Western listeners have long been drawn to underground Japanese music that falls between genres. Once the domain of pricey imports and fanzine pages, this decade has seen compilations such as Chee Shimizu’s More Better Days gather off-beat pop that draws from all over the global map, while labels like Palto Flats and WRWTFWW Records get rarities back into Western rotation. One of the most ambitious reissues projects comes from Black Editions, which is bringing out-of-print gems from Hideo Ikezumi’s psych-rock-leaning PSF label. Their latest is a fixture of Japanese underground rock, the second album from the Tokyo band High Rise. It’s a frantic set of blow-out garage rock that lives at their stylized intersection of psych, free jazz, and punk—a fiery testament to these Japanese artists’ ability to sever themselves from existing music communities to create something all their own, and capture a singular, high-energy moment in their careers.
High Rise officially came together in 1982, centered around bassist and vocalist Asahito Nanjo and guitarist Munehiro Narita. Both grew up listening to imported Western music—Nanjo obsessed with any soundtrack he could find, Narita exposed to the Doors, Pink Floyd and Wilson Pickett among others via an uncle—before venturing into even more eclectic territory, developing a playing style heavily shaped by groups like Grand Funk Railroad and Blue Cheer. Punk, free jazz, and no wave caught both of their attention, as did domestic projects such as early Keiji Haino outfit Lost Aaraaff and the band Friction (featuring Reck, an early member of Teenage Jesus and the Jerks). The pair found themselves briefly playing in the same shadowy psych band, Kosokuya, but soon grew restless. “I decided to do something ‘hard’ with the people I got on best with,” Nanjo said in an interview.
The pair started playing as Psychedelic Speed Freaks, a name obvious about that Tokyo record store owner Hideo Ikeezumi asked them to change it before he put out their debut album on his label because it was too direct. They renamed themselves High Rise—after J.G. Ballard's 1975 novel—and in 1984 put out Psychedelic Speed Freaks, their first album and the accidental namesake of Ikeezumi’s fledgling label. High Rise, though, set the template for future PSF groups, if not sonically than at least in attitude. Their feedback-stained improvised rock drew from the wild jazz and avant-garde communities dotting Japan, but with a rock backbone provided by Narita’s guitar playing. “We didn’t have a position,” Najo says of their place in the Japanese music world, and they’ve never sounded like they lamented it.
High Rise II marked the crest of the band’s fried-out psych, partially because they found Yuro Ujiie, a drummer who could actually keep up with Najo and Narita. High Rise have cycled through drummers at a quick clip over the last few decades, but Ujiie was the only one to push the central pair into their most fertile territory. It’s not just about swiftness, although cuts like “Last Rites” and “Turn You Cry” are among their quickest salvos. Just as important was Ujiie’s ability to hang with two players ready to veer off in different directions at any second, lending II a more manic energy than their locked-in debut.
Not that you would notice, at least right away. Critical to II’s atmosphere is how the drums get mixed lower, putting the emphasis on the fuzz-soaked bass and guitar. Ujiie provided propulsion, but it’s more subtle across High Rise’s second full-length, pushing songs forward but staying just out of the spotlight. Same goes for Nanjo’s vocals, coated in distortion and tough to make out. “They’re just various bits of English junky slang strung together. They just say that if you want to take drugs, you’re going to have to be prepared to die,” Nanjo has said of his lyrics, pointing to the group’s foundational theme of being anti-drugs (“The concept was to save the junkies”). Still, every word gets obscured by sound, rendering Nanjo’s singing as an unnerving (and, frequently, catchy) detail rather than something to really dwell on.
High Rise created a cult because of the way the guitar and bass tore off across their songs. As relayed in interviews, the group didn’t create songs as much as they made concepts, improvisations that sounded focused. Narita’s guitar playing goes a long way here, tearing apart the heavy groove of “Cotton Top” and darting across “Wipe Out’s” rush of bass and drum fills. If Nanjo and Ujiie were more in sync and creating a constricting squall, Narita added the rush of on-the-edge oblivion that gives II such a dizzying vibe. Comparing faster cuts like “Turn You Cry” and “Last Rites” to hellacious motorcycle chases works well—the guitarist described High Rise’s music as “like seeing a traffic accident happen right in front of you.” The same reckless plunge forward even comes through on II’s one extended jam, the 13-minute whirlwind “Pop Sicle,” a number bringing to mind the slow-burn dirges of Les Rallizes Denudes sped up and frayed.
Black Editions reissue presents what they call the “definitive version” of II, mixed and mastered by Nanjo. He makes sure the guitars come to the fore of this 2018 version, maintaining the wild energy of the original. Two bonus songs originally found on a PSF CD version released in 1993 also appear here—the chug-a-lug of “Monster a Go Go” is as close as High Rise came to sounding like a conventional rock band, and earns its status as an extra. Far better is “Induced Depression,” a psych blast more in line with the shorter numbers on II featuring some particularly busy solos courtesy of Narita.
II caught High Rise at their most confident and adventurous—future releases would find Nanjo, Narita and whoever could handle the kit slowing down, or with the singing and drums coming through more clearly, while all involved would venture off into multiple other groups, like the more structured Mainliner or Musica Transonic. It’s on this 1986 release, though, where they are most eager to blaze their own path, not just far removed from the glitzy sounds of mainstream Japanese music during the bubble years but from other underground artists. II holds nothing back, but it also features catchier elements separating it from the pure bludgeoning of Merzbow and other “Japanoise” acts, while also being more muscular than the dramatic sounds of labelmate Haino. No shortage of niche acts popping up in Tokyo’s live-houses sound like High Rise, but the real legacy to glean from II is that of a band embracing their independence and going their own way.
