For lack of a better word, some of the “coolest” albums I own are, for all intents and purposes, those one-and-done records capturing a unique talent or singular idea that others can’t or couldn’t quite understand at the time. Certain albums allow us to imagine a history or a parallel world where such sounds could land, where an alternate history could be created. Yet even such records, records like Aki Hano’s 櫻蘭 (Rolan), sprouted from seeds laid somewhere more transited, somewhere we can still revisit.
One look at the cover of 櫻蘭 (Rolan) should place one’s mind firmly somewhere. Gazing down at us is Aki, donning a design she made to evoke the traditional clothing one would see in the countries touched by the historical Silk Road. If we didn’t know her story or where this record came from, it would be hard to place its location. Yet Aki has her story.
If you’re of a certain age and lived in Japan when 櫻蘭 (Rolan) was released, nothing could have been more surprising than what one sees and hears in it. For many, Aki Hano was a fixture of daily life.
Aki Hano was born in Uji, Kyoto in 1968. She graduated from high school in Uji, where she got the acting bug, and enrolled at Osaka University of Arts to study performing arts. There she joined Gekidan Shinkansen, then a student theater troupe that staged wild variety shows around the region, and she would eventually drop out to perform full time. It was on stage that she was able to learn all those other skills — singing, dancing, performing — inhabiting various characters on a regular basis.
It was in the Heisei era that Aki would parlay her “student theater” boom popularity onto the TV screen, becoming a mainstay of myriad Kansai-based on-air programs. On shows like 現代用語の基礎体力 “Basic Stamina/Physical Fitness”, Aki’s unique look and askew performance style struck a chord with audiences who dug her geeky charm and wit. Then appearances on nationwide dramas like NHK’s 京、ふたり (Kyo, Futari) and in commercials began to place her along the path to some kind of new popularity. It’s no wonder that Aki herself took the opportunity to turn that success into a music career that followed her own brand of misdirection.
Before 櫻蘭 (Rolan) existed there was a period of fascination from Japanese audiences for all things tied to a certain kind of exoticism. You see, in the early ’80s NHK aired Shirukurodo, a 12-part Japanese-Chinese co-production on the history of the Silk Road. Scored by Kitaro, whose central theme struck a nerve, the series spawned a boom in ethnic and Central Asian instrumentation in music, and a run of Loulan dramas set in far-flung locales. In due time, various pop and rock artists began to integrate its orientalist aesthetics into fashion and music. It’s in that milieu, one can imagine, that Aki looked for a way to stand out from other J-idols whom she couldn’t compete with on looks, and saw a niche for her to explore and inhabit, where her own creative eclecticism could be her strength.
Credit to Pony Canyon for placing Aki in the hands of one Akira Inoue and sparing no small expense on enlisting elite musicians who could help her craft a unique vision. Regarded then as one of Japanese pop’s best arrangers, Akira had long built his own music around pan-Asian, pan-ethnic melodies and textures. Together they landed on ideas that felt like a new kind of Silk Road pop music. Visually, Aki lent herself to a shoot in Thailand, appearing in wardrobe she designed and styled herself, in photos that would also fill a companion photo book, 楼蘭, published by Sony Magazines that same year.
Looking back, it appears that the record company lent some muscle to Aki’s ideas. Noted songwriters like Yasushi Akimoto, who also produced the record, and ex-C-C-B Makoto Sekiguchi lent their time and work. Sessions were driven and played by a literal A-list of Japanese AOR session musicians like Shigeru Suzuki, Hideo Yamaki and Tsuyoshi Kon, to name precious few. And to add to the “exotic” flavor of the music, future healing-music heavies like the Chinese erhu player Jia Peng Fang, along with Takashi Asahi on quena, made the music take on a fourth-world-esque instrumentation.
Before 櫻蘭 (Rolan) was released in December 1991, singles like “永遠を少しだけ” signalled the impressive direction Aki was willing to take. Making full use of her higher-pitched voice, songs like it meet the melismatic singing of the locales they’re inspired by with genuinely new and tasteful fusions of all sorts of musical styles. It’s in the more avant-pop flavors of 櫻蘭 (Rolan) that one can hang one’s critical hat.
Songs like “ねぇ、ねぇ” take an opportunity to blend Caribbean rhythms with Southeast Asian melodies. The futuristic-sounding, Chinese court music-influenced “熱砂の黄昏” is another one of those inspired fusions of “exotica.” Ever wanted to hear Andean pop blended with North African rock, with a hint of Japanese techno-pop? There’s Aki’s “おいで、揚子江.”
What would turn out to be Aki’s only record of its kind, before she put out a novelty/comedy record, has all these sorts of musical nuggets, ones that answer so many what-ifs. How about vocal jazz pop blended with prog and vaudeville? There’s “すいかの種子.” 櫻蘭 (Rolan), itself a pun on how Japanese would say Loulan, is a great record for music fans who can admire those who find that everything looks better after the kitchen sink lands.
I’m still in admiration of songs like “週末には,” sweet songs that have this floating quality, picking up light bits of soft rock here, light bits of folk from over there, and a whole lot of heartfelt homegrown earnestness from Aki herself. Just 23 years old at the time, Aki rightfully skewed her music away from the overt preciousness of other idols from the era, sticking the landing on more adult-sounding songs like “週末には.” The album’s closing song, “みんな誰かを愛してる,” builds to a wonderful bit of pastoral fantasy, giving a sly nod and a wink to the light-hearted precariousness of the record.
While other Japanese artists like Yukako Hayase, Haruomi Hosono, and Sandii, or groups like World Standard or Everything Play (this album’s distant, sonic cousin) and others, had dipped into the world of music for similar influences, most did it in larger degrees of “let’s put a serious face” in front of it. There’s something about an artist who puts on a different mask, puts it to you with a wink, and finds space to chase a fantasy a bit more earnestly, however short-lived it is. It’s those I also like to remember.
