The new album “Party Queen” by Japanese singer-songwriter Ayumi Hamasaki
Warning: This review is incredibly long, and if you want to read it, you might want to do so in stages. As always, I got carried away. It nearly killed me writing it all out, and it might just kill you if you try to read it all at once. You have been warned!
Much has been made of the Empress Of J-Pop’s thirteenth album, released in March of this year. Released barely months after her break-up with Austrian model and actor Manuel Schwarz, there was speculation that, judging by the title, the record would be a celebration of single life, feminist values, and grabbing life by the scruff of the neck. Subsequently, many were left confused when the album turned out to be so much darker, with the only party songs having ended just three tracks in. But then, since when has Miss Hamasaki been one to do exactly what’s expected of her? Such an unanticipated direction has, however, resulted in a confused number of people complaining that the title’s misleading. But I, personally, am pleased to see that Party Queen goes so much deeper than the wall-to-wall rave-up many were expecting.
Another factor that has caused just as much, if not more, controversy, is the album artwork. The pictures depict Hamasaki in a way she’s never been seen before – wearing nothing but black lingerie in a trashed hotel room, her short blonde hair scraped back, her tiny, skinny body looking gaunt and pale. The photography is deliberately amateurish, the flash too strong and the colours looking washed-out. On the front cover, the colours become bright, garish, and tacky, a sticker declaring “13th Album!” is sprawled over a barcode, and the entire image is made to look like a chaotic tabloid spread, much like a disgraced celebrity bearing all in a glossy magazine interview, eager to spill the beans on “their side of the story”.
Many long-time fans were disappointed by the artwork, surprisingly looking no further than the surface and seeing only the artist in “slut” mode. Admittedly even I was shocked by the images, because Ayumi Hamasaki has always been known and respected for her sexy / glamorous / cute guises without ever going too far like such western artists as Madonna, Rihanna, and many, many more. But to know your favourite artist is to know how their mind works when putting out new material. After those few minutes of shock, I myself came to realise the idea behind the artwork, the deliberate intention to create an Ayumi Hamasaki that wasn’t perfect and immaculate; here she was bearing her naked, ugly soul (as they are for all of us), going further than just her lyrics in revealing herself, and quite frankly doing what she’s always done – putting out a record with hidden meanings and messages even in the album booklet.
A final, perhaps too literal point to make regarding the front cover, is that Ayumi is seen clutching a single high-heeled shoe. Cinderella jokes aside, the image could well be a suggestion of a fairytale gone wrong, Ayumi having found and lost her “prince”, and coming to realise that the life of a queen, of both both the party kind and of the music kind, is actually much closer to that of a nightmare.
But what, more importantly, of the music? It seems as if thirteen really is an unlucky number, because opinion has been well and truly divided on this record, but I for one can see the promise behind its honest intentions. Yes, it has its flaws, yes, it’s not her greatest album, but in no way is it rubbish, either.
One of the images in the album artwork that has caused controversy
Opening title track “Party Queen” has its music written by British composer Timothy Wellard, who composed the music to Hamasaki’s magical, mystical, and absolutely perfect “Brillante” on last year’s Five EP, but has since lost favour with die-hard fans due to his ever-increasing professional involvement with Hamasaki; in total there are four Timothy Wellard-composed tracks on Party Queen, he provided a large chunk of background vocals, a rap (which I’ll touch on very soon), and has even appeared (to date) in a total of three of Hamasaki’s music videos. Nevertheless, “Party Queen” the song is an infectious electronic confection that, laced with pouring drinks and clinking glasses sound effects, fits perfectly into any party, club, or disco… but then, of course, are the lyrics. What starts off like a typical “hey everybody, let’s party!” message, is by the end only thinly veiling the ugly truth and nothingness to relying on alcohol, peer pressure, and goodness knows what else in order to have fun.
“Just like magic, rosy colours before my eyes / I’m so fascinated by these golden bubbles…
The world is spinning round and round, who are you again? / I don’t even know who I am anymore…
Tomorrow’s hangover and retrospection, just forget them for now / “If that’s too difficult for you, I won’t drink with you again”…“
Translated from Japanese.
“Party Queen” ends to the sound of sinister drunken laughter, and straight into the next song begins the sound of sirens. “NaNaNa” is the first of a handful of songs on this album that truly splits opinion. On this track, Timothy Wellard provides a rap or two, and in doing so probably has more time for vocals than Ayumi herself. That, and the fact that the rap may sound the tiniest bit cringe-worthy to some, is a major factor in the sudden tremendous backlash against Wellard, which I personally don’t think is entirely fair. For one, I’ve heard far worse raps, and secondly we must remember that Ayumi Hamasaki has always written her own lyrics, even those which in this case have ended up being recorded by someone else, and if nothing else, the raps prove just how much Ayumi’s grasp of English gets better every day. As I’ve said many times, I’d give anything to know a second language at a level that comes even close to her level of English.
But “NaNaNa” does have its good points. The lyrics mostly tell of living life to the fullest and taking chances, with the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it exception of the lines “You’re the party queen / And you’re the dancing queen / I’m the lonely queen / Life is just a dream…” Other high points include the incredibly dark and gritty feel to the electronica, and Ayumi’s very rare use of autotune, providing just what autotune should only ever be – an audio novelty to be enjoyed merely once in a while, to keep that novelty from becoming irritating and overused. Similar effects are used to create some truly disturbing background vocals from Ayumi – when she chants the meaningless “Na na na na na na…” at brief moments behind the rapping, the crazed and unhinged way she sounds send chills down my spine every time.
Incidentally, the music video for “NaNaNa” was filmed in Central London just before Christmas, and my then-boyfriend was lucky enough whilst commuting to find himself on the set as they were making it. He got to see Ayumi from afar and everything, which made me very jealous indeed, as I myself had been in Central London earlier that day. What also made me jealous was the fact that it marked the second time I had narrowly missed seeing my idol in the flesh; she had filmed the music video to her 2010 song “Microphone” at my university, on a day when I wasn’t in, and I only found out when I saw the finished video. Oh well, “C’est La Vie!”, as they say.
“Shake It”, the third and final party song, lacks the urgency and pounding beats of its two predecessors, instead being more of a laid-back, take-it-or-leave-it call to party, although I very much suspect that anyone hearing this song at a party would never just simply leave it. A combination of electronica and fuzzy electric guitars, “Shake It” is a four minute glimpse into the girl power message that many had expected the entire album to embody. Despite the title, the song has little to do with the idea of women only existing in certain worlds to shake their booty, but instead focuses simultaneously on celebrating women, whilst also acknowledging the jealousy and hierarchy between women themselves.
“Whilst I admire the talent to make / Easy and simple things look difficult / I love the way we can also make / Difficult and time-consuming things look easy…
You don’t have to tell me / That that girl over there / Is loved much more than me; / I already know…“
Translated from Japanese.
The first interlude on the album, “Taskebab”, squeezes out the final drops and traces of any party atmosphere, in its two minute mixture of rock riffs and electronic beeps that race faster and faster into oblivion. From here on, the album’s darker sentiments are much more conspicuous, as the party queen of the story begins to slow down from all of the celebrations, and reflect more and more intensely on her actions and her past.
Next song “Call” sounds at first like a piece of sunny American pop rock from the late nineties, but coupled with the lyrics becomes a lot more bittersweet. The first track to almost certainly deal with Ayumi’s recent break-up, it tells of memories of a lost love, and the narrator’s questioning over how to view their situation now that they’re alone. The song is instantly memorable with an irresistible hook, so much so that it appears all of the best bits went into “Call”, and the leftovers went into next track “Letter”.
There isn’t really anything wrong with “Letter”, but musically I do find it rather dull and forgettable. Another, but slightly more solemn pop rock track, I still have difficulty recalling the melody without hearing the song beforehand. Thankfully the lyrics do redeem the song, and are written for Hamasaki’s producer (and the man who discovered her), Max Matsuura. Having recently courted controversy by posting drunken Tweets on Twitter, “Letter” is Ayumi’s way of declaring her intentions to continue standing by him, and acknowledging that he is a very misunderstood character in the music world.
“No-one really understands you / But you try, you try, / It’s OK, even if you’re “uncool”, / I like you just that way…
But just for a tiny bit / Of warm happiness / With our noses dripping with snot / We have to grovel on the ground / So lonely, so lonely, drinking the night away, / Reflecting, and afterward, / You have fun, have fun, / And drink a little too much / But I like you just that way…“
Translated from Japanese.
If “Call” and “Letter” were bittersweet and solemn offerings of pop rock respectively, next song “Reminds Me” begins with creeping, building, serious strings, before becoming a dark and angry offering of unapologetically heavy rock. Lyrically dealing with the unwanted constant reminders of a past you want to forget, the sorrow and hurt surrounding Ayumi’s break-up, intermingling with the growling electric guitars, is almost too much to bear. The party queen of the story has given in to remembering and reflection, and has well and truly crashed down into her deepest, darkest pits of despair.
“When, with this tired body / I reach my darkened room / And I realise I need to turn on the lights / I absolutely hate that moment / Because always, without fail, / My memories return / From the supposedly buried past / Of events I wish to erase / Everyone has things they wish to forget / But we can’t forget them / Because they are a pain we mustn’t forget… “
Translated from Japanese.
“Reminds Me” is wonderfully heartbreaking, but can also be emotionally draining, and a part of you hopes that nothing else on the album can top it. Then comes eighth track “Return Road”. Quite obviously a follow-on from her 2010 love song “Virgin Road”, the poignancy increases when you realise that the latter had the first of three music videos in which Manuel Schwarz starred. Indeed, with the “Virgin Road” music video depicting the couple getting married, and immediately afterwards going off to rob banks Bonnie And Clyde style whilst still in their wedding gear, the music video to “Return Road” contrasts by showing Ayumi alone in an industrial wasteland (filmed rather appropriately at Battersea Power Station), wearing a black, funereal version of the same wedding dress, searching unsuccessfully for her lost love amongst a crowd of masked men in dull grey factory overalls.
Beginning with soft strings, bells, and church organs, the song increases into a heavy rock journey through the trauma of breaking up, and the gossip, bitchiness, and disapproving that surrounded Ayumi, a Japanese women, being in a relationship with an America-based Austrian, in the Japanese media. And as they continue to mutter “I told you so”, Ayumi’s lyrics acknowledge the absurdity some outsiders saw, but also tries to remind them what’s ultimately more important:
“Others call it interesting and ridiculous / How we were together / But no matter how understanding anyone acts / As they talk about us / Yes, the two of us will never be understood by anyone else…“
Translated from Japanese.
Halfway through, the song reaches its climax by use of speeding strings, random, twinkling, and tumbling percussion, operatic backing vocals, and the ever-growing intensity of that church organ. It’s the organ more than anything else that turns the song as funereal as Ayumi’s black wedding dress, and when the track finally ends to the sound of individual strings whining, stretching, and twisting, any ounce of emotional strength you thought you’d lost after “Reminds Me” won’t even compare to the amount you’d have lost after this. Epic is an overused word these days, but the term really does apply here.
A slight calming down occurs in next song “Tell Me Why”, offering up the last of the explicit sadness and gloom. With a slight R’n'B feel to its laid back beat, “Tell Me Why” goes backwards and lyrically appears to document the problems experienced by Hamasaki and Schwarz when they were still together, most notably the long-distance their relationship became after the March earthquake and tsunami, as Ayumi decided to stay and support her home country, as opposed to settling down in America with her partner.
“I hear your voice say / That you can’t truly reach me through the monitor screen / Trivial things and silly things / Even these all hold meaning… “
Translated from Japanese.
“Tell Me Why” is a beautiful, simplistic song to end the album’s sorrowful middle section. The music was composed by Europeans Hanif Sabzevari, Lene Dissing, Marcus Winther-John, and Dimitris Stassos. I know I can’t really complain; I couldn’t compose a piece of music to save my life, but I still feel I must ask the question that has been bugging me for a while: Does it really take four people to write not even four minutes of music? Either way, it’s still a brilliant song.
Second interlude “A Cup Of Tea” moves the album away from the sadness, and over into a mood that is neither entirely positive or negative. This is by far my favourite of the album’s three interludes, not least because of its imagination. A lot of people have shared their dislike for this interlude, labelling it “Dubstep”. Having actually never listened to Dubstep, I have only these two minutes of music to define the genre, but I personally would have simply described the song as a hybrid of futuristic electronica, uplifting strings, and a sampled piece of spoken word. Every now and then, the voice of a British man (Timothy Wellard?) is heard asking “Hello… would you like a cup of tea? “, quite an unusual phrase to hear on an album, but somehow it works. Perhaps the party queen of the story has calmed down, got all of her anguish and angst out of her system, and is making a slow return to life, first by switching her choice of drink… Yes it sounds silly, but the track itself does not, in my opinion. It very quickly became one of my favourite tracks on the record, simply because I’d never heard anything like it, and it’s just a shame there are only two minutes of it.
The next two songs, composed by Timothy Wellard, in my opinion prove just how valuable an asset he is right now to Ayumi Hamasaki. Both are genres that, much like “Brillante”, Ayumi had never touched on before, and it’s marvelous to hear her take them on at last. “The Next Love” is mostly a smooth, velvety, and classy jazz number, which in some places reminds me of the cool jazz used in the kids’ cartoon that defined my childhood, Hey Arnold!. The glamour of the music is juxtaposed with the world-weary cynicism of the lyrics, which have so impressed and grabbed me, I’ve just had to post the whole thing.
The Next Love (English Translation)
By Ayumi Hamasaki
Standing in front of Mama’s mirror
Had such an extraordinary appeal
That even a childish girl like me
Could become whatever I wanted in my dreams
Believing in things I can’t see with my eyes, eventually I stopped doing that
Believing only in things I can see with my eyes, have I become an adult?
Mama used to say to me
“Because you are beautiful
A prince will come and wake you up
With a kiss someday”
Loving the person I am, when did I last do that?
Coming to hate the person I am, have I become an adult?
That thing which they call love
Just where can I find it?
What does it look like?
How much do I need to pay?
Hey, where did you buy it?
These are the lyrics on the new album that I’ve by far identified with the most. The whole “Am I an adult? Since when did I stop being a care-free child?” questions have been lyrically mused throughout the thirty-four year old’s fourteen year career, and the fact that she’s asking such questions even at this age doesn’t surprise me at all; in a film I recently saw, a character muttered: “I suspect none of us ever fully recover from the experiences of our childhood”, and be they good experiences of bad, I wholeheartedly believe this to be true. The song unexpectedly picks up the pace for thirty seconds towards the end, suddenly embodying the hyperactivity and restlessness of childish attitudes and behaviour, before sinking back into its sleepy tempo of before, having remembered to act its real age. “The Next Love” is, in my opinion, pure magic.
And speaking of magic, here’s track twelve, “Eyes, Smoke, Magic”. Continuing the jazzy theme but now more Broadway musical-influenced, this song is, in many places, plain crazy, generating dislike from most fans, but unconditional love from me. Beginning with a ringing phone and Timothy Wellard’s creepy laugh, the song leads us through the whispered title amongst finger clicks, before lyrically telling the story of someone using their imagination and materialistic fantasies to escape the mendacity and soul-destruction of parents in a loveless marriage, the father lazy and slobbish, the mother frustrated and fed up. Ayumi Hamasaki sometimes writes lyrics from the point of view of other people or characters, such as friends, and knowing as most fans do the parental situation of Ayumi’s own childhood, it’s quite certain that with “Eyes, Smoke, Magic”, she’s singing about someone else’s, perhaps even the lovable diva that is Timothy Wellard himself.
“Papa, holding his popcorn in one hand, / Is with his buddy, the TV remote, again today / Seeing him, Mama, as usual / Shows a melancholy face, a wrinkle between her brows / Seeing them, I pretend not to notice…
Yes, my best friends are / Diamonds and roses / Is there anything more valuable? / Mama didn’t teach me any of that…“
Translated from Japanese.
Just as the “The Next Love” briefly speeds and perks up, so does “Eyes, Smoke, Magic”. The second verse takes on a faster, French-accordion feel, much like the Gackt-era songs of the Japanese Visual Kei band Malice Mizer in the mid to late nineties. All in all, “Eyes, Smoke, Magic” is cute, playful, and cheeky, a welcome, if not entirely, upbeat alternative to the doom and gloom of the album’s middle section, and whilst many fans have shared their dislike for Ayumi’s attempts at jazz and Broadway, I for one am excited and proud to see my favourite artist still experimenting with something new even after fourteen years in the business, and still being able to put her own stamp on it.
Third and final interlude, “Serenade In A-Minor” once again changes the mood. A string orchestra takes full credit for the instrumental piece, sounding in places regal and upper class, and in others poetically melancholy. I cannot help but think of period dramas or plays, or even a Shakespearean tragedy, when I hear this piece. Some have described this interlude as rather boring, and I can see what they mean if they’re not into classical music, but for me it is simply beautiful, and the way that the piece closes – I can’t describe how or why – but those final fifteen seconds or so truly tug at my heart.
Final track “How Beautiful You Are” is a classic Ayumi Hamasaki ballad, but however lovely and pretty it is, it does come across as a slight anti-climax compared to the epic, heart-wrenching way that last year’s Five EP ended. Nevertheless, it’s not entirely throw-away. The song and music video have the same message as the song “Beautiful” by Christina Aguilera, but me being biased, I do prefer Ayumi’s offering so much more. Subsequently, “How Beautiful You Are” will be used as the closing theme for this year’s Gay Pride Festival in Tokyo, which is a lovely touch.
Despite any nitpicking I may have done, I have on the whole enjoyed this record. It is true that the two other times when her private life has taken a major turn for the worse, they have both resulted in her darkest, and some would say greatest, albums – 2000′s Duty, and 2008′s Guilty, so it is rather strange to see such a varied, jumbled, and mixed-and-matched album coming out of this particular dark period in her life.
I will admit that Party Queen is not Ayumi Hamasaki’s greatest album, and I will also admit to being the tiniest bit disappointed in places, but a) That’s what happens with an artist like Hamasaki; she provides such golden musical moments that your expectations with every new record become the highest they could ever be, and b) I don’t find it disappointing for the same reasons others do. The pattern has emerged that most people adore the middle section, but detest the opening and closing parts. I, however, can find great promise and equally great flaws in all three chapters.
But the wonderful thing about Ayumi Hamasaki is that she works hard – very hard. Even when listening to her weakest of songs, you can still hear the emotion and honesty with which she sings, ensuring that there’ll never be a song of hers to which you can’t relate. Furthermore, the level of her hard working and creativity means that if you don’t like her latest record, there’ll almost certainly be another one out within a year, which you might just enjoy more. So cheer up, Ayu fans; you know how she loves to surprise us when we least expect it…
