Hachiku’s prismatic, sugary new dream-pop album The Joys of Being Pure at Heart seems to have been beamed down from a different, better universe. The synths shimmer more brightly, sublime brushes of harp sound like they’re straight out of heaven and hope shines through every word. Though filled with questions about fear, uncertainty and human connection, this is the feel good record of the year (so far).
Hachiku is the project of Anika Ostendorf, a singer, songwriter and producer originally from Germany but now based in Naarm / Melbourne. Her songs radiate a sunniness reminiscent of The Beths, a heart-on-her-sleeve vulnerability akin to Kate Nash and an off-kilter pop sensibility that’s sure to draw in Magdalena Bay fans. The Joys of Being Pure at Heart is decidedly brighter both in sound and outlook than Ostendorf’s 2020 excellent debut album I’ll Probably Be Asleep, while also embracing her weirder sonic impulses. Whether due to a change in perspective, the people around her or some other magical X factor, she’s gone from asserting, “Your sympathy is weak / And it means nothing to me” on the title track of I’ll Probably Be Asleep to “Your heart so full of empathy / So glad when you’re around” on the new LP’s loved-up song “What Rhyme with Serendipity.”
The Joys of Being Pure at Heart feels like an utterly improbable album in a time of such overwhelming gloom and doom—and rest assured, Ostendorf doesn’t ignore the problems that face us. It’s just that she is unrelenting in her resolve to drive out the dark with her own inner light, and calls on us all to do the same. “No common ground to stand on if you keep / dropping bombs,” she reminds us on “Victims of Our Own Demise”—one of the album’s most overtly political and aurally expansive songs—while also acknowledging what divides us: “the walls we built too strong.”
But to Ostendorf, we aren’t doomed; as she sings on the final track, “We’re wolves for each other / Hungrier than ever / But I’d like to think / We were born to be kind.” What sets her apart as a songwriter is that she transforms the belief that things can be better into pure pop euphoria that perfectly elevates her message. In the world of The Joys of Being Pure at Heart, persistence and resistance don’t equate with drudgery. “Digging slow and digging further” she encourages on the glistening “Keep on Swimming”; tenacity has never sounded so whimsical. “Wild Eyed and Free” warns us against limp middle-of-the-road politics (“Agree to disagree / Observe don’t intervene / I don’t see the difference”) over liquidy splashes of piano, before ending on golden harp and a kooky electronic outro that feels made for Little Big Planet. On “Do You Like What You See In Me,” Ostendorf celebrates unconditional love (“Promise to devote / I will be there for you”) and living in the moment (“And I like the sun on my skin / And I like the feeling I’m in”) with sky-high vocals and ethereal synths that bring to mind endless summer days.
The main complaint that can be levied against Hachiku’s sophomore album is that its potent sweetness occasionally veers into saccharine territory. This isn’t an LP for cynics, that is for sure. However, I would much rather the toothache left over from the twee sugar rush of The Joys of Being Pure at Heart than more heartache—there’s plenty of that to go around. Ostendorf’s left-of-center production choices also keep listeners on their toes. She isn’t afraid to take her songs to strange and glorious places: the seemingly straightforward and sweet “Keep on Swimming” features a glitchy breakdown near the end, while “Time Wasted Worrying” transports us to a groovy beachside party. Her feather-light vocals, which can seem ready to float off into the ether, evoke the likes of Broadcast on the chorus of “Fun For Everyone”—a song that certainly lives up to its name.
Most important, though, are the words of wisdom and love that Ostendorf imparts, particularly on the standout final track: “There is room for everybody / Never let go of the joys / Of being pure at heart.”
Clare Martin is a cemetery enthusiast and Paste’s associate music editor.
