Haruomi Hosono & Tadanori Yokoo - 1978 - Cochin Moon

Haruomi Hosono & Tadanori Yokoo 

1978 

Cochin Moon

01. Hotel Malabar: Ground Floor ••• Triangle Circuit On The Sea-Forest ••• 2:36

02. Hotel Malabar: Upper Floor ••• Moving Triangle ••• 8:42

03. Hotel Malabar: Roof Garden ••• Revel Attack ••• 9:00

04. Hepatitis 4:37

05. Hum Ghar Sajan 8:54

06. Madam Consul General Of Madras 8:04

Keyboards – Hiroshi Sato, Ryuichi Sakamoto, Shuka Nishihara

Haruomi Hosono’s 1978 album Cochin Moon, credited to Hosono and illustrator Tadanori Yokoo, is a hallucinatory masterpiece of electronic psychedelia that feels like a fever dream set in a neon-lit Bollywood fantasy. Released on King Records (catalog SKS-28) in Japan, this six-track, roughly 37-minute LP is a fictional soundtrack to an imaginary film, conjured from Hosono’s synth-drenched imagination and inspired by a chaotic trip to India. It’s a record that buzzes with analog mosquitoes, warps vocals into alien chants, and pulses with a delirium that’s as disorienting as it is captivating. Imagine Kraftwerk and Ravi Shankar getting lost in a jungle with a malfunctioning sequencer, and you’re halfway there. Cochin Moon isn’t just an album; it’s a sonic passport to a place that doesn’t exist, delivered with a wink that says, “Buckle up, this is going to get weird.” In this scholarly yet accessible analysis, I’ll dissect the album’s musical structure, review its strengths and weaknesses, provide biographical sketches of the key contributors, and situate Cochin Moon within the cultural and musical landscape of 1978. Expect a sprinkle of irony and sarcasm, as befits a record that seems to chuckle at its own audacity.

Cochin Moon is primarily a Haruomi Hosono project, with Tadanori Yokoo contributing the iconic cover art rather than music, and a trio of synth wizards adding instrumental heft. Here’s a look at the key players:

Haruomi Hosono (synthesizers, production, executive producer): Born in 1947 in Tokyo, Hosono is Japan’s musical polymath, a visionary whose career spans psychedelic rock, folk, exotica, and electronic music. Before Cochin Moon, he played bass in the psychedelic Apryl Fool (1969) and co-founded Happy End (1970–73), a pioneering Japanese folk-rock band that sang in their native tongue, blending Buffalo Springfield with Tokyo coffeehouse vibes. By 1978, Hosono was on the cusp of global fame with Yellow Magic Orchestra (YMO), but Cochin Moon showcases his weirder, more experimental side. His concept of “sightseeing music”—blending global sounds into a tourist’s sonic scrapbook—permeates the album. One imagines Hosono in the studio, twiddling knobs and giggling like a mad scientist who’s just invented a new species of synth. His later work with YMO and solo albums like Philharmony (1982) solidified his status as a titan of Japanese pop, but here he’s a sonic nomad, high on curry and krautrock.

Tadanori Yokoo (executive producer, cover art): Born in 1936 in Nishiwaki, Yokoo is Japan’s answer to Andy Warhol, a pop artist whose vibrant, surreal designs defined 1960s and ’70s Japanese visual culture. His Cochin Moon cover—a Bollywood-inspired riot of lotus flowers, elephants, and Aum symbols—is a masterpiece of kitschy exotica, perfectly matching the album’s vibe. Initially intended to collaborate musically, Yokoo was sidelined by a severe bout of diarrhea during a 1975 trip to India with Hosono, leaving him to focus on the artwork. One can’t help but smirk at the irony: a man who paints psychedelic dreamscapes brought low by a very real stomach bug. Yokoo’s contribution, while non-musical, is integral, giving the album its visual identity and a dose of high-art cred.

Ryuichi Sakamoto (keyboards): Born in 1952 in Tokyo, Sakamoto was a young session player in 1978, fresh from Tokyo’s music scene and about to become a global icon with YMO. His keyboard work on Cochin Moon adds melodic finesse to Hosono’s electronic chaos, hinting at the lush, cinematic style he’d later perfect in solo work and film scores (The Last Emperor, 1987). Sakamoto’s presence here is like a guest star in a sci-fi flick—subtle but essential, probably wondering what he’s gotten himself into. His krautrock-inspired flourishes suggest he was already dreaming of YMO’s synth-pop future.

Hiroshi Sato (keyboards): A member of Tin Pan Alley, a Japanese jazz-funk collective, Sato (born c. 1947) brought a soulful, groovy edge to Cochin Moon. His keyboard contributions, particularly on tracks like “Hepatitis,” add a playful, almost pop sensibility to the album’s avant-garde leanings. Sato’s career as a session player and solo artist (e.g., Orient, 1979) shows his knack for blending jazz with electronic textures, but here he’s like the cool uncle who shows up to a weird party and somehow makes it weirder.

Hideki Matsutake (computer programming): The unsung hero of Cochin Moon, Matsutake (born c. 1951) was a synth programmer whose work with Roland’s early computers and sequencers shaped YMO’s sound. His programming on Cochin Moon creates the album’s buzzing, pulsating textures, like a swarm of digital insects. Matsutake’s role is technical but crucial, turning Hosono’s feverish ideas into sonic reality. Picture him hunched over a computer, muttering about MIDI while Hosono dreams of Bollywood.

The album was recorded in Tokyo in 1978, with Hosono using the pseudonym “Shuka Nishihara” for the second half’s tracks, a playful nod to poet Hakushū Kitahara. Yokoo’s executive producer credit and cover art aside, this is Hosono’s show, with Sakamoto, Sato, and Matsutake as his sonic co-conspirators. Their collective talent makes Cochin Moon a bridge between Hosono’s exotica past and YMO’s electronic future, with a detour through a feverish Indian dreamscape.

The late 1970s were a transformative period for music, with electronic sounds reshaping genres from pop to avant-garde. In Japan, 1978 was a pivotal year: punk was bubbling, disco was booming, and electronic music was gaining traction, thanks to pioneers like Kraftwerk and Giorgio Moroder. Haruomi Hosono, already a veteran of Japan’s rock and folk scenes, was at the forefront of this shift, with Cochin Moon released just months before YMO’s debut. The album’s synth-heavy sound reflects the era’s fascination with technology, while its Indian influences tap into a broader cultural obsession with “exotica” and global sounds, from Martin Denny’s tiki lounge to the Beatles’ sitar experiments.

Hosono and Yokoo’s 1975 trip to India, intended as inspiration for an ethnographic project, was a chaotic affair, marked by illness (Yokoo’s infamous diarrhea) and exposure to Bollywood’s colorful excess. India in the 1970s was a land of contrasts—post-colonial vibrancy, spiritual allure for Western seekers, and a booming film industry. Hosono’s encounter with Kraftwerk’s Autobahn and krautrock via Yokoo during the trip shifted Cochin Moon from field recordings to a synthetic fever dream, reflecting Japan’s growing interest in Western electronic music. Culturally, Japan was embracing its post-war identity, blending tradition with modernity, and Hosono’s “sightseeing music” concept—exploring foreign cultures through sound—mirrored this openness. Cochin Moon is thus a product of its time: a Japanese artist’s warped take on India, filtered through German electronics and a touch of ironic detachment.

Cochin Moon is a six-track, 37-minute journey divided into two halves: Side A’s “Malabar Hotel” trilogy and Side B’s three standalone tracks, credited to Hosono’s alter ego “Shuka Nishihara.” Conceived as the soundtrack to a non-existent Bollywood film, the album is a dense, maximalist tapestry of synthesizers, sequencers, and vocoder-warped vocals, with nods to Indian music, krautrock, and exotica. Recorded with Roland and Yamaha gear, it’s Hosono’s first fully electronic album, predating YMO’s debut and showcasing his experimental audacity. The production, overseen by Hosono with engineers Seiichi Chiba and Kunio Tsukamoto, is a marvel of analog wizardry, creating a soundscape that’s both alien and immersive.

The album’s sonic palette is dominated by Hosono’s synthesizers (Yamaha CS-80, ARP Odyssey), with Sakamoto and Sato’s keyboards adding melodic and textural depth. Matsutake’s computer programming creates pulsating rhythms and buzzing effects, evoking everything from tropical insects to sci-fi machinery. The “Malabar Hotel” trilogy—named after the Indian hotel where Hosono stayed—forms a conceptual suite, with each track representing a floor of the hotel. Side B’s tracks, under the “Shuka Nishihara” pseudonym, lean more explicitly into Indian influences, though filtered through a synthetic lens. The album’s style is progressive electronic, with elements of Berlin School (Tangerine Dream, Klaus Schulze), krautrock (Kraftwerk, Cluster), and Indian classical music, all wrapped in Hosono’s exotica aesthetic.

Vocals, when present, are heavily processed, with vocoder chants and warped Japanese and Hindi phrases adding to the surreal vibe. The album’s structure is episodic, like a film score, with tracks flowing into each other to create a narrative arc. As Pitchfork’s Andy Beta noted, it’s a “hallucinatory listen,” embodying Hosono’s illness-induced delirium and his fascination with India’s “exotic, luxurious” cinemas. The cover art by Yokoo, with its lotus flowers and Aum symbols, reinforces the album’s Bollywood-inspired fantasy, making Cochin Moon a multisensory experience.

Let’s explore the tracks to capture the album’s strange beauty:

“Malabar Hotel: Ground Floor…Triangle Circuit on the Sea-Forest” (2:33): The opener is a brief, eerie prelude, with high-pitched synths mimicking crickets and waves crashing in the distance. It’s like stepping into a jungle at dusk, only to realize the jungle is made of circuits. Hosono’s subtle bass synths and spoken Japanese fragments set a disorienting tone, as if you’ve checked into a hotel where the staff are robots. It’s short but sets the stage perfectly, like a cinematic establishing shot.

“Malabar Hotel: Upper Floor…Moving Triangle” (8:43): The trilogy’s centerpiece is a hypnotic, krautrock-infused journey, with a lopsided beat split between stereo channels and fluttering synths that sound like a robotic frog convention. Matsutake’s programming creates a pulsating rhythm, while Sakamoto’s keyboards add melodic flickers. The track’s tropical, feverish vibe—complete with a fly that won’t buzz off—is pure Hosono, blending humor and menace. It’s as if Kraftwerk got stranded in a monsoon and decided to jam anyway.

“Malabar Hotel: Roof Garden…Revel Attack” (8:59): The trilogy’s climax is a chaotic, celebratory affair, with vocoder chants and swirling synths evoking a rooftop party gone haywire. The track’s “revel attack” feels like a psychedelic riot, with Hosono’s spoken Japanese adding a surreal narrative. It’s the most cinematic moment, like the finale of a Bollywood epic where the hero defeats the villain in a blaze of neon. A bit overlong, but gloriously unhinged.

“Hepatitis” (4:41): Side B kicks off with a bouncy, almost cartoonish track that Beta called “a shiny piece of computer pop” fit for a Pixar sci-fi short. Sato’s keyboards shine, with bubbling effects and a melody that’s equal parts goofy and futuristic. The title, presumably a nod to the illnesses Hosono and Yokoo endured, is darkly funny—naming a peppy track after a liver disease is peak Hosono irony. It’s the album’s most accessible moment, though still weird as hell.

“Hum Ghar Sajan” (8:52): The album’s Indian heart, this track is a synth raga inspired by a Guru Granth Sahib phrase and popularized by Bhai Pyara Singh Ji. Hosono’s vocoder chants and Sakamoto’s high-pitched solos mimic Indian classical music, while the rhythm pulses like a digital sitar. It’s a stunning blend of Kraftwerk and Ravi Shankar, with a mystical edge that’s both reverent and playful. As Beta noted, it “accurately predicts Asa Chang & Junray’s electro-exotica,” proving Hosono’s prescience.

“Madam Consul General of Madras” (9:03): The closer is a tribal, gamelan-inspired epic, with pulsing synths and warped vocals evoking a ritualistic trance. Legend has it the titular consul served Hosono and Yokoo Japanese food, curing their ailments, and the track feels like a grateful, if bizarre, tribute. It’s dense and immersive, like Wendy Carlos scoring a jungle ceremony, though its length can feel indulgent. A fitting end to the album’s strange journey.

Cochin Moon is a triumph of imagination and innovation. Hosono’s ability to blend Indian exotica, krautrock, and electronic psychedelia into a cohesive whole is nothing short of genius. The album’s textures—swarming synths, vocoder chants, buzzing effects—are a masterclass in analog synthesis, predating YMO’s polished sound and rivaling the best of Tangerine Dream or Cluster. Sakamoto and Sato’s keyboards add melodic depth, while Matsutake’s programming grounds the chaos in rhythm. The concept—a fictional Bollywood soundtrack—is executed with wit and flair, and Yokoo’s cover art seals the deal, making the album a total art package. As Rate Your Music users praise, it’s “dense, lush, layered, maximalist,” a “soul-consuming work” that’s “proto-cyberpunk” in feel.

However, the album isn’t flawless. Its relentless weirdness can be exhausting, particularly on longer tracks like “Roof Garden” and “Madam Consul General,” which stretch ideas past their peak. The lack of traditional song structures may alienate listeners expecting Hosono’s earlier folk or YMO’s pop. The Indian influences, while evocative, are more impressionistic than authentic, risking accusations of cultural tourism—though Hosono’s tongue-in-cheek approach mitigates this. As a Pitchfork review noted, the album embodies Hosono’s illness-induced “disorientation,” which can feel alienating for casual listeners. And let’s be honest: titling a track “Hepatitis” is either a stroke of dark humor or a marketing misfire.

Cochin Moon is a landmark in electronic music, bridging Hosono’s exotica past with YMO’s synth-pop future. Released just before YMO’s debut, it’s a precursor to their groundbreaking sound, showcasing Hosono’s pioneering use of synthesizers and sequencers. Its blend of Indian and electronic elements anticipates the “fourth world” music of Jon Hassell and Brian Eno, while its conceptual ambition aligns it with krautrock’s experimental ethos. The album’s influence can be heard in later Japanese acts like Asa Chang & Junray and in global electronic genres from ambient to techno.

Culturally, Cochin Moon reflects Japan’s 1970s fascination with global cultures, filtered through a post-modern lens. Hosono’s “sightseeing music” concept—exploring foreign sounds as a curious outsider—challenges Western exoticism while embracing it, creating a dialogue between East and West. The album’s rarity—original vinyl copies fetch hundreds of dollars—has made it a collector’s grail, with reissues by Light in the Attic (2018) and Japan’s Record Store Day (2018) fueling its cult status. For scholars, it’s a case study in how illness, travel, and cultural collision can birth something wholly original, even if it’s too strange for the mainstream.

Contemporary reviews of Cochin Moon are scarce, as it was a niche release overshadowed by YMO’s imminent rise. Retrospective reviews, however, are rapturous. Pitchfork’s Andy Beta called it a “stunning piece of electronic psychedelia,” praising its “hallucinatory” quality and forward-thinking sound. Rate Your Music rates it 3.87/5, ranking it #331 for 1978, with users lauding its “textural work of art” and “sweet analog synth goodness.” Soundohm hails it as a “holy grail of avant-ambient synthesis,” comparing it to Manuel Göttsching and Aphex Twin. Discogs users call it “timeless and brilliant,” urging listeners to grab a copy.

The album’s legacy lies in its pioneering spirit and enduring influence. It laid the groundwork for YMO’s electronic innovations and Hosono’s genre-defying career, from city pop to ambient. Its reissues—CDs in 1989, 1992, and 2018, and vinyl in 2018—have introduced it to new audiences, with Light in the Attic’s release including a translated Hosono interview. Cochin Moon remains a touchstone for electronic and experimental music, a reminder that the strangest journeys often yield the most rewarding destinations.

Cochin Moon is a wild, visionary ride, a synth-soaked fever dream that transforms a disastrous India trip into a sonic masterpiece. Haruomi Hosono, with Ryuichi Sakamoto, Hiroshi Sato, and Hideki Matsutake, crafts a fictional Bollywood soundtrack that’s equal parts krautrock, exotica, and proto-cyberpunk, all wrapped in Tadanori Yokoo’s psychedelic artwork. It’s not an easy listen—its relentless weirdness and lack of pop hooks demand commitment—but for those willing to dive in, it’s a transcendent experience, like wandering a neon jungle where the trees hum with electricity. Sure, it’s a bit indulgent, and the “Hepatitis” title is a head-scratcher, but these quirks only add to its charm.

So, hunt down that reissue, dim the lights, and let Cochin Moon whisk you to its imaginary Malabar Hotel. Just don’t be surprised if you find yourself humming “Hum Ghar Sajan” while dodging synthetic mosquitoes and wondering how Hosono made diarrhea sound so damn cool. This is music for nomads, dreamers, and those who believe the best films are the ones you invent in your head.