Toshi Ichiyanagi - 1969 - Opera ''From The Works Of Tadanori Yokoo'

Toshi Ichiyanagi 

1969 

Opera ''From The Works Of Tadanori Yokoo'

101. アリア、一 [Aria: 1 Japanese Ballad] 1:11

102. エレクトソヅク·チャント [Electric Chant] 5:18

103. 男の純情 [Man's Pure Heart] 10:40

104. Untitled 2:02

201. The Flowers [内田裕也とザ・フラワーズ] 20:45

301. The Flowers [内田裕也とザ・フラワーズ] 7:18

302. ニューヨークの歌[Song Of New York] 7:29

303. 歌謡ミュージカル [Kayō Musicale] 5:34

401. Love Blinded Ballad (Enka 1969) 7:03

402. Spite Song (Onka 1969) 6:51

403. Ken Takakura Sings On Tadanori Yokoo [高倉健、横尾忠則を歌う] 3:20

Toshi Ichiyanagi’s 1969 Opera "From The Works Of Tadanori Yokoo", reissued in a lavish 4CD box set by Bridge Records in 2005 (catalog BRIDGE-028/031), is a psychedelic avant-garde juggernaut that feels like a radio broadcast from a parallel universe where Fluxus, acid rock, and Japanese enka singers run the airwaves. Originally released as a double-LP picture disc on the private End Records (TY-1001-1002), this sprawling, 90-minute “opera” is less a traditional stage work and more a sonic collage of mind-bending proportions, blending field recordings, distorted guitars, traditional Japanese music, and spoken word into a chaotic tribute to the pop-art wizardry of Tadanori Yokoo. The 4CD reissue, limited to 1,000 copies, is a collector’s dream, complete with Yokoo’s vibrant artwork, postcards, and a booklet that’s as much a museum piece as the music itself. It’s the kind of album that makes you question your sanity while marveling at its audacity, like stumbling into a Tokyo art gallery where the walls are screaming enka and the floor is made of tape loops. In this scholarly yet accessible analysis, I’ll dissect the opera’s musical and conceptual structure, review its strengths and weaknesses, provide biographical sketches of the key contributors, and situate From The Works Of Tadanori Yokoo within the cultural and musical landscape of 1969. Expect a touch of wit and irony, as befits a work that seems to smirk at its own glorious excess.

Opera "From The Works Of Tadanori Yokoo" is a collaborative effort spearheaded by Toshi Ichiyanagi, with Tadanori Yokoo as the visual muse and Yuya Uchida’s band The Flowers adding psychedelic heft. Here’s a look at the key players:

Toshi Ichiyanagi (composer, electronics, prepared piano, arranger): Born in 1933 in Kobe, Japan, Ichiyanagi was a trailblazing avant-garde composer whose career bridged Japanese modernism and Western experimentalism. Trained under Kishio Hirao and influenced by John Cage during his time in New York (1950s–60s), Ichiyanagi was a Fluxus affiliate whose works like Kaiki (1960) and Distance (1961) pushed boundaries with unconventional instrumentation and performance instructions. Married to Yoko Ono from 1956 to 1963, he absorbed the Dadaist ethos of Fluxus while experimenting with tape music and electronics. By 1969, back in Japan, Ichiyanagi dove into the psychedelic scene, blending musique concrète with acid rock. His work on Opera is like a musical mad scientist let loose in a studio full of tape recorders and distortion pedals, cackling as he stitches together enka, radio static, and free jazz. His later career, including awards like the Nakajima Kenzo Award (1984) and the Kyoto Music Award (1989), cemented his status as a Japanese musical titan, but here he’s a gleeful provocateur.

Tadanori Yokoo (visual artist, subject, illustrator, box designer): Born in 1936 in Nishiwaki, Yokoo was Japan’s pop-art superstar, often dubbed the “Japanese Warhol” (a label he’d likely scoff at). His vibrant, surreal posters, blending Japanese modernism with Roy Lichtenstein’s bold colors and proto-psychedelic mysticism, defined 1960s visual culture. A collaborator with avant-garde theater troupes like Tenjosajiki, Yokoo’s artwork for Opera—including the original LP’s picture discs and the 4CD set’s box, postcards, and silkscreen prints—is a kaleidoscopic feast of lotuses, Aum symbols, and pop icons. His role here is non-musical but central, providing the opera’s thematic spark. One imagines Yokoo nodding approvingly at the chaos, perhaps wishing he could paint the soundwaves themselves. His later work for rock acts and global exhibitions solidified his legend, but in 1969, he was the visual shaman guiding Ichiyanagi’s sonic ritual.

Yuya Uchida & The Flowers (performers): Led by singer Yuya Uchida (1939–2019), The Flowers were a Japanese psych-rock outfit whose raw, damaged sound added grit to Opera. Uchida, a rock pioneer who later formed the Flower Travellin’ Band, brought a rebellious energy, channeling the era’s acid-fueled ethos. The Flowers’ 27-minute free-form freakout, titled after Yokoo’s 1965 poster I Was Dead, dominates Sides B and C, with distorted guitars and primal energy that’s more Stooges than sitar. Their contribution is like a gang of leather-clad psychonauts crashing Ichiyanagi’s avant-garde party, and the result is gloriously unhinged. Uchida’s later fame as a producer and actor only adds to the sense that he was slumming it here, having the time of his life.

Ken Takakura (vocals): The iconic Japanese actor (1931–2014), known as the “Clint Eastwood of Japan” for his stoic yakuza roles, makes a bizarre cameo with the track “Ken Takakura Sings On Tadanori Yokoo.” His gravelly enka serenade is both heartfelt and absurd, like a tough guy crooning at a karaoke bar after one too many sake shots. Takakura’s involvement is a nod to Yokoo’s pop-culture obsessions, and his presence adds a surreal cherry to the opera’s eclectic sundae.

The opera was recorded in Tokyo between 1968 and 1969, with additional contributions from uncredited session players and field recordings. The 2005 4CD reissue, packaged in a Yokoo-designed box with 24 postcards, two silkscreen prints, and a 64-page booklet (Japanese text only), elevates the original’s visual grandeur, making it as much an art object as a musical work.

The late 1960s were a crucible of cultural upheaval, and Japan was no exception. The 1968 student protests, echoing Paris’s May ’68, fueled a spirit of rebellion, while the psychedelic movement—imported from San Francisco and London—took root in Tokyo’s underground. Japan’s post-war identity was evolving, blending traditional aesthetics with Western pop culture, as seen in the rise of kayookyoku (Japanese pop) and enka (sentimental ballads). The avant-garde scene, influenced by Fluxus and John Cage, was thriving, with composers like Ichiyanagi and Takehisa Kosugi pushing boundaries alongside visual artists like Yokoo.

Musically, 1969 was a year of bold experimentation. The Beatles’ White Album and Pink Floyd’s A Saucerful of Secrets had opened the floodgates for sonic collage, while Stockhausen’s electronic works and Zappa’s genre-bending antics set the stage for Ichiyanagi’s syncretism. In Japan, the psychedelic scene was nascent but vibrant, with bands like The Flowers and theater troupes like Tenjosajiki embracing acid rock and surrealism. Opera reflects this moment, combining Fluxus’s indeterminacy, musique concrète’s tape manipulation, and psych-rock’s raw energy with Japanese elements like enka, shakuhachi, and shōmyō chants. Yokoo’s posters, with their vivid colors and pop-art mysticism, were the visual counterpart to this sonic chaos, making him the perfect muse for Ichiyanagi’s vision. The opera’s release on the private End Records, with its picture-disc format, was a statement of intent: this was art, not commerce, designed to dazzle and disorient.

Opera "From The Works Of Tadanori Yokoo" is an 11-track, 90-minute sonic odyssey across four CDs (each corresponding to an original LP side), blending avant-garde electronics, psychedelic rock, field recordings, and traditional Japanese music into a kaleidoscopic collage. Conceived as a multimedia tribute to Yokoo’s art, it’s not an opera in the Wagnerian sense but a “sound diary” or “audio theater,” designed to evoke an imaginary stage in the listener’s mind, as critic Yoshiaki Tōno noted in the original liner notes. The 4CD reissue preserves the LP’s conceptual unity, with each disc housed in a Yokoo-designed sleeve, accompanied by 24 postcards of his pre-1969 posters, two silkscreen prints, and a 64-page booklet featuring interviews and essays (in Japanese). The music is a wild ride through dissonance, nostalgia, and surrealism, like a radio dial spinning across time and space.

The opera’s sonic palette is dizzyingly eclectic, reflecting Ichiyanagi’s Fluxus roots and his immersion in Japan’s psychedelic scene. He employs electronics, prepared piano, and tape manipulation, layering field recordings (crowds, radio static, TV ads), traditional instruments (shakuhachi, biwa), and psych-rock outbursts from The Flowers. Vocals range from distorted chants to Takakura’s enka croon, with spoken word and archival snippets adding a Brechtian edge. The structure is episodic, with tracks flowing like scenes in a fractured narrative, unified by Yokoo’s thematic presence—his posters, particularly I Was Dead (1965), inspire the music’s chaotic energy.

Stylistically, Opera is a sound collage, blending tape music, free jazz, psychedelic rock, and Japanese folk (min’yō, enka) with avant-garde techniques. Tracks like “Electric Chant” and “Man’s Pure Heart” evoke musique concrète, with distorted guitars and radio interference, while The Flowers’ contributions are raw, acid-fueled jams. “Love Blinded Ballad” and “Spite Song” nod to enka’s melodrama, warped through Ichiyanagi’s experimental lens. The opera’s use of indeterminacy—random radio snippets, aleatoric elements—aligns it with Cage’s philosophy, but its emotional intensity and cultural specificity make it uniquely Japanese. As Soundohm describes, it’s a “singular journey” through “huge, reverberant field recordings” and “dislocated fuzz-psych,” a “supremely personal rock opera/audio diary” that captures the late-1960s zeitgeist.

Let’s dive into key tracks to illustrate the opera’s wild diversity (timings from the 4CD reissue):

“Aria: 1 Japanese Ballad” (1:11, CD1): The brief opener is a distorted enka fragment, like a radio signal from a haunted onsen. It’s a teasing prelude, setting the stage for the chaos to come, as if Ichiyanagi is saying, “Buckle up, this isn’t your grandma’s opera.” Short but effective, it’s a sonic amuse-bouche that leaves you hungry for more weirdness.

“Electric Chant” (5:18, CD1): A swirling mix of tape loops, shōmyō-inspired chants, and electronic drones, this track is pure Fluxus dementia. Ichiyanagi’s prepared piano clatters alongside radio static, creating a sense of cosmic unease. It’s like a Buddhist ritual hijacked by a malfunctioning synthesizer, and it’s utterly mesmerizing.

“Man’s Pure Heart” (10:40, CD1): The opera’s first epic, this track blends distorted guitars, archival recordings, and spoken word into a psychedelic collage. The Flowers’ raw energy creeps in, with fuzz tones that could peel paint. It’s a chaotic meditation on humanity, or maybe just Ichiyanagi showing off his tape deck. Either way, it’s a brain-melter that demands attention.

“The Flowers” (20:45, CD2; 7:18, CD3): The opera’s centerpiece, this 27-minute psych-rock freakout (split across two discs) is The Flowers’ tour de force, inspired by Yokoo’s I Was Dead poster. With Yuya Uchida’s primal vocals and abrasive guitars, it’s a mind-bending jam that feels like Iggy Pop crashing a Fluxus happening. Ichiyanagi reportedly gave the band free rein, with the only instruction to channel Yokoo’s slogan: “Having reached a climax at 29, I was dead.” The result is glorious chaos, though its length might test listeners not on the right psychedelics.

“Song of New York” (7:29, CD3): A spoken-word piece with Edo-period Japanese poetry and contemporary dialogue, set against tape manipulations and ambient drones. It’s a love letter to the city where Ichiyanagi and Yokoo met, but its fragmented structure feels like a subway ride through a dream. Oddly poignant, despite its opacity.

Love Blinded Ballad (Enka 1969)” (7:03, CD4): A warped enka ballad, this track mixes patriotic anthems, archival speeches, and classical violin into a hauntological stew. The title’s nod to love and blindness is darkly ironic, evoking Japan’s pre-war nostalgia with an eerie edge. It’s like listening to a ghost singing karaoke in a bombed-out theater.

“Ken Takakura Sings On Tadanori Yokoo” (3:20, CD4): The opera’s absurd climax, this enka serenade by yakuza film star Ken Takakura is both heartfelt and hilariously out of place. Backed by saccharine strings, Takakura croons as if serenading Yokoo’s posters. It’s the musical equivalent of a tough guy reciting poetry at an art gallery, and you can’t help but love it.

The opera’s greatest strength is its fearless ambition. Ichiyanagi’s ability to weave enka, psych-rock, musique concrète, and field recordings into a cohesive (if chaotic) whole is a testament to his avant-garde genius. The Flowers’ raw energy and Yokoo’s stunning visuals elevate it to a multimedia masterpiece, while the 4CD reissue’s packaging—postcards, prints, booklet—makes it a collector’s dream. The opera’s use of indeterminacy and cultural collage captures the late-1960s zeitgeist, from Tokyo’s protests to New York’s Fluxus scene, with a prescience that anticipates hauntology and sound art. As Weird Brother notes, it’s “intensely autobiographical and engaging,” balancing meticulous design with aleatoric flow, like a “Japanese garden” of sound.

However, Opera isn’t for the faint-hearted. Its relentless dissonance and fragmented structure can be exhausting, particularly on tracks like “The Flowers,” which sprawl past the point of coherence. The lack of traditional melodies or narrative may alienate listeners expecting a conventional opera—or even a rock album. The Japanese-language booklet limits accessibility for non-Japanese readers, and the 4CD format, while luxurious, feels indulgent when a 2CD set could suffice. Sound quality, sourced from the original tapes, is pristine, but some fans on Discogs have questioned whether it’s truly a master-tape transfer or a polished vinyl rip—a minor quibble for a release this rare. And let’s be real: Takakura’s cameo, while delightful, is so bizarre it might leave you wondering if Ichiyanagi was trolling.

Opera "From The Works Of Tadanori Yokoo" is a landmark of Japanese avant-garde, blending Fluxus, psychedelia, and cultural commentary into a work that’s both of its time and ahead of it. Released in 1969, it captures the chaotic energy of Japan’s counterculture, from student protests to the rediscovery of traditional music through a psychedelic lens. Ichiyanagi’s use of enka and archival recordings evokes a hauntological nostalgia, as if Japan’s pre-war past is haunting its modern present—a theme that resonates with Derrida’s later theories, as noted by Weird Brother. Yokoo’s artwork, with its pop-art mysticism, ties the opera to Japan’s visual revolution, making it a multimedia artifact.

The opera’s influence is subtle but profound, paving the way for Japan’s experimental music scene, from Merzbow to Asa Chang & Junray. Its rarity—original LPs are among the most sought-after Japanese vinyl, fetching thousands—has made it a cult classic, with the 2005 4CD reissue (limited to 1,000 copies) a grail for collectors. Soundohm calls it a “holy grail of avant-ambient synthesis,” comparing it to Göttsching and Aphex Twin, while Musicforecast hails it as a “legendary psychedelic masterpiece.” For scholars, it’s a case study in how avant-garde music can reflect social turmoil, blending high art with pop culture in a way that’s both personal and universal.

Contemporary reviews of Opera are scarce, as its 1969 release on End Records was a niche affair, overshadowed by mainstream acts like The Beatles or Japan’s Group Sounds craze. Retrospective reviews, however, are ecstatic. Soundohm praises its “wildly evocative field recordings” and “Fluxus-damaged pop art moves,” calling the 4CD set a “beautifully designed” tribute to a “heaviest rarity” of the Japanese underground. Weird Brother lauds its “prescient” blend of indeterminacy and nostalgia, while Johnkatsmc5 declares it “one of the greatest mind-blowing psych and Fluxus artifacts” ever, housed in “one of the most beautiful LPs ever released.” Rate Your Music gives it 3.77/5, ranking it #413 for 1969, with users noting its “ritualistic sound palette” and need for a visual counterpart. Discogs users call it a “brain ripper and eye popper,” though some debate the reissue’s sound quality.

The opera’s legacy lies in its pioneering syncretism and enduring mystique. It influenced Japan’s experimental music scene, from noise to ambient, and its multimedia approach prefigures modern art installations. The 4CD reissue, with its lavish packaging, ensures its status as a collector’s artifact, while its inclusion on lists like the Nurse With Wound (NWW) catalog underscores its cult appeal. As Sonic Asymmetry notes, it’s a “classic of 20th century visual art” and music, on par with Ichiyanagi’s later works like Improvisation Sep. 75.

Toshi Ichiyanagi’s Opera "From The Works Of Tadanori Yokoo" is a psychedelic avant-garde tour de force, a 90-minute sonic collage that’s as disorienting as it is exhilarating. With Yuya Uchida & The Flowers’ raw psych-rock, Ken Takakura’s surreal enka cameo, and Tadanori Yokoo’s eye-popping visuals, it’s a multimedia masterpiece that captures the chaotic spirit of 1969 Japan. The 2005 4CD reissue, with its postcards, prints, and booklet, is a love letter to collectors, preserving the opera’s status as a “holy grail” of experimental music. Sure, it’s not an easy listen—its dissonance and sprawl demand patience, and Takakura’s croon might raise an eyebrow—but for those willing to surrender to its madness, it’s a transcendent journey, like tuning into a radio station from the edge of reality.

So, crack open that box set, gaze at Yokoo’s posters, and let Opera whisk you to a world where enka meets acid rock and Fluxus runs the show. Just don’t be surprised if you find yourself humming “Ken Takakura Sings” while dodging imaginary tape loops and wondering how Ichiyanagi made chaos sound so damn beautiful. This is music for dreamers, rebels, and those who believe art should blow your mind—and maybe your speakers, too.