Sanma Issue 37: Do You Love City Pop?

Welcome to the 1970s— Music and rhythm, the most genuine sensations. If popular culture is a collective consciousness, then its true essence lies in whether it can become "timeless" after the initial fervor fades, awakening anew after a period of reflection. "City Pop" is a perfect example. For some, the Japanese music of the 80s evokes memories of youthful nights on the dance floor; for those born in the 90s, this seemingly "retro" music offers a completely fresh experience. The same songs, in the 21st century, are being reinterpreted and reborn into a new shared trend. As magazine creators romantically put it: "A magazine is a microcosm of its era." It wasn't until I casually picked up a vinyl record at a Japanese record store and listened to a Japanese album I'd never heard before that I felt a surge of excitement and envy. Excitement, because these "discovered" old albums, once dusted off, shone like brilliant jewels. Envy, because old songs, much like old magazines, could articulate culture and fashion through their melodies. In this era of algorithm-driven recommendations, without the journey of digging through vinyl, I wouldn't have discovered the deep, resonant voice of Yusaku Matsuda. Nor would I have known that Tatsuro Yamashita was the composer and lyricist for KinKi Kids' debut song, "硝子の少年," which I was obsessed with during my Johnny's idol phase. And I certainly wouldn't have realized that the song with tens of millions of views, "Plastic Love," wasn't just a classic by its original artist, Mariya Takeuchi, but also a hit cover by the iconic Hong Kong star Anita Mui. In an instant, magazines and vinyl records felt like kindred spirits, one through text, the other through song, both capturing the most captivating contours of their time. Vinyl records, long buried in memory, have been redefined by streaming platforms that blur the lines between mediums, giving birth to the term "City Pop," a term that didn't exist back then. The languid sounds of the Showa era, filled with imaginings of the future, have now cycled back from the West to Asia, finally settling in Japan with a renewed identity. The time capsule of the last century has been opened, its contents overlapping with the sounds of 2022 in a cross-generational, dual-track creation. I truly envy those who will live 50 years from now, able to experience this second period of reflection, absorbing the creative output of both eras and appreciating Japan's modern imagination of the city. This inspiring journey of resurgence once again proves that great creations, no matter how long they lie dormant, will eventually be recognized. To document the new melodies of "City Pop" in this generation, this issue features renowned Japanese music critic Yuji Koshizaki, who writes about the evolution of Japanese music for Taiwan for the first time. We also visit the hallowed halls of Japanese record stores, TOWER RECORDS and HMV record shop, and conduct exclusive interviews with artists whose work defined the genre's visual style, Hiroshi Nagai and Eizin Suzuki. Additionally, music columnist dato guest-edits this issue, collaborating with music critics to craft a narrative from Taiwan's musical perspective. We reunite with Yogee New Waves to discuss the influence of 80s music on Japanese creators, revisit Sunset Rollercoaster and Elephant Gym's exhilarating experiences performing in Japan, and hear how music transcends national borders through Kai Huang's collaborations between Taiwan and Japan. Swing freely! As Tatsuro Yamashita sings in "Loveland, Island," "The once desert-like streets have become a southern oasis." City Pop is like an oasis in this era, a place where we can encounter the most free-spirited and uninhibited imagination within the dreamscape of music.