Albumreview by Jan Vranken
The Japanese psych-pop master refines his groove-laden time machine
Three and a half years after Like A Fable, Shintaro Sakamoto returns with an album that feels like eavesdropping on a fever dream broadcast from 1967 Tokyo – except the signal keeps drifting through decades of global sounds, picking up Latin rhythms, Hawaiian slide guitars, and Philly soul along the way. Yoo-Hoo is Sakamoto’s fifth solo effort since the 2010 dissolution of legendary psych-rock outfit Yura Yura Teikoku, and it confirms what the former band’s devotees have known for over a decade: the man has become a master curator of vintage grooves, filtering them through a distinctly modern, wonderfully warped sensibility.
Where Yura Yura Teikoku dealt in volcanic psychedelic eruptions, Sakamoto’s solo work operates at a lower simmer – all hypnotic repetition, textural detail, and grooves that deliberately refuse to climax. Think Stereolab’s cooler moments meets the sophisticated pop playfulness of Shibuya-kei, with a healthy dose of Mood Kayō – that midcentury Japanese style that borrowed heavily from Latin and Hawaiian traditions. If you’ve ever wondered what Air’s Moon Safari might sound like remixed by a time-traveling Japanese funk scholar with a fetish for marimba and wah-wah guitar, you’re getting warm.
The album unfolds in two distinct movements, though Sakamoto never announces the shift. Opening track “Dear Grandpa” sets expectations for what initially feels like an exercise in sublime suspension. “Is There A Place For You There?” follows with blown-out vocals that melt languorously against Yuta Suganuma’s beckoning drums, establishing what The Skinny aptly described as a mood of controlled inertia. The rhythm on “Protect Your Brain” circles rather than advances, built around a skeletal guiro scrape that becomes almost meditative in its insistence. These early tracks privilege space and texture over conventional song structure – it’s music that breathes rather than rushes.
But around the midpoint, something shifts. “On The Other Side Of Time” reconnects with Sakamoto’s psychedelic past, its motorik pulse loosened and partially obscured, like Neu! heard through a haze of tropical humidity. “The Clock Began to Move” extends this gradual acceleration through repetition and muted groove, while “Numb” – a standout that electrified audiences during Sakamoto’s recent North American tour – finally brings the album’s latent funk into sharp focus. Built on minimalist riffs and piercing horn lines from Tetsu Nishiuchi, it’s the kind of track that could sit comfortably on a playlist between early Talking Heads and Os Mutantes.
Recorded at Peace Music studio in Tokyo with his live band – AYA on bass, Suganuma on drums, and Nishiuchi on flute and sax, with guest Manami Kakudo adding marimba to two tracks – the album bears the fingerprints of engineer Soichiro Nakamura, who’s worked with Boris and Guitar Wolf. The production balances crystal clarity with deliberate tape-warped textures, creating a sonic world that feels simultaneously vintage and futuristic. Sakamoto himself handles vocals, keyboards, and an arsenal of guitars including lap steel, while also designing the album artwork – a reminder that he’s as much visual artist as musician.
Lyrically, Sakamoto’s observations remain characteristically oblique, offering fragments that feel like warnings woven into everyday observations. There’s a subtle unease beneath the album’s breezy surface – appropriate for music written in an era of mounting global anxiety, even if it sounds beamed in from sunnier times.
If there’s a criticism to level at Yoo-Hoo, it’s that Sakamoto’s commitment to understatement might frustrate listeners seeking more dynamic peaks and valleys. This is music that resists emphasis and release, maintaining equilibrium even when the grooves tighten in the album’s second half. Some may find that restraint hypnotic; others might wish he’d occasionally let loose the way he did in his Yura Yura Teikoku days. And at 43 minutes across ten tracks, there’s an argument that a bit more editing could have made the album’s trajectory even more focused.
But that would miss the point. Sakamoto isn’t interested in conventional song dynamics or instant gratification. He’s building immersive sonic worlds where time moves differently, where a five-minute track can feel like a brief meditation or an extended trance depending on your state of mind. It’s music for late nights and long drives, for moments when you want something sophisticated enough to reward close attention but relaxed enough to fade into the background when needed.
For reference points, imagine if Cortex (the French jazz-funk ensemble behind that groove sampled in “Tout Doucement”) collaborated with Haruomi Hosono during his exotica phase, with arrangements by David Axelrod and vocals delivered in Sakamoto’s distinctively flattened, almost affectless style. Or perhaps simpler: it’s the sound of a deeply knowledgeable record collector who’s internalized decades of global pop and filtered it through a singular, slightly surreal vision.
Yoo-Hoo won’t convert skeptics of Sakamoto’s deliberately understated approach, but for those already tuned to his wavelength, it’s another refined statement from an artist who’s carved out a unique space in contemporary music. In an era of algorithmic playlists and disposable singles, Sakamoto continues making albums that demand patient, attentive listening – and reward it handsomely.
(8/10) (Zelone Records)
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