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[vault review] Cocco: Best + Ura Best + Mihappyou Kyokushuu

Thursday, December 24th, 2009 by Victoria Goldenberg

bestWhen Cocco left the music industry in 2001 (she officially returned in 2006), she released a best-of that went beyond the obligatory singles collection. The two-disc collection includes 11 singles, seven B-sides, three album tracks and five exclusive songs; the first press edition had a third CD with a track from Cocco’s sought-after indies single and “Hiyoko Buta no Theme Part 2,” her contribution to the children’s show Minna no Uta. The collection’s an excellent value for fans collecting Cocco’s songs and a thorough primer for new listeners.

Best + Ura Best + Mihappyo Kyokushuu covers a broad range of Cocco’s territory, though none of her ironic children’s songs made the cut. You get the heavy rock of “Mizu Kagami”; the ethereal beauty of “Jukai no Ito”; the minimalism of “Kutsushita no Himitsu” and “Ame Furashi”; the anthemic “Sing a Song~No Music, No Life~”; and many of the introspective rockers most definitive of Cocco’s style, such as “Raining” and “Hane~lay down my arms~.”

Best is testament to the strength of Cocco’s catalogue on the whole. Her B-sides and previously unreleased tracks hold their own against her singles and album tracks; a new listener might have trouble distinguishing which is which. A B-side track, “Way Out,” launches the compilation strikingly. It begins with 13 seconds of feedback before Cocco summons her band with a six-second scream. Her singing grows increasingly aggressive, reaching a wordless cry at the end of the chorus. It’s one of the hardest and most powerful songs Cocco’s ever written.

“Sweet Berry Kiss” and “Mokumaou” demonstrate Cocco’s preternatural talent for combining gorgeous rock melodies and honest, poetic lyrics to create moving songs. Meanwhile, “Ame Furashi” reveals her tender side. The cheery atmosphere of “Shiawase no Komichi” belies the violent fate of its protagonists. Closer “Ibara” has the troubled singer declare she would rather continue living with pain than be free of it. “I want to fall down/I don’t need to fly/I’m sure I can run/this body/should be able to live/even barefoot,” she sings. The reverb makes Cocco’s sound voice distant, possibly alluding to her departure from the music scene.

As with any compilation, individual fans will gripe about favorite songs that didn’t make it. Cocco’s cover of “Rainbow” by Dr. StrangeLove (an excellent duo that composed her production team and the backbone of her band at the time) is far more interesting than the relatively bland “Again.” The a cappella tune “Mafuyu no Suika” shows off how Cocco’s vocal color can set an ominous mood all by itself. But these omissions don’t change the fact that Best is a strong collection on its own.

But, by nature of being a compilation, it lacks the punch that Cocco’s focused original albums deliver. It’s a more intellectual listen, a study of the remarkable consistency and strength of an unusual artist at her peak. If you like what you hear on this best-of, do check out Cocco’s first four original albums to experience how much better these songs sound within context. Best was the first Cocco album I bought, but it was an original ones–Sangrose–that made her my favorite artist. That album’s cohesion and vision left such an impression on me that I had to get the three preceding it ASAP.

But for the uninitiated, Best is still a good way to find out what Cocco was about during the time she made her hardest, most impressive music. What was meant to close a career now closes a musical chapter in Cocco’s life.

Translation of Ibara’s lyrics by Brian Stewart

[vault review] Cocco: Sangrose

Thursday, July 2nd, 2009 by Victoria Goldenberg

sangroseArticles about The Shins often mention the scene in Garden State in which Natalie Portman hands her headphones to actor-director Zach Braff and says, “Listen to this; it will change your life.”

In some alternate universe where Mr. Braff is a huge J-rock fan, he could have written the scene about Cocco, and music writers would cite it to describe the singer’s appeal.

So I implore you, in my best Natalie Portman impression (“All the kids looking up to me can…”), listen to Cocco’s fourth album, Sangrose: Its emotional power will change your life.

Take “Why do I love you,’” an English-language song about the complicated feelings associated with domestic abuse. In two brief verses, one delivered over silence, Cocco describes her lover’s violence and her confusing loyalty to him. “Take away the blood from my head ‘cause I don’t know how can I love you more,” she pleads. But Cocco forgoes wordy narrative lyrics and gets into the intensity of the emotion with cries of “Don’t kill me.” Each heart-wrenching repetition makes the listener feel Cocco’s terror more and more. A bridge with nauseous-sounding moans conveys a feeling of dizzy distress, one which Cocco threatens she may need to end in murder.

The song was an epiphany the first time I listened to it as a teenager craving artistic authenticity. It demonstrates music’s potential not just to portray emotion but to become it. Radio emo’s petty self-pitying tendencies may have made people hesitant toward emotional music, but “Why do I love you” restores dignity to it. At the very least, it will make you a bigger Cocco fan.

Sangrose was released in 2001 and billed as Cocco’s last studio album before she retired from music for mysterious reasons. In the end, Cocco just went on a four-year hiatus from commercial music; people speculate she took the time off to give birth and raise the son she kept secret until 2007. Sangrose is mostly softer and slower than the albums that preceded it, which made it a contemplative closing to Cocco’s career at the time. In hindsight, it also fits her overall her creative path, bridging the bitter, hard music of her early years with the gentle, folksy approach of her post-hiatus sound. Because of its gradual pace, Sangrose is an acquired taste. Cocco’s first three albums deliver more instantly gratifying heavy tracks, and are thus safer bets for introductory albums.

Yet if you give it the time, Sangrose reveals its strengths as a whole. Cocco has a remarkable instinct for restraint in composing her albums, containing the visceral moments in short bursts between pretty ballads, dreamy tracks and ironic children’s songs. She reached her apex with Sangrose. It was actually the first original Cocco album I bought, and at first, I was disappointed there weren’t more freakout songs like “Why do I love you” and “Wagamama na te.” As I listened more, I realized having more heavy tracks would dilute their specialness and reduce the emotional complexity of Cocco’s catalogue. Besides, Sangrose has a distinct flow, and by the time you reach Cocco’s passionate shout-singing at the end of the expansive “Coral Reef,” you feel like you’ve completed a journey.

And if some indie rock can change your life, Cocco certainly can, too.

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