There’s a New Generation of Japanese Musicians. Nobody Knows What They Look Like.
Are anonymous singers the future of music?
Who would have thought a blue haired virtual celebrity singing Finnish folk song would become one of the most iconic characters in the world? Hatsune Miku, the avatar in question, has without a doubt reached the pantheon of pop culture and meme culture. However, many seem to forget she was supposed to be more than a mere novelty.
When Hatsune Miku first came into the spotlight, capturing the public’s imagination with her rendition of “Ievan Polkka”, the media promised revolution. Hatsune Miku was hailed as the future of music and the Internet was bombarded with videos of her concerts, where Miku’s semi-transparent, pigtailed figure wiggled on the stage while thousands of fans cheered her on.
There’s no doubt a part of the coverage was motivated by Miku’s “nationality” since Japan’s quirks and oddities never fail to catch the attention of the West. But there was more to it — the timing was right. Hatsune Miku came to the mainstream’s attention in 2012 when it was featured on CBS and Kotaku. The very same year, Coachella made news for 2Pac’s appearance. The hologram of the long-deceased Shakur was joined on stage by Snoop Dog, prompting a media frenzy explaining the mechanics behind it.
In 2014, Michael Jackson followed Shakur’s example and Jackson’s avatar took the stage at Billboard Music Awards to promote his posthumous album, Xscape. Soon after, Sony demonstrated their prototype VR headset and Stephen Hawking warned the world about the dangers of A.I.
From today’s perspective, it’s hard to say if the prophesied “takeover of virtual artists” was a genuine prediction or simply fear-mongering, meant to generate clicks. However, one thing is clear: it didn’t happen. Not even in Miku’s native Japan.
It doesn’t mean Hatsune Miku was a false prophet. Vocaloids (a Japanese term for singing software synthesizers like Miku) have turned out to be a goldmine of talent, delivering a new crop of producers and singers — including Yonezu Kenshi, the country’s brightest star.
The Vocaloid sound, known for its neck-breaking tempo and chorus-centric compositions, has certainly made its mark on the Japanese scene and songs like Yoasobi’s “Yoru ni Kakeru” are a testament to it. But the influence of Vocaloids goes beyond sound. Miku and her avatar friends proved it’s possible for people to get passionate about animated images; they proved there’s no need for celebs and their paparazzi photos to keep the public’s attention.
This discovery has transformed the local music landscape. The new generation of Japanese stars might not be computer-created, but they are trying their best to appear this way.
One of the most popular songs of the year has been “Usseewa”, a manifesto against the Japan’s rigid social norms and destructive work environment. The voice behind “Usseewa” belongs to Ado, an eighteen years old woman. Contrary to Hatsune Miku, Aso is a real person, who runs her own Twitter account, @ado1024imokenp. Her profile is exactly what one could expect from a celebrity’s Twitter: musing about her daily life, fan art and information about upcoming events. There’s only one thing separating it from a typical popstar’s account: there are no photos of her face as Ado has never publicly revealed her name or photos of her face. The only images available to the public portray are the cartoon drawings of a dark-haired girl with a thousand-yard stare and a smirk on her lips.
Ado is not the only singer who prefers to remain anonymous. Yama, whose popularity skyrocketed thanks to the viral hit “Haru wo Tsugeru”, is never seen without their tasselled mask and bulky parka prompting the noisier netizens to endlessly speculate about their gender. Tik-Tok sensation, producer & singer duo Yorushika refuses to give interviews and their concert venues are purposefully set dark so that their faces are impossible to see. Meanwhile rock band Zutomayo has gone even further and has even declined to reveal the number of members in the group.
The eccentricity has been wholeheartedly embraced by the Japanese public. For years charts have been dominated by pretty teenagers with questionable music talents. The rise of anonymous singers has felt like a win for music.
But is it really?
It would be easy to paint the movement as an indie revolution; as plucky artists raising over the manufactured pop stars. The reality is different: all the artists mentioned above are signed to major labels (even the rebellious Ado is a part of Virgin Music’s rooster).
These musicians are the furthest thing away from struggling artists strumming guitars in dingy studios and living from gig to gig.
The idea of anonymous singers is not a work of a crazy executive who got lucky with a one-time project; the scheme has spread across all major labels in Japan.
In March 2019, Oricon Magazine’s Tomoyuki Mori brought the phenomenon under the loop. Mori chalked the popularity of anonymous artists to the era of information overload. He explained that with so many distractions around, artists must learn how to clearly communicate their message. The other explanation for anonymous singers’ popularity has come from the fans themselves and revolves around the “separating artist from art” dogma. The reasons why they want to diminish the creator’s presence have varied between the listeners. Some have desired to distance themselves from problematic artists while others have previously been unsatisfied by the disparity between the singer’s image and their music; removing the artist from the equation has been an easy fix.
The public’s wishes have been found reflected in the marketing style. Not every artist is as secretive as Yorushika or Ado, but the current generation of singers is certainly less keen to show off their visage and less fashion-conscious than their older peers. Yuuri, whose hit “Dry flower” has been occupying charts for months, doesn’t appear in any of his music videos; instead, they feature sombre-looking beauties. Aimyon, the biggest female singer around, has been on the music scene for four years but not once has she deviated from her tomboyish look and black, blunt bangs.
The Aimyon example in particular deserves a closer look. While adherence to a one style may seem like a small detail, it’s a big shift from how things used to be — twenty years ago, when pop divas ran the show, they were free to do whatever they wanted. Ayumi Hamasaki, the biggest celebrity of the time, effortlessly jumped between singing rock ballads and releasing trance remixes while donning red leather jumpsuits, leopard prints and white gowns. The package didn’t matter; her army of followers loved her all the same.
Japanese stars of today aren’t given this level of freedom. They keep to their lane, desperately hanging onto the aesthetic and sound that made them popular. They seem to be saying: We know music is not your first choice of entertainment. Do what you want and come back when you miss us. We’ll be here, looking and sounding the way you always remembered.
The lack of style changes doesn’t mean the visual side of the business has been abandoned. Don’t get it twisted: faceless singers aren’t bringing back the pre-MTV or even pre-TV times; the times when the looks didn’t matter. They are just focused on diffferent thing: trying to make this one, chosen concept stick. There’s no doubt the labels have poured tons of resources and time into making these artists distinct and memorable. The already mentioned Yoasobi (who kickstarted the animation craze) base their lyrics on short stories, uploaded by fans on the label-run website, while all Yorushika’s LP releases are concept albums and the first two are even connected by the same main character slash narrator.
All those acts purposefully blur the line between their persona and their work, until they appear as one entity. As Yorushika’s vocalist, n-buna’s said:
Yorushika is not a typical band, it’s the creation itself.
Is it the way forward? Will the Western world follow Japan’s example?
These are the questions I’ve been asking myself all this time following this phenomen. From today’s perspective, my answer is a resounding “no” to all of them.
Japan has long established its position as technology-advanced yet quirky fellow. The country’s numerous inventions have made its way to worldwide media for two very different reason: to admire, or to gawk at due to their oddity. It’s also a country which came up with the idea of Galápagos Syndrome, a phenomen which took name after Galápagos Islands, famous for their highly unique fauna and flora. In Japan it was used to describe its peculiar technology including strangely complicated flip-phones, popular back in the 2000s. This “uniqueness” can be also found in Japan’s methods of music consumption.
The country may have not been spared by the worldwide stagnation of the CD format, but the decline hasn’t been nearly as severe as in the case of the US or Europe. According to the Recording Industry Association of Japan (RIAJ) in 2021 physical formats (CD albums and CD singles) recorded the sale of over 100 mln copies. Japanese people are still buying albums.
In the US and other Western countries, the physical format is supported by the last bastion standing: the loyal fandoms, who are motivated by their attachment to celebrity personas; the desire make their favourites happy. That’s why Twice, a K-pop group with little to no presence in the US, is able to outsell radio darlings like Maroon 5 with ease.
However, the Korean model, which revolves around a person rather than music, is as difficult to follow as the Japanese one. Building a dedicated fanbase is not a piece of cake.
On the surface, it appears easy. After all, with SNS growing rapidly the distance between the public and the artist is smaller than ever. However it’s a double-edged sword — for the youngest generation, a person having the right kind of character is just as important as their musical output. A misdemeanour can prove to be costly.
Camilla Cabello is an excellent example of how private life woes can cause troubles in a celebrity career. The former star of Fifth Harmony has two smash hits to her name, “Havana” and “Señorita”, and an A-list boyfriend, but her consequent music releases have been met with varying kinds of success and suffered from low album sales. Many connect her troubles gathering a following with her past racist remarks.
And fans are easy to lose as well. Billie Eilish, who had looked like a sure bet for the voice of Gen Z, has recently landed in hot water due to her alleged racist remarks and accusations of queer baiting. The effects of her controversies appeared soon enough, with Eilish’s latest releases receiving lukewarm reception and prompting murmurs of a sophomore slump; a shocking development after When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?’s critical and commercial success. It would be silly to suggest Eilish’s career is over, but her slide from the hottest artists on the planet to barely making the top 50 on Spotify Charts is truly astounding.
The social justice movement isn’t the only “trouble” along the way — the emergence of the new generation of celebrity influencers is just as worrying. It’s not just the Kardashian clan anymore; the likes the of Hadid sisters, Hailey Bieber or Lily Rose Depp are just as popular with the teens. They are rich, young, and gorgeous; young girls all around the world want to live their life: dating high-profile celebrities, modelling for high fashion brands, and travelling all over the world.
They have it easier than pop stars. These high-profile influencers don’t depend on people’s sympathy and they don’t need to appear relatable, balancing the fine line between appearing down-to-earth and glamorous at the same time.
In the end, all signs point to the music industry following the Korean model rather than the Japanese one and it’s hard to imagine the Western industry embracing a generation of virtual stars. However, there might be some individuals capable of finding success without showing off their faces. Sia is the obvious example, having covered her visage with wigs for the longest time. Plus, her long-running collaboration work with a young dancer, Maddie Ziegler is something that would slot seamlessly into the Japanese market.
Of course, there’s also K/DA, a project group created for League of Legends. The game employed several different female singers (including Madison Beer and Korean groups, Twice and G-IDLE) to stand in as voices of their avatars. The group’s first single, “Pop/Stars” has been certified Gold and has amassed over 250 million streams on Spotify.
And finally, Corpse Husband has proved it's possible to get a following without showing face. The Youtuber first made news for playing Among Us with Pewdiepie, where he quickly became the talk of the town thanks to his unnaturally deep voice. Corpse has since dabbled in music, and his 2020’s single “E-Girls Are Ruining My Life!” has gone Platinum despite being unlabeled.
There is a good chance a label-backed act could make it and thrive thanks to the novelty of the idea. The only question is: which label is brave enough to attempt it?
