For the 17th installment, the last one of the series, she gets to the core of the music of Japanese women rappers by referencing the notion of iki (chicness). She also looks at the year 2009, which was a turning point, through the lens of fashion history. 

Analyzing the imaginative power of hip-hop (history) through fashion

In this series of columns, I’ve uncovered how contemporary music—namely hip-hop, which has been active in recent years with its raw spirit—has woven an inseparable relationship with fashion. If I’ve been able to reveal how hip-hop subconsciously/deeply breathes in sync with fashion one way or another, then the purpose of this series has been reached.  

When I talk about the marriage of the two, I’m not only referring to the changes that have taken place, like the convergence of high fashion and streetwear post-2010s, which drastically shook the existing class structure and the fact that rappers and dancers came to wear luxury brands. I don’t wish to emphasize the repeated attempts to reinforce hip-hop attitudes with lyrical references that use brands like Gucci and Chanel, either. What I want to state is thus: the sound and history of brand names like Gucci and Chanel create a narrative, and hip-hop has become an autonomous art form with an unexpected vibrancy.

The same is true for fashion staples such as sneakers and jeans, which I spoke about in the penultimate installment. Without a doubt, these items, originally from streetwear, have been redefined and given a new context as of late. Hip-hop is enmeshed with these items in a way that can’t be labeled as a mere trend. The sneakers that rappers wear carry the core idea of hip-hop, which is the “reversal of black and white.” When one drags a pair of sagging jeans on the streets, they’re followed around by something that upholds the essence of hip-hop, which is the unchangeable origin of oneself. Imagination is far superior to reality. The imagination of hip-hop (history) can provide a grand story by using fashion as a symbolic tool.

The concept and aesthetic of iki underlying the music of Japanese women rappers

As TOKION is a platform that introduces “cutting edge culture,” I brought to life the entangled play between hip-hop and fashion through rap music in Japan. If there’s one last point I should explore, it’s the notion of iki (chicness), which upholds Japanese fashion, and the influence that this fleeting (and therefore hard to grasp) aesthetic has on hip-hop. This approach in hip-hop, introduced by many women rappers, hasn’t been in the spotlight because of its subtleness and difficult-to-understand nuance. During the Edo period, when the concept of iki prospered, the structure of hierarchal society was dominant, and modesty was encouraged thanks to the sumptuary law. The iki culture and aesthetic that blossomed under the oppressive environment is similar to women rappers in the male-centric hip-hop game in the form of a pyramid, who have expressed themselves despite being ridiculed as being soft at times. And this isn’t common in women rappers in America.

To be iki is to alter something. While the most prominent male rappers in Japanese hip-hop history have been rhyming stoically, a small number of male and women rappers have been showcasing a playful and laidback style compared to their solemn counterparts. Starting with ORCHIDS, who debuted on MAJOR FORCE, to FUNKY ALIEN, HAC, YURI, HALCALI, Y.I.M, and chelmico, the laidback rap style that strays away from hip-hop’s stylistic beauty, has introduced a new perspective of changing the rap game.

Additionally, iki also equates to sexiness. Hiroshige Utagawa’s “After a Bath” is a well-known example of how one could find many instances of flushed women after taking a bath, considered as iki culture, in ukiyo-e paintings, which flourished during the Edo period. The Edo culture carefully illustrated the warmth of their exposed bodies and sighs and the sexiness of their unguarded intimacy. As such, the ways Daoko and Izumi Makura use their breaths are worthy examples of the incorporation of sexiness into hip-hop (in a different manner from the sexiness of traditional women rappers). Sexiness is also an act of suggestion and allusion. Instead of showing everything at the start, it’s about performing and producing a sense of push and pull. In this way, Daoko is an interesting rapper. Her lyrics, packed with relentless, hard-sounding rhymes, are acutely technical, which is why the occasional glimpse of her “body heat” seems to affect the listener and give off the scent of a different kind of sensuality.

I would also like to bring to mind Namie Amuro’s approach. With the release of STYLE in 2003, she switched to R&B/hip-hop. She opened the song, “Namie’s Style,” with “How does this sound? It’s Namie’s style/Were you waiting for this? Here is my nu style.” This album became crucial in the following history of hip-hop in Japan. Because she was an established pop star by then, she presented her work carefully, as if to test out the waters. In other words, she teased the audience with a slight glimpse of the push and pull in a brilliantly iki manner.

What is unprecedented is that in hip-hop, women themselves have stood up and grabbed the mic to channel their sensuality and sexiness in their music, unlike in ukiyo-e, where male artists portrayed iki by drawing women. Most of these performances by women may not have been intentional. Women rappers have been expressing themselves with authenticity while holding up the times, and themselves, like a mirror. As a result, iki qualities have been incorporated into hip-hop. Thanks to the works of these women rappers, our ability to appreciate hip-hop has broadened in some small way.

The turning point of 2009; when RUMI and COMA-CHI created their masterpieces, and a momentous shift in fashion history took place

A significant turning point in the history of Japanese hip-hop made by women was in 2009. RUMI completed her trilogy of dark and unique music with the release of HELL ME NATION, while COMA-CHI made her major-label debut with RED NAKED. The use of red, the antithesis of iki, in the title is suggestive in various contexts. COMA-CHI climbed her way up the ladder and stood at the frontlines with men; indeed, it was a necessary step for her to represent women rappers on a major label and send out a message. Simultaneously, this was also when hip-hop entered a dark period in the Japanese music scene.

Out of the past few decades, the years surrounding 2009 were the most crucial turning points in Japanese womenswear history. After Phoebe Philo became the creative director of Celine in 2008, the effortless, minimalist style saturated Japan at breakneck speed. There’s fashion pre-Phoebe and post-Phoebe; that’s how much fashion changed. This surge solidified after the Great East Japan Earthquake in 2011. It caused an immense tectonic shift, as style went from being based on various fashion tribes to being more relaxed/casual—emphasizing the materials themselves—while referencing such tribes. The style changed from a manufactured and adorned one to one that valued the individual’s lifestyle. This development encouraged basics like sneakers, knit dresses, sportswear, and natural, texture-oriented makeup for women. Working on one’s body and beauty also became widespread, and as a result, the individual was prioritized over the clothes.

Listening to hip-hop as a genre that conveys the zeitgeist of the era and picking up the pieces of the evolving image of fashion

In response to the dramatic shift in fashion, women rappers also changed. The works of COMA-CHI and RUMI, who made a name for themselves in MC battles by adding onto the existing male-centric hip-hop music and creating a rich, complete sound, were at the apex then. More new women rappers began showing their talents. Daoko, Awich, NENE, Zoomgals, lyrical school, and other rappers who gained popularity in the 2010s and beyond have distinct styles that don’t overlap. Each of these rapper’s flair is distant from the male point of view in hip-hop.

Hip-hop—a sharp, progressive mode of expression that’s closely related to fashion and conveys the zeitgeist of the times—will continue to stimulate people’s values through the birth and collaborations of more skilled rappers of all genders.

Experiments in modern colloquialism breathe with the clothes that adorn the body, still ring on the streets as odd sounds at this very moment, travel around the internet, and resonate with people’s bodies and spirits. If the play on sounds and words and the changing image of fashion are thrown away on the streets as insignificant things, one must continue to listen meticulously and collect them. I’m sure you’re one of those people.

References:
Oshare Bunkashi Asuka Jidai kara Edo Jidai made, edited by The POLA Research Institute of Beauty and Culture, Shumei Daigaku Shuppankai, 2019

Illustration AUTO MOAI

Translation Lena Grace Suda

The post On the iki of women rappers and the year 2009, a turning point [Shockwaves in Contemporary Music and Fashion] Vol. 17 appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

At the end of the day, it’s about oomph and the ordinary. Dos Monos makes that clear. 

The release of their third album Dos Siki 2nd Season, their fourth album Larderello in conjunction with TV Tokyo’s experimental program Futa, and their new song “Obo”. Between these milestones, the trio performed live and engaged in radical activities like having various dialogues. The sudden appearances and disappearances of Dos Monos are exciting. They soften the stiffened thinking of the world while simultaneously creating a rawness that shocks us.

I believe this rawness is what Dos Monos calls “an extraordinary ordinary that transcends sex appeal.” In the first part of this interview, a wrap-up of this year, they talk about their Theater D show held back in September and their collaboration with SMTK. While Dos Monos’ music is danceable, it doesn’t stop there; it allows new “traffic” to pass and creates pleasure by opening up previously unconnected circuits. We’ll dive even deeper in the second part of the interview. The members urge that music should be more compelling, which ultimately leads to the statement that we require more provocative people. Then they end up discussing a particularly infamous professional baseball director.

Dos Monos is doing something fascinating, and the intriguing anecdotes in this interview are a testament to that. However, they also fear they’re merely having fun. The trio can’t achieve their destination alone. In the second half of the interview, Zo Zhit describes this destination as “restoring culture in society.” Perhaps this requires us to (implicitly) transform ourselves to be more provocative and subversive.

“An experience where my stoic thinking came undone”; gaining a new understanding through performing live  

——This summer, you released Dos Siki 2nd Season, a reinterpretation of your sophomore album, Dos Siki. In September, you had a live performance, titled Theater D, with guest artists. My friends and acquaintances all claim it was the best show of the year. It was amazing. Did things go well from the rehearsal phase? 

Botsu aka NGS: It was so good. Rehearsals were the best part. 

Zo Zhit: We tend to sound amazing during rehearsals, surprisingly. The entertainment element directed towards the audience is exclusive to performing live, of course. 

——Although “A Spring Monkey Song feat. Soushi Sakiyama, SMTK, and Tomomi Oda” is a collaborative song, it also sounded like a battle. As in, rather than harmonizing with your performance, it seemed like Soushi Sakiyama-san rapping through his teeth, and Tomomi Oda-san and SMTK’s pulsating performance were in a battle. How would you describe the magic that occurred onstage? 

Zo Zhit: As Dos Monos, we wanted to do something that a band couldn’t do and create a groove that a band couldn’t produce. It’s said that Chris Dave revolutionized grooves in bands. But there’s a certain beauty in humans using beats made with machines. We wanted to make something twisted only with a machine or a DAW. We’ve always wanted to make Dos Monos as a band but were afraid it would become boring, so we didn’t try it. But we decided to take this opportunity to try it out.

Zo Zhit: I thought we had to make a lot of time for band practice to find the ideal groove, but when we had a jam session, it ended up being good in about an hour (laughs). It was an experience where my stoic thinking came undone. For three years since our debut, I had kept that lid shut, but I felt like we could do it much easier than I imagined. I felt satisfied. 

A thrilling performance with SMTK and Soushi Sakiyama  

——A lot of your guests’ forte was improvisation, so your live set was impressive. You could always count on SMTK to do something exciting. Meanwhile, Sakiyama-san has an unexpected thrill to him. It was interesting how he wasn’t trying to emit that deliberately. There was this uncertainty with him. 

Botsu aka NGS: More than this being about the show, the fact that we threw Sakiyama-kun in there among all those sounds was thrilling (laughs). 

Zo Zhit: Since his debut as a high school student, Sakiyama-kun’s been playing live constantly, but he hasn’t gotten used to the stage; in a good way (laughs). That’s weirdly impressive. 

Botsu aka NGS: But I think it was vital that we had once worked together in the studio with the same people. It would’ve been so hard if we hadn’t done that and played in sessions for the live show instead.

Zo Zhit: Yeah, we had a common understanding. But we didn’t record in the studio at the same time. First, I removed the drums from my song “A Spring Monkey Song” and asked Shun Ishiwaka to play the drums, then I removed the bassline and asked Marty (Holoubek) to play the bass, then I removed the guitar parts and asked Tokutaro Hosoi to play the guitar, then I removed the piano and chorus and asked Tomomi Oda to play the piano and sing the chorus. Like so, I made the song by subtracting and adding each factor. The band didn’t play together, and in part, the cut-and-paste vibe and each component operating in a scattered way created the groove.

Zo Zhit on discovering hidden grooves while producing songs

——You were featured on SMTK’s second album that came out this year, SIREN PROPAGANDA. I’d like to know about how you made the track, “Headhunters (feat. Dos Monos).” Unlike your usual style, Zo Zhit-san, where you sample sounds based on memory and sensations, you sampled SMTK’s sounds to make the song. Did your creativity change because of the lack of memories attached to and the limited nature of the source? 

Zo Zhit: With sampling, everything’s pretty much the same as far as the material is concerned. It doesn’t matter if you have an associated memory or not, as in the end, it’s almost the same once you deconstruct the sound and “cook” it. More importantly, I want to go beyond my ideas whenever I make a song from different sources. While I’m playing around, I inevitably can’t bring myself to cut out subtle flickering noises.

Zo Zhit: I like how you could pick up the flickering sounds and create something while making discoveries. It’s like an impromptu dance. On the other hand, when I have a phrase I want to use that makes me go like, “I want to use that,” I could see the trajectory. So, I play it safe, in a way. I try not to use samples in that manner too much. 

——Instead of sampling sounds based on memory, you search for unpredictable moments. 

Zo Zhit: Well, for “Obo,” our latest song, I referenced about four, five songs. I didn’t use any samples, but I saw the goal from the start. I had an ideal image in my mind, more so than usual, and tried to make that concrete. This time, I used the bass included in Ableton, which was rare for me, but I created a fun sound. I usually use samples to create the bassline, so it’s easy to make strange sounds. But this time around, I played the bassline on the keyboard. Even if I come up with the bassline first, the most creative part is when I play it and mess around with the tone.

Zo Zhit: The role of the score or midi is minimal. I’m not that interested in tweaking the phrases themselves. The bassline is the same from start to finish in that song. I used to change the development of the drums a lot when I initially started making music on a computer, but I don’t have that desire right now. TaiTan’s verses go well with gimmicky developments, so I do the bare minimum for that, but I usually go with a loop all the way through. 

A simple substructure and a complex superstructure; the element that makes Dos Monos’ world special  

——Many of your songs are danceable, but they also have a story. One can listen to the former sonically, and one can listen to the latter to find meaning. As such, the two circuits intertwine. That’s what makes your music fascinating. 

Zo Zhit: The upper layer (the part that makes one think narratively) and the lower layer (the part that speaks to one’s physical body)—the superstructure and substructure—describe the relationship between the beat and other sounds. In our case, the substructure is quite simple, and the superstructure is complicated. I had a phase where I immersed myself in studying the superstructure. I didn’t like that and started to want to incorporate the ordinariness and simplicity of the substructure. 

I want to make a danceable substructure, an engaging superstructure, and intersect the upper and lower layers. Upon the rerelease of A Gentle Woman, directed by Robert Bresson, I had a panel discussion with Masaya Nakahara-san. Bresson’s films have effective beats. People talk about him as this holy, catholic-like director—the superstructure—but the underlying substructure is solid; you can bop your head to that film. I want to incorporate that kind of sensibility towards beats. 

Botsu aka NGS: I think our character as rappers is interesting. Everybody talks about the superstructure, but when you peel that away a bit, you’ll see that we put on a character. I feel like that’s how I contribute. 

TaiTan: I think the fun of Dos Monos is you can vibe to the beat, and the words will then come to you. When we make a song, Zo Zhit gives us a theme, and each of us writes lyrics in a completely different direction from one another. But the listeners put the words together and listen to them like that. When you think about it, it’s valuable for the three of us to work together.

Zo Zhit: In a superstructure world, it’s easy to neglect the substructure. But even if the superstructure constructs a story or ideology, I want the beat to create a rift there.

TaiTan: In either case, you could listen to something repeatedly and see another side. If you listen to just the beat and hear one catchy word, that’s entertaining too. 

Zo Zhit: Yeah, it’s like you could just be dancing and all of a sudden find yourself in the superstructure. That reciprocal exchange is crucial. 

——Perhaps your music is exciting because a different circuit from the usual opens up unexpectedly. 

Continue to Part 2 

Dos Monos 
Dos Monos is a hip hop crew comprised of three MCs from Tokyo. The mastermind producer, Zi Zhit, approached TaiTan and Botsu, his classmates in middle and high school, and founded the group in 2015. Before their debut, they played live at Summer Sonic and then got signed to Deathbomb Arc, an LA-based hip hop label home to the likes of JPEGMafia. After performing abroad, they released their first album in March of 2019 titled Dos City. In July 2020, they released their second album, Dos Siki, and on the same day the following year, they released Dos Siki 2nd Season, the reinterpretation of the previous album featuring black midi, Soushi Sakiyama, Tomomi Oda, SMTK, Qiezi Mabo, and JAZZ DOMMUNISTERS. In September, they released Larderello and Dos Siki (1st & 2nd Season) on CD.  
Twitter：@dosmonostres
YouTube：Dos Monos 

Photography Kana Tarumi
Edit Ai Iijima
Translation Lena Grace Suda

The post “We need more provocative people”—the elusive Dos Monos, who makes the ordinary extraordinary, wraps 2021 up (part I) appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.