Review Summary: The Pillows carve out their niche with a red-hot knife.
It’s startling to think that The Pillows released two albums in 1999 – Runners High in January, and Happy Bivouac in December – and even more impressive that the latter completely eclipses the first. Happy Bivouac arrived at latter end of a scorching creative streak that began with 1997’s Please Mr. Lostman and subsequently developed the band’s alternative rock sound across Little Busters and Runners High. Like Runners High, Happy Bivouac doesn’t have the same emotionally diverse substance of Please Mr. Lostman or Little Busters, but it hones the group’s anthemic power rock to its razor-sharp zenith. It’s unquestionably the high-water mark for The Pillows’ trademark brand of energetic alt-rock, an overall stronger album with more memorable songs and less filler than its predecessor.
Happy Bivouac kicks off with an ebullient title track, showing great guitar interplay between Sawao Yamanaka and Yoshiaki Manabe. There’s a real sense of fun on this record, of the band genuinely enjoying playing with each other, but it never detracts from the music (as it tends to, unfortunately, on some later releases.) "Rush" is a more successful take on fuzz-soaked grunge than the similar tracks on Runners High, but both of these tracks are simply warmup for the remarkable songs that follow.
"Last Dinosaur" is the album’s first high point; the fact that anything else on the album can match its stratospheric quality, let alone surpass it, is a testament to the skill with which The Pillows concoct songs of this type. A desperate, driving song propelled by some of Shin’Ichiro Sato’s best drumming and powerful guitar hooks from Manabe, its chorus is easily one of the finest moments on the album, matched by a similarly-powerful guitar solo and driving outro. If I had to pick a single Pillows song that I was certain could hook a new listener, this would be it.
Most bands would have difficulty following up on the promise of a track like "Last Dinosaur," but The Pillows accomplish it immediately afterward with "Carnival," another album highlight that remains one of the band’s most iconic songs. While "Last Dinosaur" is a soaring power anthem, "Carnival" is a crunchy, down-to-earth rock song that features outstanding lead guitar work from Manabe, and Yamanaka’s vocals are at their most cynical. It also represents how effectively The Pillows work with straightforward elements. The song is musically pretty simple, but is a perfectly composed pop-rock single that utilizes each of its parts to maximum effect.
"Our Love And Peace" is one of the few low points of Happy Bivouac, a forgettable mid-tempo song that fails to capture the melancholy of Little Busters’ more somber moments. But any disappointment is swept away by the majestic hooks of "Crazy Sunshine," which closes the album’s first half with the biggest song yet. Manabe’s guitar shimmers and refracts against Sawao’s punchy vocals, before the instrumental climax in which The Pillows reach their implacable goal of sonic enlightenment. The solo section is quite possibly Manabe’s finest moment, and his guitar swirls in synchronous orbit with the basslines of Jun Suzuki (who replaced Tatsuya Kashima as a supporting bassist, starting on this album.) This is what rock is all about.
The album’s second half is considerably more subdued than the first, but any more power rock anthems would only make Happy Bivouac an exhausted, congested listen (in retrospect, I’m thankful that singles "Ride On Shooting Star" and "I Think I Can" ended up separate from this record.) "Back Seat Dog" is a bouncy, surf-inspired tune that reflects the growing influence of The Pixies on The Pillows’ sound, particularly evident as Sawao warbles “here comes your man!” in the outro. The highlight of the song is the solo, which, in a rare more for The Pillows, is played by Yamanaka rather than Manabe.
"Kim Deal" cements Sawao’s love for The Pixies, if there was any doubt remaining. It’s a fine song, particularly in conjunction with the preceding track, but it hints at the limited source of creativity now fueling the band: it would take years to go into full effect, but future attempts to write songs in this same vein resulted in overwrought, ponderous tracks that emotionally exhaust the listener, rather than catch the more concise glimpses of sadness seen on Please Mr. Lostman and Little Busters. Easily overlooked is side-B high note on "Funny Bunny," a simple pop song that’s arguably the most subdued and nuanced track (taking nearly two minutes to reach its lovely chorus) on an album of gigantic emotional statements.
"Beautiful Morning With You" is the darkest song on the album, driven by a distorted bassline and distant guitar static, Sawao’s nervous vocals hovering across the void. Its cathartic climax brings the album to a satisfying conclusion, which is why "Advice" feels tacked on to the end. Its bland power chords and vocals hint at the unfortunate lows The Pillows will later reach (most notably, Sawao’s extremely uninteresting and generic side project Predators), but it’s easily overlooked. Two weak tracks on an album that’s otherwise so strong are barely-noticeable smudges obscured by the incendiary passion that drives Happy Bivouac.
As good an album as it is, knowing how The Pillows will descend into mediocrity several years later makes it bittersweet, at times, as the group tried in vain to recapture the sorts of songs that even a very good rock band writes only once in a lifetime. Despite this, Happy Bivouac remains a defining moment in The Pillows’ career and shows the band doing what they do best.
