For any musicians out there: aren’t those perfect, creative, moments the ones you find yourself while playing “in the pocket”? It’s when the groove that swung one way comes together on a beat (and whatever you’re doing is the exactly the right thing to be done). I say this because it reminds me of Suzy Kim’s KINK (禁句). Released in 1989, KINK (禁句) encapsulates, quite smartly, that prodding and searching musicians do when faced with myriad options to explore. In Suzy’s case, it’s finding that pocket where all sorts of soul music could exist within the slipstream of new forms of dance music and her own unique voice.
Looking back, things could have turned out so much differently for Suzy. Of Korean-Japanese descent, born Kim Gyung Hi, Suzy had to navigate the waters of a Japanese culture not tailor-made to easily promote someone of her ambition.
Raised in Japan but doing most of her studies in America, Kim had that certain swagger and openness that comes from someone who absorbs or assimilates some of American culture in them. By the time she came back to Japan, Kim had graduated from Yale School of Music with a wide berth, developing vocal techniques that could go from opera to jazz and pop music.
Kim, initially, made her name not as a lead singer but as a songwriter and (often) as a background vocalist. It was as Suzy Kim, her adopted nom de plume, that she’d lend her sterling vocals to the likes of Katsutoshi Morizono, Kiichi Yokoyama, and Michiko Akao, to name precious few, artists that ran the gamut, musically. As songwriter, Suzy, could bridge the gap into the growing AOR and funk scene, writing for American artists like Sho Nuff and homegrown indies like, Narumin & Etsu.
What makes Suzy Kim’s KINK (禁句) seriously interesting is just how true it is to Kim’s spirit. Unafraid to sing about sexuality and about gender dynamics, the whole album has a risqué attitude more in league with our times than with most of the local Japanese soul artists at the time. Lending their special touch to the whole record were largely two producers: Takefumi Haketa and Rod Antoon who provide many shades of a double-sided coin.
Takefumi Haketa, who once masterminded Japanese electro-funk group, Afrika, comes out of a musical sabbatical, reappearing here as Doc-ta Haketa with fellow ex-band mate Osamu “Chop” Marumoto, updating their sound for the New Jack Swing era, imbibing this record with fresh soul grooves and deep house stylings. As for Rod Antoon, this ex-Cameo member would bring that soulful dance floor magic and hip-hop influenced R&B that graced Toshinobu Kubota’s music just a year earlier and that would be pivotal in work with future artists like Cindy Yamaguchi.
KINK (禁句) kicks off with Suzy’s reimagining of Willie Dixon’s classic soul ballad, “I Just Want To Make Love To You”, as a self-empowering house anthem tailor-made for the ballroom. From the get-go, the sheer umph and verb of Suzy’s vocals signal this won’t be your regular, woe-is-me pop album. KINK (禁句) is a grown woman’s album.
You hear that more adult-tinged, edgier, tone set by songs like “Love Rap (ラブ・ラップ)” where you hear Suzy rap-sing, translate a certain En Vogue-influence into her cultural dialogue. Absolute speaker scorchers like that are followed by mercurial soul numbers like “Cloudy Afternoon (クラウディ・アフタヌーン)” that transform her jazz leanings into a Netflix-n-chill, laid-back, banger, tailor-made for cruising from road, to couch, to bed. Other songs like “Missin’ You (ミッシン・ユー)” introduce influences largely, little explored, by Japanese soul musicians. In that song’s case, it’s that minimalist, electronically-tinged, sophisticated, seductive soul music born out of the embers of groups like Loose Ends and The S.O.S. Band.
Of course, one can’t shake that all those involved on this record were probably under the influence of one Ms. Janet. You hear that push towards a new decade of soul music on songs like the hip-hop tinged, “Let You Know (レット・ユー・ノウ)”. Similarly, those final strains of Latin freestyle make their presence felt on a track like Suzy Kim’s “Girlfriend”. All the latter-day Prince-isms, a NPG-era predicted, make their appearance as empowerment anthems like “What’s My Sex Got To Do With It (ホワッツ・マイ・セックス・ゴッタ・ドゥ・ウィズ・イット)” – a brilliant fuck-off to those who take advantage of the “submissive Asian woman” stereotype.
The album begins to wind down on with a duet with a brother from another mother, “Somewhere Down The Line (サムホエア・ダウン・ザ・ライン)” with Tyrone Hashimoto – someone who knew a thing or two about working against type. Together, they create their own sort of torch song towards a hopeful future, at least one for their own kind of loving music. Then, finally, where the two sides of the production coin come together, on “Absence Make A Heart Grow Fonder (アブセンス・メイクス・ア・ハート・グロウ・フォンダー)”, the edges soften towards a wistful urban steppers groove that speaks perfectly to the surprisingly personal touches Suzy shares on the song.
It’s with the great lofts of such an album that we’re left wondering why the come down came so sudden. For all the brilliance, it wouldn’t be until 1995 when Suzy would reappear as a solo artist. By then, fits and starts of her solo career – as on the absolute banger, “Try Me” – proved too far ahead for the industry and (once again) Suzy would have to go back to doing what she did quite well: being that voice for others, as she would for Yann Tomita’s Doopees (or Astro Age Steel Orchestra and others that I’ll share later).
For now, all we have left is this masterpiece of Japanese soul music that’s easy to come back to, and rediscover little things about, that still leaves us wanting, wandering, just exactly of what could have been (if things shaked out differently and Suzy was given another chance to shine).