Japancakes, how history has spurned thee. Part of the late 90s US post-rock movement of understated -- and vastly under appreciated -- bands who greatly emphasized the "post" and not the "rock" (true blooded post-rock bands, if I may) and included the likes of Six Parts Seven, The Mercury Program, and Tristeza among others, Japancakes have probably remained the most low key out of the pack. This is not to say that Japancakes is any less accomplished than their peers, as we shall shortly learn that if anything the opposite is true, but the collective's humble personality has assured them a spot away from the limelight. A brief investigation of the history surrounding the band may shed light on the processes behind this phenomenon.
It would seem that there was roughly a four year period where this group of musicians ruled the instrumental realm. From 1999 to 2002 a flurry of activity occurred, sparked by Tristeza's Spine and Sensory and capstoned by The Mercury Program's A Data Learn of the Language, with remarkable contributions from Japancakes and Six Parts Seven wedged in between. It was a golden time for those in love with softer side of post-rock, and certainly the years before and after this window are stuffed full of loud, abrasive, critically acclaimed releases. Yet, I submit that no matter which "genre-defining" releases came off the press during this period, these bands were the unsung heroes of the time.
"Impossible," you say, "if that's the case, why aren't they currently soaking up the rays on some Carribean resort?" Simply put: times change. Jimmy LaValle left Tristeza in 2003, and they've never really filled the void left in the band since. The Mercury Program stunned the world in 2002, and after an almost obligatory split with long time friends Maserati the band has yet to heard since (in fact, a recent update from the band indicates that we shouldn't be holding our breath for their next album). Meanwhile, Six Parts Seven and Japancakes were left to hold down the fort, both of whom released solid offerings in 2004, but mostly falling on deaf ears, they faded into the woodwork over the next few years, not to be forgotten by their loyal fans.
2007 saw an interesting turn of events in the instrumental world. Almost as if people began to understand that we were sick and tired of "epic" post-rock, a second wave of bands following the footsteps of this illustrious quartet emerged onto the scene, including notable releases from Carta, The Bird Migration, and Signal Hill, among others. As if awaken from a long slumber, Six Parts Seven, released the critically acclaimed Casually Smashed to Pieces, perhaps the finest accomplishment in the band's long career. Japancakes also reemerged, but in a more creative manner. Now with the full backing of Darla Records, the band opted to release a cover album of My Bloody Valentine's magnum opus, Loveless. Those who could get past the fact that Japancakes had the unprecedented balls to make such a blasphemic move saw the release for what it was, a unique and touching recreation of a masterpiece, no less dignified than the original. Unfortunately, Loveless' release greatly overshadowed the first Japancakes album in three years, and Giving Machines still hasn't received the attention it deserves.
With all this in mind, it's only appropriate that Darla is re-releasing Japancake's back catalog from now-defunct Kindercore Records, as it not only contains the bulk of their work during this time period, but also acts as a gentle reminder of the band's prominence and relevance during this time period. The trio contains the band's debut If I Could See Dallas (1999), Down the Elements (2000), and The Sleepy Strange (2001). Although repeatedly rejected by the hip media circuits, I propose that Japancakes are a much more significant band that people give them credit for. It goes something like this...
Japancakes debut is a pretty remarkable album. In the 90s, being an instrumental band meant one of several things. By sheer numbers, an solo instrumental artist was likely a purveyor of the electronic arts, on the cutting edge of the new movement and milking the computer for all its worth. If not that, then the emerging ambient genre was the next most logical step. Those who wished to the group up with others to form a band likely found themselves clumped into the "post-rock" world, whatever that means. Descriptors often include jazz, classical, kraut rock, progressive, electronic, ambient, metal, and the every elusive "experimental." Just throw the whole friggin' sink of genres at post-rock, it's strong enough to take it.
By the late 90s most critics were sick and tired of post-rock, if not in the musicality, then the tedious task of trying to figure out which band was and which band wasn't sufficiently post-rock enough to get the label (see, critics have to label everything, else our heads explode). Every conceivable avenue had been explored, every possible twist of creativity exhausted, every nail in the coffin hammered into place and awaiting further instructions. If I Could See Dallas throws a wrench in our best laid plans, giving us -- *gasp* -- something different.
It's certainly not ambient, it's not very electronic, I can't say I hear much jazz, classical, kraut, prog, ambient, or metal inside these walls. What do you hear? Well, maybe some country, a little folk, and a dash of indie-rock. Aside from perhaps taking some cues from Low and Labradford, Japancakes are pretty much toeing the deep end by their lonesomes on this album. They defy the shoegaze driven nineties by casting off the pedal abuse, and just pluck out some good melodies the old-fashion way. Remarkably, Japancakes are very skilled musicians -- probably the reason they play the type of music they do. It's very honest and open to listener in many ways that instrumental music generally is not.
Importantly, the album is chock-full of great tracks. It starts strongly with the slow, repetitive "Now Wait for the Last Year" which quickly changes moods into the fun and bouncy "Elevator Headphone" and borrows a vo-coder for "Vo-code Inn." "Toomsuba" gets a bit more serious and brings in a cello to mix things up a bit. The cello doesn't always gel with the other instruments so well, and it's here that we begin to see some tiny flaws in the album. Japancakes is still a pretty young band at this point, and it's no surprise that the compositions aren't always the tightest. Although things are generally pretty stellar (see the 12 minute crowd pleaser "Elephants," for example, or the 14 minute "Dallas"), a few tracks show that there's still some kinks to work out.
In the end, there's little to disagree with on If I Could See Dallas. Japancakes provides an album that never tries to pass the same track off twice, journeys through a variety of emotions and moods, and remains a pleasing, enjoyable listen throughout. It's an album that's easy to give to a friend, regardless of background, and they'll appreciate the placating nature of the disc. There's no need to explain why they need to sit through five minutes of gutiar noodling to get to "the good part," and no need to try to impress why noise can be a musical device. No, it's pretty much all just sunshine and puppy dogs, good music, good friends, everything is wonderful.
-Jordan Volz