One of the first genres, or rather sounds, that come to my mind when someone says “nostalgia” is Japanese city pop. Back in 2020, when “Mayonaka no Door / Stay With Me” by Miki Matsubara and “4:00 A.M.” by Taeko Onuki resurfaced on TikTok, I had no idea that’s what it was called – city pop. I just remember the yearning for a time I have never lived through evoking in me every time one of these songs played. Years later, when I decided to dive into this genre, chasing a flicker in the dark, my goal was to understand not just what it is, but above all why: why does this particular era of Japanese pop music associate so heavily with nostalgia? And why is it so popular among Western listeners?
When city pop went viral along with lo-fi compilations, it stormed the internet with its simple yet fierce power of nostalgia. You would listen to a collection of western funk and disco-inspired songs sung in an unfamiliar language accompanied by a captivating illustration by Hiroshi Nagai and suddenly you would teleport to a booming city full of action and opportunities. You would feel yourself driving around a vibrant city like Tokyo or Osaka on a summer night, hot wind blowing in your face while “L.A. Night” by Yasuko Agawa blasted in your car. The aesthetic of city pop was very clear – it took you to a time you never experienced and gave you vivid scenarios full of what-ifs.
Artwork by Hiroshi Nagai, title and date unknown
But city pop, a term created by westerners and for the longest time unknown to city pop pioneers themselves, was never that simple. It was not just about the idealized vision of Tokyo in the 80s, and it was never just a few songs that went viral on TikTok. Then what is city pop?
There is a fascinating interconnection of iconic Japanese musicians surrounding city pop that have all contributed to the creation of this sound and all of this can be simply traced back to a four-piece folk rock band, Happy End.
In the 70s, in response to the Latin and jazz-inspired popular music kayōkyoku and American folk-inspired underground fōku music, emerged a new wave – Japanese new music. Kayōkyoku, written by Japanese or Western songwriters and performed by idols like Hibari Misora and Kenji Wasada, was all about showmanship and drama, grand and orchestral. Fōku, on the other hand, was very simple in its arrangement and delivery: you’d have a clear social message and a classic combination of some acoustic guitar and vocals. New Music, different from both, was more complex and polished in terms of production through the wide use of synths and electric guitars. But most importantly, new music shifted the focus from social messaging to more personal, sentimental, and urban-life-centered lyrics.
This new music was pioneered, among many, by Happy End. Now Happy End was not exactly city pop, as their music was still very much folk rock, but the four musicians of the band, after their break-up, would go on to shape the sound of city pop, individually and in collaboration. Happy End’s Eiichi Ohtaki, whose solo records are also considered a staple in the genre, went on to produce a band called Sugar Babe, whose 1975 debut record Songs is argued to be the foundation of the city pop sound. He would then produce and curate Sugar Babe’s Taeko Onuki and Tatsuro Yamashita, the two of the most popular city pop singers to date. Haruomi Hosono, on the other hand, would go on to form Yellow Magic Orchestra, the legendary progenitors of electronic pop that were featured in numerous city pop albums as session musicians and producers like Taeko Onuki’s Sunshower or Mariya Takeuchi’s Love Songs.
City pop bloomed in the 1970s and, by the 1980s, had become the “soundtrack of New Japan”. After World War II left the Japanese economy in shambles, the country quickly recovered through rapid industrialization and technological advancement. Up until the 90s when the country faced a stagnation period, the Japanese economic miracle heavily affected all aspects of life: from guaranteed lifelong employment to rapid urbanization in areas like Tokyo, Osaka, and Yokohama, life in Japan was as vibrant as ever. The asset price bubble that lasted from 1986 to 1992 and known as the “bubble economy era” has done wonders to shaping this soundtrack, allowing luxury to enter the ordinary lifestyles of workers who were now able to install stereos in their cars and enjoy expensive imported goods.
In the wake of swift technological development, the unique sound of city pop, known for its synths and shimmery electric guitars, was made possible by the boom in the production of recording equipment by Japanese companies like Yamaha, Roland, and Fender. On top of that, many city pop songs started being used for commercials, creating a platform for many artists to launch their new albums, a practice quite distinct from the West where big hit songs are used in ads only after hitting all milestones. Just like that, Tatsuro Yamashita’s biggest hit, a song called “Christmas Eve”, was used in JR’s XMAS EXPRESS commercials, advertising Shinkansen services during the New Year’s season. Thus, it would not be wrong to say that the economic state of Japan found reflection in the funky, danceable, and bright sound of city pop.
Lyrically, however, city pop had two distinct and opposing sides.
One of my most loved songs of the era, “Mind Game” by Miki Matsubara reflects the love for urban life, one side of the city pop spectrum. Matsubara sings:
One of my most loved songs of the era, “Mind Game” by Miki Matsubara reflects the love for urban life, one side of the city pop spectrum. Matsubara sings:
“FEELING JUST FEELING JUST FEELING
To the watercolored city, in my velvet shoes,
FLYING JUST FLYING JUST FLYING
Look! One day, the continuation of my interrupted dream”
to the brass-heavy fun instrumentals of the song and paints a picture so vivid that I also imagine myself enjoying loud and energetic metropolitan life. The fun side of city pop makes you fall in love with the idea of a big booming city, never-ending movement, and romance (although mostly tragic).
The other extreme of city pop is not at all fun. While sounding joyful and groovy, some projects of the time indulge in the crises a lot of musicians were dissatisfied with: overworking, inauthenticity, and loneliness. In her song “Tokai”, a word for city, Taeko Onuki describes the city as an “intersection of aimless people” that continues to grow like bubbles. Karōshi, a term that means “overwork death”, was the plague of Japanese society that started in 1969 when the news of a 29-year-old newspaper worker passing away due to a stroke shook the country. Concealed under rhythmic and glistening instrumentals laid the very human side of city pop that criticized the insulating and hard-hitting reality of Japan’s economic growth.
Another big theme in the Japanese music of the 70s and 80s is, interestingly, summer. An overwhelming number of records released in this period reference summer, either in the lyrics, through the cover artwork, or both like Eiichi Ohtaki’s 1981 album A Long Vacation, clearly carrying this summer topic. Evident from works like Anri’s iconic song “Remember Summer Days” or Seiko Matsuda’s Squall album that opens with the sound of crashing waves, city pop perfectly captures this sweet longing for long-lasting carefree days, being inspired by West Coast funk and yacht rock. No wonder that when asked to explain what city pop sounds like, the mutual agreement among people is to tie it to summer. Even for me, this type of music encapsulates a vibe of laying on the beach listening to smooth guitar-heavy tunes.
Artwork done by Hiroshi Nagai for A Long Vacation, a 1981 album by Eiichi Ohtaki
Although the yacht rock and funk inspirations are clear to detect, city pop cannot be bound to only these genres. Some records like Taeko Onuki’s Sunshower lean heavily into jazz fusion, while some like Anri’s Timely!! are more pop, and some such as Tomoko Aran’s famous Fuyu-Kukan are very much disco-driven. City pop is an extensive field of records that, while being vastly different from one another, are yet united by what can be described as a unique take on existing western genres.
Historical and regional context matters too. After the Chinese music industry was freed from strict state regulation in 1978, Taiwan-based Mandarin pop and Hong Kong-based Cantonese pop plunged deeper into folk rock influence, coined by the term “campus folk music”. The same happened in South Korea, with heavily politicized folk-inspired music slowly transforming into a rock-inspired mainstream sound that accompanied Korea’s rocky transition to democracy. Since music mirrors societal changes, it’s not of any surprise that we heavily associate the luxurious and shiny city pop sound specifically with Japan.
City pop’s recent resurgence is entwined by the peculiar push and pull between Japan and the West. While the genre drew deeply from Western sounds and cosmopolitan imagery, Japan’s music market remained so insular that avid fans of city pop had to fly to Japan just to buy a CD copy of their favorite album. For decades, domestic physical sales were more than enough for artists to be successful and never seek an international audience. Japanese artists like Happy End or Yasuko Agawa collaborated heavily with Western musicians and even flew to America to record, but they never really expected their songs to chart internationally. A lot of works like Tatsuro Yamashita’s are still not available on streaming platforms.
So, to answer the questions I set before myself, what is city pop and why did it get popular?
While different views of city pop define city pop in their ways, somehow everyone, including me, has a pretty clear idea of what it sounds like. It’s sparkly, with prominent synths and bass, and it’s dreamy. The vocals are very sultry and the delivery feels as personal as ever.
The term city pop, coined despite the disapproval by some city pop legends like Toshiki Kadomatsu, reflects perfectly both the listener and the music. The consumer of city pop longs for something they never had, listening to wistful arrangements and glittery guitars – the idea of Japan during its economic prosperity. And while the legacy of city pop has modern artists trying to replicate the nuanced soundscape of the genre, I would argue that these attempts do not have the same effect exactly because city pop is a term to describe a specific era. It evokes nostalgia despite the names and ideas behind it being very clear; you’re not imposing your own ideas onto city pop, you’re experiencing exactly what you’re being told to experience, all the yearning and comfort, happiness and desperation of urban Japanese life.
P.S. For those curious, I have created a playlist with some classic city pop tunes, including those mentioned here.
Sources:
Primer | Maximum Fun – episodes 1-8 specifically
The Endless Life Cycle of Japanese City PopPitchforkhttps://pitchfork.com › article
A Guide to City Pop: Japan’s 80s Pop Music Renaissance — With Recommendations