Ichiko Aoba and "Luminescent Creatures"

Graphic by Charlotte Heintz

by Lucca Swain

If Ichiko Aoba is anything, it is consistent. Over the course of a relatively short career, the Japanese folk artist has steadily released record after record with minimal downtime, her discography growing to include eight albums and multiple soundtracks over the span of about fifteen years.

Aoba’s prolific output may be attributed to the relative simplicity of the music that characterizes her early oeuvre, which often consists of little more than her piercing, heaven-sent falsetto and deft manipulation of an acoustic guitar. At times, such as on her 2014 album 0, the singer-songwriter has experimented with field recordings, patching in lengthy, immersive passages of bird and insect chatter amidst the folk music as a method of accenting, or perhaps emphasizing, the exceedingly natural quality of her work. Though her 2020 release Windswept Adan saw the songstress shifting to a different style, expanding the scope of her sound with an increased focus on ambient textures as well as more complex arrangements, Aoba’s music retained its spare, minimalistic charm, with songs as steadfast as the mountains and as light as the wind.

And yet, when listening to the magnificent Luminescent Creatures, it’s impossible to overstate just how much of a natural artistic progression this new record is for Aoba. It perfectly synthesizes everything that has made the singer-songwriter’s music so noteworthy, so singular, so lovely, evolving from Kamisori Otome through Windswept Adan. Creatures comes just over four years after Windswept Adan, marking the longest gap between any of Aoba’s releases — a period which saw her spending extensive time in Japan’s Ryukyu Islands, studying both traditional Japanese music and nature. For an artist who recently described herself not as a musician, but rather as someone who “just loves sound,” her fieldwork has paid off in dividends. 

Luminescent Creatures contains all of the standard but always welcome Ichiko Aoba fair — rubato guitar ballads, luscious synths, an ear for melody that is second to none. However, here, Aoba has managed to transcend the starkness of her previous work and transmit something much more primal, creating music that exists somewhere between the stratosphere and the pummeling ocean waves. Unlike previous records, which often featured lengthy progressive folk compositions and intricate ballets of strings, woodwinds and Aoba’s seraphic voice, Aoba wastes no time on Luminescent Creatures. Many of the tracks consist of only one or two ideas executed with remarkable efficiency and grace. It is music of feeling first and foremost;  songs abstract; melodies moves like water. “mazamun” consists almost entirely of Aoba’s whisper-thin falsetto and an arpeggiating celesta, played as though to resemble a wound up music box, irregularly letting faint notes loose into the void. When paired with Aoba’s faux-lullaby vocal accompaniment, the results are beyond tranquil. Or there’s the following “tower,” which teeters between a waltz and a subdued ballad. Aoba’s lone, atmospheric piano is occasionally joined by hushed strings and percussion, before dissolving back into the aether once more. But describing this song as “understated” would be a disservice to just how unapologetically gorgeous and all-enveloping it really is.

Creatures is bookmarked by its two most elaborately arranged tracks: the two-part opener “COLORATURA,” and the fairytale dance of lead single “Luciférine.” The former moves at a brisk pace, careening through a whimsical junket of flute, string, and piano à la Windswept Adan, before transitioning into an airy piano ballad punctuated by shimmering wind chimes and washed-out cymbals. The latter song, however, may be the most ambitious piece on the entire record, if not because it sees Aoba’s experimentation with tension and song structure brought to a level she hasn’t quite seen before. The music coasts along on wavy currents, and the rush of wind overhead, its soft touch harboring a deceptively propulsive energy. It is only when the song glides its way into a mystical ¾ waltz that everything falls into place. The rhythm contracts and expands, as if mimicking the tempo of the ocean’s great, beating heart. As the album’s centerpiece, “Luciférene” demonstrates that on Luminescent Creatures, Aoba has at once managed to successfully evolve and deconstruct her signature sound —and as a piece of music, it’s absolutely enchanting. Ichiko Aoba seemingly has the entirety of the natural world within her grasp, the vastness of the sea a mere conduit for her impeccable artistic vision. Though rather than letting us know its fury, she opts to show us the minutiae: the fish, the sand on the beach, the gentle lapping of waves upon the seashore.