich but slightly out of tune so as to create a sense of unease, haunting the listener. As Leandoer laments, “Can’t write a song, only do hooks.” The song brings in a haunting, childlike background vocal to sing the most beautiful hook in Yung Lean’s discography, “Isolation caved in / I adore you, the sound of your skin.” Lean uses organic imagery to evoke the guttural anxiety of his trips. The “sound of your skin” is a contradiction, as Leandoer makes use of incomprehensible imagery to produce existential dread. In the final track of the album, “Yellowman,” Leandoer laments his fame and frames it as a tiresome struggle.
It’s often easy to forget how ahead of their times Stranger and While trap music and industrial rap were not nascent genres in 2016, Yung Lean’s adoption of them into his introspective style pushed the boundaries that enabled other artists to later cross them. Yung Lean enabled a generation of Swedish rappers to build their own genre. This, in turn, would later enable rappers like Playboi Carti and 2hollis in America to further push them within their genres. Without Yung Lean’s mid-2010s work, the unique genres of the past few years— rage, hyperpop, dark trap, and glitchcore—would not have been the same.
It is very easy to take this for granted. Today, Bladee, Ecco2k, Thaiboy Digital, and Yung Lean have built prominent careers with many successful albums and singles. However, in 2013 this wave of rappers was viewed as too niche and corny and was delegitimized under the label of “SoundCloud rap.”
As Yung Lean suffered through his years on tour in the US, a Swedish rapper, Bladee, who had gained notoriety for his early mixtapes and frequent collaborations with Leandoer, stayed by his side. Bladee supported Yung Lean and eventually helped him get into rehab. Bladee and his collective, Drain Gang, inspired by Yung Lean, had innovated their own style of atmospheric rap fueled by a sense of alienation and the creation of a new in-group based on it. They imbued a sense of gatekeeping into their music through emphatic callouts and repeated tags throughout various songs. This became a prominent aspect of older fan communities of Drain Gang. Even their label YEAR0001 employed streetwear brand-esque supply-hoarding tactics to artificially inflate the price of merchandise. Along with this came an embrace of alternative fashion styles that were trending on the internet streetwear community. All of these aspects of Drain Gang eventually faded away over the past two years as the group attained a greater level of success at the mainstream level, especially after collaborating with Charli xcx on the remix album, Brat and it’s completely different but also still brat.
Regardless of their late mainstream recognition, these artists, spearheaded by Yung Lean, have been an ever-present entity looming over the music world for the past fifteen years, influencing everyone from the likes of the aforementioned Charli xcx to rising star 2hollis. Their footprint in progressing the music of the 21st century is matched by very few other artists, and in the coming years, their music will surely outlast their contemporaries.
On December 8, 1980, at 10:50 PM, John Lennon was shot at his residence. December 8, 1980, unfolded similarly in the fictional world of the film All About Lily Chou-Chou, and John Lennon faced the same fate. The only difference is that in this reality, at 10:50 PM, Lily Chou-Chou was born. ‘philia,’ the admin of an online chatroom for Lily fans, Lilyphilia, writes, “All I care about is that she was born, at that exact moment. She is the ether personified.” There are some things in life you can only try to define with words; one of these things could be the ether. The Beatles apparently possess the ether. Erik Satie. Claude Debussy. The ether heals pain. The ether—a place of eternal peace. “Welcome, user ‘blue cat,’ to a free zone in the ether for those who love Lily.”
Picture this: it’s 2001, rural Japan, and three young boys hit the streets. With baggy clothes and blank faces, one kid is wearing a cross around his neck and one is sporting dog tags, almost like he just got back from some war. What’s hot: stealing CDs from the music store and selling them to second hand shops. One of the kids is distracted. Yuichi’s eyes catch a huge poster in the window, announcing Lily Chou-Chou’s new album, Erotic. “Can I have it?” he asks. The clerk doesn’t mind. “Claire de Lune” begins playing over the scene, and Yuichi is on the side of the road. The poster’s leaned up against his bike, and he’s admiring it like a renaissance painting: The Annunciation. She’s his angel, she’s his Mary, she’s the halo and the white dove surrounded in a holy light. Her genius is Genesis. Yuichi and the other kids in this nothing town may seemingly be on a road to nowhere. However, when the hypnotizing synths swell, the distorted guitar growls in your ears, and the lazy marching drums lead you down the river to Lily’s voice, it feels like she’s guiding you away from home, yet somehow closer to it all at once.
This is the picture painted by the soundtrack of the 2001 Japanese film All About Lily Chou-Chou. Lily Chou-Chou is a fictional alt-pop musician whose transcendent, eerily alluring music draws in various teenagers and becomes a means of escapism during their turbulent school days. She is voiced by solo artist Salyu, but her presence is not that of a character. Their world is one where the only thing there for you is music, and where the person making that music is the closest thing to a goddess and saving that you’ll ever get. The album, titled (Breathing), is made up of nine tracks, eight of which are featured in the film. Here I want to explore all the ways this isn’t just a movie’s soundtrack, but moments of a fictional world that aren’t so different from ours, turned musical.
The movie begins with 8th grader Yuichi, and his Sony discman in the strikingly green rice fields of Ashigaka, Japan. His head is bowed and the organ-like synths of Lily’s “ (Arabesque),” open the story with ethereal intention. The title references Debussy’s classical masterpiece, “Arabesque No. 1.” There is a metronome-like drum beat that sneaks up alongside a fuzzy synth chord, ushering in a reverb of Lily’s breathy, slow singing. An electric guitar echoes in the background with an eerie faintness. When Lily completes her lines, there is a keyboard pattern that takes over with the organ synths, hypnotizing the listener in her absence. Lily sings in reference to Okinawa, a Japanese island with a raw natural beauty. She sings of blue skies and blue seas in an Okinawan dialect, almost prophetic in her talk of “when white flowers bloom.” In this scene, messages from the members of the Lilyphilia chatroom come in flashes of black and white on screen, outlining the lore of the ether and its princess, Lily Chou-Chou.
Lily sees something nobody else can see when she makes music. With the release of her new album, we find Yuichi at the music store again, “ (Airship)” blasting throughout. A much more lively track, it rings out with swanky guitars, a deep bassline, and some upbeat drums, topped off with Lily singing loudly with slight vocal distortion about how “existence is null.” With a confident twinge of nihilism, the lyrics are blunt— “A maelstrom of chaos swirls around / And the life-saving kit is useless.” Yuichi gets caught stealing one of the new CDs. Head down, he silently waits for his teacher to bail him out. Back at school, waiting for them to tell his mother, he sits in the hallway as Kuno, a fellow student, plays Debussy on the piano as if she was born for her fingers to press those exact keys. The music room is cast in a blue-white sunlight, and her silhouette is dutiful and of a passive grace.
We don’t know much when it comes to how Lily uses the ether to conceive and give birth to music. “It’s always sunset. As it grows dark, when the air splits in two, sounds swell in my head and the light leaks through. I don’t remember when it started. One day it was just there.” This was the most important episode in her awakening to the ether, recounts user ‘philia.’ That night, after sunset, Yuichi gets a call from Hoshino. He’s all hooded jackets and big sneakers, hard stares and barked orders. In the darkness of an old junkyard, “ (Experiment of Love)” plays and Hoshino and his hyena-like posse punish Yuichi for getting caught. The song is sharp and edgy with distorted guitars that sound like they’re in a tunnel, with the static of cymbals, and shaky synth repetition. Lily almost chants, “I see you, you see me.” Hoshino snaps the CD, and the music stops immediately. As Yuichi lay flat in the dirt, crickets roaring over the scene, we’re thrown into the past.
It’s 1999. Yuichi and his classmates are 13 years old, and user ‘philia,’ describes these days as rose colored, if what you call today is gray. The kids are rowdy and smiling, dreaming about a flyer they found that advertised a cheap tropical vacation in the mystical Okinawa. Yuichi is at Hoshino’s huge empty house and they’re looking at the stars through his telescope. He comments on how smart Hoshino is, to know all about the ever-expanding universe. “Nobody understands me,” Hoshino replies, “I’m really not that smart, okay?” This marks an era of innocence, and “ (Healing Wounds)” muffles everything: the rotten girls that bully Hoshino for his intelligence, the laughter of their time at school, and the celebration of summer. With Lily’s crooning lullaby and the dreamy electric piano, there is an air of melancholy that lingers over the montage. Yuichi, Hoshino, and their friends decide, rationally, to steal the money and fly to Okinawa.
On this summer vacation, the waters go from blue-green like a jewel to a choppy and white-capped. The world reveals it can change in an instant—if you look at it in a different light. It’s all recorded by the boys on their camcorders. Throughout the trip, messages from ‘blue cat’ and ‘philia’ periodically overlay the video, and they recall a vibrant summer–an island that houses the gods, and a place where life and death can exist side by side. A remark from ‘philia:’ “Nostradamus was wrong, but if
the world had ended, if my life had ended during my summer vacation, I would have been happier.” Here we are washed in a sort of clarity that user ‘philia’ is the voice of Yuichi. On the beach of Okinawa, there are three moments that signal a sneaky, rising darkness. At nightfall, a flying fish hurls itself at Hoshino’s flashlight and knocks him hard onto the sand. At a picnic, the tour guides sing a traditional Okinawan song: high, eerie, and lilting. Hoshino asks the name, Aragusuku, and comments on its beauty. Then, swimming in sparkling water, as Hoshino washes onto the darkened sand, coughing up saltwater, someone’s pressing frantically at his chest. The wise old guide berates him: “Are you sure you didn’t bring something bad here? You can’t live with the Gods angry at you. Remember: life is precious.”
“The first day of school. From that day on, the world was gray,” states ‘philia.’ In a tussle in class, Hoshino asks a bold classmate where he gets his nerve, and slams him onto the ground. A look passes over Yuichi, his face reminiscent of knowing someone and watching them become a complete stranger. A swamp, a junkyard of cars, a new cigarette habit, a smashed bike–Hoshino silently screams at us in his slow drag of a pocket knife through the bold boy’s hair. “If you don’t understand me, I’ll become something you can’t help but understand.” Aragusuku plays as the class watches. This is an evil like a ficus tree: it wraps itself around another big tree and kills it. This is an evil that has dirt on people, and Hoshino uses this to control them. Tsuda, a girl whose phone charms are bigger than her pearly blue flip phone, is meeting up with another older man today. As Yuichi is tasked with the job of walking her home, the overarching piano melody innocently yearns for childhood, all the while Tsuda weakly beats up Yuichi with her purse. She stamps the man’s money into the ground with her shiny dress shoes, runs into the marsh, and cries. “For me, only Lily is real. For me, only the ether is proof I’m alive. But lately my ether is running out,” ‘philia’ writes.
Do you remember Kuno? Yuichi does: from sharing a handle on the bus, from sitting next to her in school, from hearing her play Debussy’s “Arabesque,”–more times than anyone can count–on the school’s piano. The piece moves backand-forth between two chords like ocean waves, and is littered throughout this age of gray. One night, Yuichi calls Tsuda and says there’s a boy from class who has to tell her something. “He’s not a client?” She asks pensively from her sea of teddy bears. Arabesque again, Kuno again. Yuichi leads her to the abandoned textile factory, where the Shusuke business tore apart Hoshino’s family. Inside, his hyenas work steadfastly in their terrorizing. As Yuichi cries outside, Hoshino smokes a cigarette, and on a windy roof somewhere, Tsuda waits for a prince charming.
On Tsuda’s next job, she steals a sleeping man’s wallet and takes Yuichi out to eat like kings. He asks what she said on the roof. “I told him no, obviously. I’m not good enough for him.” On the train, she asks to borrow the CD he’s listening to. Tsuda falls asleep to Lily Chou-Chou, and when Yuichi sees her home, he lends her Lily’s old album. Tsuda tells him Kuno will be alright, because she’s strong. Kuno comes to school the next day, head completely shaved. The teacher gives her a tulip hat. A conversation between ‘philia’ and ‘blue cat’ comes in flashes on the screen as Lily’s “ (Flightless Wings)” begins with a jolt of echoing guitar and drums. The screeching loop of strings and Lily’s desperate delivery of the lyrics, “I can’t reach the stairs stretching into thе sky,” and “So, if I discard wings that can’t fly… / If I discard them, I’ll soar,” are bitterly amplified by the image of Tsuda with her pink headphones, standing before a cell tower, looking up at four red kites soaring in circles overhead, almost playfully. The sun kisses the hills and the red kites rise and fall through the wisps of clouds, and Tsuda laughs unabashedly at the sight. “Breathe. I’ll try to say it out loud. Breathe,” writes ‘philia’. “I’m alive. I’m alive. Within the pure ether. We’re alive,” replies ‘blue cat.’
“Dear ‘blue cat’, I’m glad I met you.” writes ‘philia.’ “ (Saturation)” begins with piano notes like tear drops and Lily’s voice filters in choppily; it’s whispery and soft. It transforms into instrumentals with a sharp, electric sound cycling in the back and the reverb of a guitar riff. White socked feet lie prone in the grass, a pearly blue phone caught on the power line, a march at sunset of shadows and silhouettes, a bald head with a tulip hat, Yuichi hurling over the side of his desk: If Lily says she will soar, wouldn’t you want to do the same?
On December 8, 2001, Lily Chou-Chou played live in Shibuya, Japan. “I see you, you see me,” Lily sings, again and again, and through the crowd of people outside the stadium, someone throws a green apple up and down. “Dear ‘philia,’ let’s meet at the concert. You’ll know me by a green apple,” says ‘blue cat.’ And it’s him, the one who Yuichi, ‘philia,’ cut through the ether to connect with, the one who hurts people because of his own ache inside. Hoshino asks Yuichi why he’s ignoring him. Tells him to go buy a drink, and gathers their tickets in his hand. “We can switch. Mine’s a better seat.” Yuichi watches from the crowd holding a Coke as Hoshino, ‘blue cat,’ crumples his ticket and throws it into the wind. The sun sets and “ [Resonance (Hollow Stone)]” begins from inside the stadium. It starts slowly with the ring of bells, but the pace quickens throughout with frantic patterns of instrumentals, a melody of background vocals, and Lily’s voice drawn on in anguish. Yuichi stands before a display screen of pixels as the music swells. It seems as though he lost his only chance at peace. The digital eclipses his figure, his biggest vice and his only virtue.
“ (Glide)” marches on as the credits roll with its stomping piano chords, light guitars, and high harpsichord notes. Lily sings of wanting to be just like a melody, the sky, the wind, and the sea, all things that throughout the film represent potential respite from hopelessness and violence. While Lily’s voice, as if captured through fan blades, is supposed to be a part of this saving, there is always a constant electricity of a guitar in the background. It tears a rift of pain through the music, like an angry, red wound in the back of your mind. It’s not a smooth descent, it’s a crash landing. Growing up means growing towards something completely unknown. Where do you belong? There is an attempt at escape: through music, violence, the internet. Nevertheless, that wound still exists in the place you yearn to escape to.
“The great wound of the heart is that of existence,” but maybe, there are things only existence can prove. As the sun seems to set on life, the one who transcends it all is dancing on the line of a dubious reality, and she sings out your questions and answers unbound.
HAIKU HAIKU HAIKU HAIKU HAIKU HAIKU
KU HAIKU HAIKU HAIKU HAIKU HAIKU HAIKU
REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS VIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS
HAIKU HAIKU HAIKU HAIKU HAIKU HAI
HAIKU HAIKU HAIKU HAIKU HAIKU HAIKU
REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS REVIEWS
