4 out of 5

Label: Pink Records

Produced by: Masahiro Naoe

Rather brilliantly subversive in its structure – even if that ultimately makes the back half of the album feel a little wanting – Seiko Oomori’s 絶対少女 (Absolute Girl) is a fascinating and affecting trek through some 90s dashed pop tropes, rinsed and re-presented through Seiko’s own, inimitable style of fragile ferocity – or whatever other juxtaposed terms best represent the artist’s ability to imbue gentle acoustic strums and pop lilts with expressions of strength and frustration.

From a Google translation of Absolute Girl’s genesis, the album is purposefully sequenced to explore and affirm womanhood; kicking off with the catchy pop of 絶対彼女 (Absolute Girlfriend), Oomori appropriately aligns with a type of Cardigans Love Fool-era kitsch that typified a particular generation of Romeo and Juliet-rewatching fandom, then kicking into the electrified, cutsied beats of ミッドナイト清純異性交遊 (the translation of the song title of which varies but would seem to be about – in part, or possibly – the divide between worship and friendship) before seguing into more ‘traditional’ acoustic fare for a couple tracks, with あまい’s (Sweet) shimmering feedback suggestive of the way Seiko is planning on disrupting these boppy, gentle beginnings.

Indeed, the poetic, candle-lit cooings of Over the Party give way to some wonderfully peace-breaking drum rattles, Oomori getting more unnerved as the track goes along, the (translated) lyrics detailing a brash and honest trip back and forth from youth to adulthood.  少女3号’s (Girl No. 3) Pixie’s-esque stomp follows, further grounding and separating us from the cheer with which the disc kicked off.  The circusy, simple pomp of 婦rick裸にて (Nude Woman Rick (?)) precedes Absolute Girl becoming a very intimate, tonally withdrawn affair: the entire back half of the discis very comparatively quiet, and mostly acoustic, with some choice, spare drumming along the way.  It’s a brave choice, and there are definitely great surprises along the way, like the broken, punky drumming that starts and stops throughout 展覧会の絵 (Picture of the Exhibition), but this does make the disc something that requires attention; its solemn quiet is not casual listening.

At least, until the delightfully head-bob of 君と映画 (You and the Movie), which, despite it’s video’s rather aggressive ending, would seem – again, from a lyric translation – to be sort of charmingly simple in its appreciations of little flirtations, which is an interesting way to conclude (prior to a cover song) the album’s thematic and tonal explorations.

絶対少女 is often quite brilliant, and undoubtedly purposeful.  While I’m sure the Japanese lyrics are that much more affecting, even the translated versions offer up interesting thoughts and rambles on womanhood, on living, on relationships, on being being alone.  While its sequencing is part of its presentation, moving from in-your-face pop to more introspective fare, it can be a bit slow-going on a first listen, getting the pace of things.  Of course, repeat listens resolve this, but perhaps one more punctuation in disc’s latter half could have solidified perfection.