When I listen to Harumi Kitagawa’s Love & Flowers, I’m instantly transported to what I love about music. It’s its ability to show maturity in a way that is simply mature. Coded in phrasing, couched in a certain sophistication, one can be “adult” without falling for the adult trappings of trying to compete with youth.
Listening to this album, I’m reminded of other “scattered, with a chance of rain” albums like Joni Mitchell’s Chalk Mark In A Rain Storm, Natalie Merchant’s Tigerlily, or Joan Armatrading’s Show Some Emotion — singer-songwriter albums that hover around so many disparate influences—of jazz, of folk, of something certain, unique, and unplaceable — in ways that feel deeply personal and personable. I’m reminded of the late, great Astrud Gilberto’s Gilberto With Turrentine, albums that inch ever closer to expressing a certain yearning that comes along with age. These are deep, easy listens that reveal themselves only upon closer listening.
It’s Harumi’s story that I must confess I am weak in sharing. What I’ve seen out there details a gifted singer brought up and educated as one. A native of Tokyo, it was Harumi who, from the late ’80s, could be found singing background on albums running the gamut from avant-garde to rock, pop, and bossa nova. Early credits include working with Moonrider-affiliated groups like the Hysterics and enlisting the help of one-time Real Fish founder Hiroyasu Yaguchi to produce and flesh out her debut on jazz-flavored Japanese record label MELDAC.
1988’s Fatima Dancing showcased Harumi Kitagawa’s expansive view of the kind of pop music she wanted to make. Much like Saeko Suzuki’s work, Fatima Dancing appeared as a reaction against the more YMO-influenced sound of late ’80s Japanese pop, steering instead toward a more alternative direction inspired by other influences. Songs like “太陽の系図” and “Sweet Travel” feature that uncertain artistic pop heard in records by groups like Mio Fou, hinting at the Shibuya-kei sound that would soon follow.
Then, just one year later, on 1989’s Roses, Harumi would switch gears, working with the late, great Kazuhiko Kato to orchestrate a pronounced shift in direction. Stripping away most of her New Wave trappings, she traded them for a heavier jazz and bossa nova touch. On songs like “アモーレ” and “あの頃、マリーローランサン,” one can hear the influence of singers like Elis Regina. On “あなたはNew Type” and “アフリカの夕日,” Yasuaki Shimizu joins her to craft another sound, one exploring sexier, Latin-tinged dance grooves. Finally, Roses is rounded out with Saeko Suzuki’s touch on tracks like “瞳でキスを -Dance with me-” and “1/2の午後,” fully severing ties to the music of that era.
What happened next even I wonder about. For two years, Harumi remained out of contract before resurfacing on Alfa’s indie sublabel, ZaZa. Between August and October, she entered sessions with an unlikely collaborator, crafting (perhaps) her most drastic change yet. On 1993’s Love & Flowers, Harumi Kitagawa teamed up with Hoppy Kamiyama to shape a sound distinctly different from anything in their histories.
Hoppy, a producer and performer better known for his experimental touch in countless ‘80s and early ‘90s alternative rock, art-noise, and punk scenes, dialed in a sound on Love & Flowers that was far softer and more in tune with the gentle energy Harumi was aiming for. As a singer-songwriter, Harumi’s lyricism reflected a newfound positive vibration she sought to luxuriate in. Looking at the list of musicians rounding out the record — friends and players like Hitoshi Watanabe, Neko Saito, Mecken, and Bun Itakura, to name just a few — it’s clear Harumi valued proficiency and feel, choosing gifted musicians from decidedly less commercial realms who could draw out the subtlety required for these sessions.
Opening track “Siesta” clues you into the direction the album takes. Somewhere over time, that sort of weird friend they had had grown into herself in maturity. It’s something you hear in the music. Over a pristine drum groove, a sort of novo-nostalgia in sound, a base for Harumi to pour over the little things in life she valued, flowered. It was this “barefoot sound” that felt truest to Harumi’s intention.
Songs like “きらめきの彼方に” and “Love & Flowers” tease out the stately sounds of jazz and folk in ways that tap into high drama, transforming them into little anthems of self-empowerment. Of the two, “きらめきの彼方に” highlights Harumi’s powerful command of voice. Far from hidden behind layers of arrangement, Hoppy’s wonderful orchestration simply lets Harumi’s elegiac phrasing do the heavy lifting.
As a singer, Harumi reaches her peak on “Morning Kiss Me” and “Hello Again,” songs that hover between psychedelia, art pop, and jazz, capturing the spirit of Harumi’s intentions for this music. On the former, her wonderful lyricism carries the bridge over a drop full of romance and quiet yearning. On the latter, she effortlessly flows with the music, her voice guiding the sparse sound pitter-pattering behind her, flowering into something truly powerful.
All those other gorgeous tracks, like “雨音の肖像,” belong to a certain slice of artistry that ignores prevailing trends, opting instead for a musical language that is far more timeless and universal. When I hear “横顔,” I’m transported back to ideas that another old soul, Tom Waits, captured on albums like Closing Time. It’s this idea that certain things—certain simple things—when expressed in all their full weight, will find ways to imprint their gravity on you. And it’s then that these “simple” things stick with you far longer than you expect: just two people having a meaningful conversation via voice and piano.
As I struggle to find simpler words to convey how much I appreciate that albums like these exist, knowing full well that Harumi’s story would later veer into far more experimental and aggro music, I will always remember that brief moment when her ideas were still tinted in rose and gold, in love and flowers, leading her to exert herself in this impressively effortless-sounding music.
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