In a recent interview with the Guardian, Kyoto-raised Ichiko Aoba stated that she saw herself less as a conventional musician and more like a conduit of textures and atmospheres: “I just love sound.” Across the immersive, celestial landscape of the hugely prolific Aoba’s eighth studio album (she has also released numerous live records, soundtracks and more), it’s this enveloping quality that is its quiet power. Though there have been quote-unquote “singles” released in its run-up – the hypnotic, acoustic lullaby of Flag, or the rolling pianos and rippling harps of Luciférine – Luminescent Creatures is an album to fall into; prescription-worthy aural blood pressure medication against a frenetic world.
Inspired by field research into Japan’s Ryukyu islands and Aoba’s resultant meditations on the vast powers of the ocean, there is a tactile, organic beauty to Coloratura’s twisting flutes and twinkling bells, or the underwater soundscape of instrumental interlude Cochlea. Though delicate and gentle – laced throughout with Aoba’s featherlight voice – there’s nothing cutesy about Luminescent Creatures. Soothing as a sound bath, yet powerful in its world-building, Aoba’s continued ascent to stardom might seem unlikely, yet this is nurturing music for bleak times.
