Shooting urban loneliness with an inorganic voice - the impact of a foreign substance called Phew - early 1980s

Shooting urban loneliness with an inorganic voice - the impact of a foreign substance called Phew - early 1980s

From the late 1970s to the early 1980s, Japan was in the midst of a transition from high economic growth to stable growth. The streets were filled with neon lights, idols and variety shows were on TV, and labor and consumption became the main melody of urban life.

Phew was a female artist who emerged from the Osaka underground at this time, first attracting attention as the vocalist for the avant-garde band "Arndt Sully," formed in 1979, and later going full-scale as a solo artist.

Her voice does not resonate with a plaintive quality, nor does it bare her emotions. Rather, her voice, which has been described as "cold," "inorganic," and "restrained," is imbued with the emotionlessness and fatigue of people living in the city, and the loneliness that arises in the gaps between languages. But this is precisely what was "real" for city dwellers in the early 1980s.

Phew's groundbreaking work was to combine this Japanese urban sensibility with an international musical context. 1981 saw the release of a solo album produced by Ryuichi Sakamoto, which already had a strong post-punk flavor, and the following year he was joined by members of the German experimental band CAN (Holger Schukai and Yaki Liebzeit) and released it as the work "Phew". This collaboration was unprecedented in the Japanese rock scene at the time, and meant a connection with the "avant-garde" of the world.

While YMO and techno songs were enjoying commercial success in the music scene at the time, Phew continued to quietly reject the surface of commercialism. The inorganic electronic sounds, repetitive rhythms, and Japanese lyrics that seem to squeeze out emotion. The compositions rather aimed to express silence, blankness, and inexpressible "presence" itself.

In the dichotomy of "pop" and "underground" music in the early 1980s, Phew was in a very rare position, not resting on either side of the divide. She did not flaunt her female identity, nor did she speak out in feminist slogans, but her very existence shone through as a "foreigner" in the male-dominated music industry.

Phew's expression is filled with a sense that she avoids talking too much and rather presents her feelings "before" she speaks. This mysterious charm was reevaluated in later years, and was highly acclaimed by alternative listeners and critics overseas.

Phew's music seemed to pick up the voiceless voices of those lost and speechless in the darkness of the city. Her activities were a pioneering example of how the post-punk form of expression could be established as "thinking sound" in Japan as well. Her quiet and radical presence still resonates beyond the times.