Ichiko Aoba’s intimate sonic fantasy born from dreams

Singer-songwriter Ichiko Aoba still remembers a dream where she broke into pieces.

“I was experiencing sleep paralysis. My mind was moving, but I couldn’t move my body,” she tells The Japan Times. “It must have been in some kind of battle or war, and I remember being hit by a bullet and my body just sort of coming apart.”

Though such dreams are terrifying, Aoba allows them to shape her waking life. Since 2010, the 35-year-old has been taking what she sees in her sleep, whether fantastical or painful, and using it as inspiration to create art both intimate and epic. “Making music is never easy. It’s not like the pain of childbirth, but it’s like taking a drop from my painful dreams and distilling it into something pure,” she says.

That purity of emotion is evident on Aoba’s latest full-length album “Luminescent Creatures,” released at the end of February. The artist draws from both her dreams and lived experiences to deliver songs that range from cinematic (the dazzling string vortex of opener “Coloratura”) to sparse (the gossamer-light acoustic number “Flag”). Her eighth album sees Aoba building on the sense of intimacy that long defined her 2010s discography and continuing to explore her sonic sea, weaving in sounds mimicking whale songs and wind to express her fascination with the natural world and its interconnectedness.

The recent release also shines a greater light on Aoba herself. “Luminescent Creatures” is the follow-up to 2020’s “Windswept Adan,” an album in which the artist expanded on her previously minimalist numbers that featured only her guitar and voice, joined by collaborators such as composer and arranger Taro Umeyabayashi. In “Windswept Adan,” Aoba created a sweeping soundtrack to an imagined epic fantasy backed by string sections, all while keeping the comforting power of her singing intact.

That 2020 album found a global audience. It received praise from critics ranging from writers at Pitchfork to YouTube music commentator Anthony Fantano, with an even greater number of more casual listeners finding and falling for it. The anticipation surrounding the release of “Luminescent Creatures” spurred nearly a dozen English-language features about Aoba, and she recently kicked off her extensive four-month-long world tour.

“My calendar is bright red,” Aoba says with a laugh while discussing her booked schedule. She and I meet just three days before she travels to Taiwan to perform. Less than a week later, she’s off to Barcelona for a gig kicking off nearly nonstop dates until late May.

“It’s longer than any trip I’ve ever been on,” Aoba continues. “I’ve really just been trying to figure out what kind of packing I need to do for this ... but I haven’t even started.”

Aoba believes the isolation caused by the COVID-19 pandemic intersecting with the rise of streaming platforms allowed a greater number of people to come across “Windswept Adan.” “If it had come out at a different time, or any other factor was different, I might be living a much quieter life right now,” she says.

Her decision to become an independent artist in 2020 and start her own label, Hermine, was also a huge factor. For the back half of the 2010s, Aoba was signed with major label Victor Entertainment. She says she had no issues with anyone at the company but rather didn’t align with its structure.

“They were one-album contracts, so the people involved inevitably had other projects coming up. Once their role in the creation process was finished, they weren’t able to follow along and even see how the music reached people.” She wanted to work with people who could stick around longer and build a closer relationship with the listeners.

“It's sort of like making a rice ball and giving it to (the audience) ... and actually waiting until they take it and eat it,” she says.

Another reason to strike out on her own — deadlines. Aoba says many artists struggle with due dates set by big labels, but she would rather have musicians create the art they want at their own pace. She points to the piano-guided “Luciferine” from her latest album as an example. “It took a really long time for the lyrics to come together, but when they did and we recorded it, it felt amazing for everyone,” she says, adding an exaggerated “yatta!” (“we did it!”) to underscore the feeling of having ample time to create.

Aoba shaped “Luminescent Creatures” based on her extended stays on Hateruma Island, the southernmost inhabited point in Japan. She had been visiting the island since 2013 and kept coming back, growing closer to people and their culture over that time (the album’s second song is a cover of a local folk song). “The people on the island always mentioned that it looked like I was in pain when I’m dreaming,” she says.

While field work plays a central role in the album, the soaring moments in “Luminescent Creatures” highlight a longstanding fantasy bend found in Aoba’s music. The artist grew up loving Disney and displays a deep knowledge of its films. She gracefully swings her two braids of hair around as we talk about Disney’s smooth animation style to imitate the way the protagonist of “Sleeping Beauty” dances.

“And the way they use music, like in ‘Fantasia,’” she says, singing part of the melody to “The Sorcerer's Apprentice,” “the way they meld music with specific images had a big influence on me.”

Just as important — and more directly referenced on “Luminescent Creatures” — is a long-running appreciation of Studio Ghibli. Aoba recounts childhood memories of pretending to be a character from 1984’s “Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind” and flipping over kid-sized chairs out of excitement as she played. On the contemplative track “tower,” she sings about “red-eyed ohmu,” referring to the insect-like creatures with dozens of giant red eyes seen in the movie.

“When I was living in Kyoto, I would take the midnight bus between Tokyo and home. When I looked out the window, I’d see the red lights of the buildings blinking. Even then, I thought they looked like ohmu. That has always stuck with me,” she says. “‘Tower’ is an urban song of sorts, about a girl standing in a tower and seeing all these red lights, thinking of ohmu.”

Details like this coupled with her immersive music has helped make Aoba an unlikely ambassador of Japanese music nowadays. A Japanese artist receiving rave reviews isn’t out of the ordinary. What is rare, though, is a specific artist becoming a kind of sonic security blanket for overseas listeners in the 2020s — inspiring fan-made playlists such as “ichiko aoba with rain sounds to calm your anxiety” and “ichiko aoba singing u to sleep” while also dotting collections with names such as “ghibli vibes” and “japanese songs to sleep to.”

“I’m glad that people use my music to sleep or relax, because I’d hate for them to have to suffer,” Aoba says with a laugh, referring to her own not-so-peaceful dreams.

Aoba’s success with international listeners underlines an important truth about how Japanese music is embraced today. While major-label acts can use anime tie-ups and connections to jumpstart global moves, creators like Aoba, along with similarly absorbing outfits such as Lamp (who she is often paired with on “calming” playlists), shine because of the space allowing them to develop their engrossing sounds. “Luminescent Creatures” is a triumph of research and craft, an artist having the room to grow at her own pace and explore her ideas until they are just right.

“The creative process for me is about being true to myself and expressing that through music,” Aoba says.