A Boy (Doji Morita, 1977)

There's little biography to recall when talking about Morita Doji [森田童子], a Japanese singer, composer and multi-instrumentalist so secretive she always wore quite rad sunglasses and a big, curly wig wherever she went; not even in the Japanese internet will you find her unveiled face. Unlike other musicians of the seventies she did not rise to mass popularity from her rather underground origin. Not that such a thing matters anyway: she didn't even needed to perform live but a few times to make clear to the Japanese 70's and 80's she was to become a cult, even if obscure, musician. You can tell right away from her third album alone, ('A Boy' in katakana ア・ボーイ) released by Warner Music Japan in April 10th, 1977. Talent flows from every track, as Morita conjures a strings work so soulful and skilled you don't even try to understand the lyrics flowing behind her quite particularly ethereal voice. Guitars acoustic and electric, pianos, cellos and many others really shine from beginning to end in a peculiar mixture music labels apparently like to immediately classify as Folk, as happens with many musicians of the Japanese 70's period as Kan Mikami [三上 寛]. Yet, it helps to simply discover a whole musical universe without labeling Morita's effort, as it denotes a rich mixture of genres and true technical skill.

As one of the very few facts admitted by Morita, she began composing music as she was struck by a close friend's death, and that really weights when it comes to lyrics and even the general musical atmosphere present in every album. When Morita's very first album is titled Goodbye [グットバイ] (1975) you can tell deep personal feelings sustained and nurtured her inspiration for many years indeed. Other frequent themes are a melancholic understanding of urban life and its isolation, the fleeting nature of youth and, yes, tenderness and appreciation. She even had some of her live shows be translated into sign language, fearing some attendants could be hearing impaired. 

Concerning these recurring themes during almost ten years, she was asked at times by the musical press, and she often replied:

Is that so? I guess I’m not really the type of human that goes around starting things anew and changing myself. How further I can express my personal, inner world deeper is the only theme I have, there’s nothing else. To bury myself in there may sound simplistic, but I want to my very death be buried inside that space. Those who constantly renew and change themselves as they go about, I tend to find creepy and such.

Morita can be said to have mastered a sole genre of her own making, as she really immerses herself in an overwhelming melancholy and skillfully delivers it with the intensity of all things truthful. Even if her music speaks from the dark pitch and downbeat regions of the soul it sure manifests a will, a direction, and it hits home every time. Her retirement in 1983 made it so she never downplayed her own musical and emotive universe, attempting to transform it in something else (maybe one of the strongest cases for gathering a loyal base) and yet, I'd argue she indeed changed many a time in many ways, as she was able to transform often paralyzing nostalgia and remembrance into art, and the same spiritual orientation into manifold manifestations.

ア・ボーイ poignantly reflects all of Morita's themes and musical atmospheres. 蒼き夜は [Blue Night] opens with a peaceful guitar, yet string chords progressively create a melancholic landscape; easy-going, introduces Morita's shockingly sweet and delicate voice, very much in contrast with her appearance. 君と淋しい風になる [I become a lonely wind with you] unravels a wonderful, rhythmic and classical motif which supports some sick guitar riffs in the background. Easily the most addictive theme here. Then, ふるえているネ [You're Trembling] kicks in. Ohh boy, if you thought instruments couldn't cry; a chilling, somber and recurring theme grows every minute of this track until it's everything you hear. Yet,  it does not obnubilate a fantastic piano opening its way along. Pretty sweet if

you ask me. Guitar work is eminent in ぼくを見かけませんでしたか [Didn't you see me?], with blues-like pace and some incredible transitions. Here you can only wish Morita had released a visual live recording (as she did release an audio Live in St. Mary's Cathedral, Tokyo) back in those days, wishing you saw this played and sang along. Same goes for セルロイドの少女 [The girl of celluloid]. maybe my favorite track. Everything is fabulous here; yet I'd consider it to be vocals-focused; Morita really becomes a one-person-orchestra, as it integrates classical percussion and layered strings into a really tragic-sounding and visual track, which easily flows and enchants the ear. 

This second half of the album is more relaxed and lyrically oriented, often in spoken-pitch voice rather than singing. 淋しい素描 [A lonely rough sketch] could be considered to be two pieces, as halfway you get a long guitar-strings instrumental which really conjures sadness right to your brain. Morita's voice also progresses accordingly, from almost shy to absolute flight before the gravitas kicks in. It abruptly turns into white noise before the following track, ぼくが君の思い出になってあげよう [I will become your memory]. As the title shows, this is strictly a remembrance- oriented theme, as once more the shadow of the dead friend becomes guide and motif of the whole productive work of Morita; that implies lyrics and reflection, and accordingly you get a calm and sweet track exempt from virtuosism of any kind. G線上にひとり [In G Line] is, in turn, a piano-oriented ballad. Notes almost fall like rain in a quite classical song; once more improvisation-like harmonics accompany Morita's voice, in a blueslike fashion (sans the electric guitar this time). Final track, 終曲のために第3番 「友への手紙」 [No. 3 for Finale ' Letter for my friend'] is indeed a read declaration of love and nostalgia for the departed friend, with instrumental background.

Morita will probably never score a comeback album, even if she has occasionally performed live in Japan (as far as I know, in Osaka's Live Cafe Blue Door in 2014, and some pubs in Tokyo; her voice and look being exactly the same). Yet, her official retirement, even if definitive, indeed helped to consolidate her mystique among two generations of Japanese, who still remember her among the greatest and more genuine composers of a revolutionary time in music and politics.


UPDATE: Doji Morita has died of heart failure on April 24, 2018 at the age of 65, almost a month since I wrote this review. Dearly missed.