Japanese duo Nagisa Ni Te have never strayed far from the territory they know best: restrained and romantic folk. The songs of Shinji Shibayama and partner Masako Takeda's play like a Zen Buddhist's tribute to the Beatles-- clean guitar chords are slowly strummed and lyrics take the form of austere pop-haiku meditatons on love, nature, and love-amidst-nature. Yosuga, the duo's seventh album and first release in roughly four years, not only adheres to the formula, but strips things down even further.
Founded in 1992, Nagisa Ni Te (the name translates to On the Beach) has always been a couple's band, a songwriting outlet based on the relationship between Shibayama and long-time girlfriend Takeda. A revolving cast of backing musicians helped to flesh things out and the band often skewed into hushed psychedelic territory not too far removed from hippie-dippy peers like Ghost or Magic Hour. At the very least, you got a few guitar solos. But although Nagisa Ni Te's social circle hasn't slimmed-- a few friends fill in on bass and lead guitar-- Shibayama and Takeda seem to have Yosuga all to themselves. The spontaneity and collective vibe of previous efforts like On the Love Beach is largely absent. Even the production-- lacking in room resonance or reverb-- seems hermetically sealed from the outside world. This time Nagisa Ni Te are on the beach all by themselves.
Album opener "Premonition" is Yosuga's single truly energetic moment, and it's still pretty laid back. The sound of chirping birds gives way to low-key love-rock with Shibayama and Takeda strumming simple chords over bubbling organ figures. Almost all of the album's lyrics are in Japanese ("Premonition" has a chorus in English) and it's hard to fully appreciate Yosuga's songs without reading the translations in the liner notes. Judging by the guitar figures and melodies alone, "Seeing the Sea" sounds rather mournful and dour. But closer inspection reveals a sexier intent: "I want to strip you even more naked/ More, harder/ Meeting melting."
Most of Yosuga plays like a conversation between lovers-- which is ostensibly what it is. Shibayama and Takeda trade phrases, answer each other's melodies, and sing the choruses in blissed-out unison. But halfway through the album-- which runs a seemingly eternal 70 minutes-- this intimacy starts to feel a bit awkward and claustrophobic. With spare instrumentation, ascetic melodies, and a pace that's positively glacial, there's little to fuel Yosuga but the intensity of Nagisa Ni Te's affections. On songs like the album's title track that intimacy is so pronounced that one can't help but feel like an outsider-- a bothersome third wheel on somebody else's hot date. While that often makes for lovely and sweetly innocent listening, it also demands a lot of patience.
