by Devin Birse (@devvvvi.b)
There's something slightly out of this age about Betcover!! The Japanese band's style of art rock often invites tired comparisons to the current British crop of experimental guitar groups. Yes, there’s an element of jazz rock and yes there are occasional bursts of noise and yes there is something distinctly proggy in how it all comes together, but that analysis misses the finer details. The way Romantic Yasuda’s piano playing lends a distinctly smooth lounge quality, how the guitar wails of Riki Hadada and lead singer Jiro Yanase weep in a manner far closer to nineties alt-rock than grinding post-hardcore, and the fact that Yanase’s voice feels unmatched by anyone else making experimental rock now. He croons like a professional, bending the dark romanticism of his lyrics into a sound so soft and smooth that it practically glides.
It's this element of simultaneous recognisability and oddity that makes Betcover!! such an interesting prospect. Over the last three years, they’ve released album after album of sonic expansion, with 2022’s 卵 (Tamago) suggesting an especially ambitious venture into prog. By contrast, last year's 馬 (Uma) may seem like a smaller-scale affair with its runtime being just under half an hour compared to its predecessor's near-hour-long runtime, but it's in this smaller scale that Betcover!! has managed to build its tightest work yet. As mentioned Betcover!! are a band that feels slightly out of time, the mix of modern techniques with old school blues creates a sound at once new yet classic. With Uma, the band seems to lean into this like never before, bringing in elements of Enka, a style of bleak bluesy mid-50s Japanese balladry, alongside an ever blistering avant prog sound.
Opener “バーチャルセックス (Virtual Sex)” is the most blistering track in the band’s oeuvre, a blast of high-speed skronk that’s carried by the manic jazz drumming of Yudai Takasago. The intensity of the sound is mellowed out perfectly by Yanase’s vocals that carry a seductive swoon interrupted by a semi shriek towards the track's cut-off climax. It's pairing with the second track “翔け夜の匂い草 (Habatake Yoruno Nioigusa)” outlines the edges of the Betcover!! sound. The track’s cinematic balladry slows down the blistering mania of “Virtual Sex” whilst maintaining the shades of prog through its subtle guitar shrieks.
Yet again underlying this is a distinct sense of old-school charm. The tracks that make up Uma feel like the soundtrack to a lost soap opera, all flowery romance and destructive heartbreak. On “フラメンコ (Flamenco)” an initially tender piano and funk-ridden bass combo rise alongside the other instruments to an obliterating chorus. Yanase’s voice seems to act as a conductor of the track, bending and shifting with his emotions. When he switches to a lower near spoken word tone the instruments tense up and when his voice rises, they rise in tandem. At the tracks end when he shouts ‘hey,’ they practically explode, melancholic piano colliding with buzzsaw guitars and shattering drums.
At points, Uma can be bluesy like on the rollicking “火祭りの踊り (Himatsuri No Odori)” which takes on a western tone thanks to a guitar that sounds like a runaway train. In other moments like “炎天の日 (Enten No Hi)” it's melodramatic with Yanase’s voice alternating between operatic depth and tight enclosed anger against an endlessly rising and falling piano line. In its final moments, it even turns to joyous folk on the tender “メキシカンパパ (Mexican Papa)”. The sheer variety lurking underneath the album's jazz come art rock shell is endlessly impressive yet what keeps it so distinctly Betcover!! is how cinematic it feels. In an interview, Yanase talked about how to evoke the mood of the Showa period rather than merely the sound or the style. This prerogative is what gives Betcovr!! their hypnagogic feel, like a lost piece of media was restored a little too well. Yes, the sounds are new, but they feel like they're encased within film. Like a melody that’s arrived a little too early, or a ghost haunting a chorus a little too new.