Review Summary: I see you in myself, as a body sees its reflection within a mirror
Yesterday, I bought a ticket to see the new
Ghost in the Shell film based on the 1995 anime classic. Though it was visually impressive, I couldn’t get past the fact that screenwriters abandoned so much of the philosophical discourse that made the first film so engaging. Watching Scarlett Johansson kick ass in a skintight bodysuit (while still enjoyable) just didn’t fill me with the same emotions and questions that the anime did. It looked the same, but it didn’t
feel the same.
I mention this because there was something else released on the same day as the
Ghost remake that does a much better job of conveying the anime’s tone, though not intentionally. That something is
Yaeji, the debut EP from New York-based producer Kathy Yaeji Lee. Her music (produced with help from labelmate Nick Sylvester) is a deft fusion of house beats and downtempo soul, evoking images of a neon-lit urban sprawl quite similar to that of Mamoru Oshii’s 1995 film.
“New York 93” is the EP’s main single and its most transporting cut. Over an elliptical pattern of cycling synths, Lee whisper-sings in a mix of English and Korean that oozes with subtle emotion. The track’s lyrics, though obtuse, seem to paint an image of Lee woozily walking the streets of a past New York that survives in her memory despite being lost to time. There’s a strange sense of loneliness that pervades the song- even though she stumbles around in a city of millions, Lee’s unique perspective ends up isolating her from any human contact.
The cover art provides a bit of insight into the thematic nature of Lee’s music. In the photo, she stands in front of a bathroom mirror with her eyes shut, suggesting that the self is all one can truly know whether they gaze inside or outside. Yet instead of searching for answers to her solipsistic questions, Lee seemingly embraces her day-to-day monotony with tracks that blur the line between human and machine. The dry, repetitive vocals of the house cut “Feel It Out” reflect the mechanical nature of city life and further solidify the
Ghost similarities. The lyrics- “I need coffee… open up on a Monday”- detail Lee’s absurdly robotic lifestyle as she re-charges and re-fuels over and over again. “Noonside” creates a similar atmosphere as an exhausted Lee confesses that she “can’t see why she will continue on.” Though she is literally referring to a tiring night at the club, she figuratively implies the negative effect of urban life on her psyche.
Lee’s hushed croon perfectly suits the emotional ambiguity of her music. On “Noonside” she is both comforting and sinister, and her monotone adds an eerily indifferent tone to her version of Mall Grab’s “Guap”- a surprisingly dark club banger. Both “Guap” and the post-punky “Full of It” show Lee’s versatility across genre, and close out the EP on a high note.
The music on
Yaeji is quiet, elemental, and raw. Lee’s spectral vocals and the hypnotic production help kindle a fire of odd memories and unanswered questions in the mind. These tracks have a disorienting way of burrowing into the unconscious and filling the soul with nostalgia and anxiety. Though the effect is often more uncanny than enjoyable, Lee’s presence is so alluring that
Yaeji transcends the norms of music to become a fully-realized psychological experience. Like the original
Ghost in the Shell film, it is a piece of art that demands to be
felt rather than observed.
So please, listen to
Yaeji instead of shelling out your hard-earned money to watch the bloated CGI-fest that was released on the same day. If music really is a universal language, than listening to this EP is the equivalent of gazing at the world through another set of eyes. It’s fairly short and will end up being insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but a journey like this is far more engrossing and personal than anything you’ll see on an IMAX screen.
