Hiroshima, Kristinehamn, and Kerzliao
Hiroshima has been on my bucket list for years. Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s Drive My Car (2021) reveals the unique tranquility of the city rebuilt upon the desolation of war. When Misaki Watari and Yusuke Kafuku visit the incineration plant, she explains that the building is aligned with the urban axis — on which Atomic Bomb Dome and Peace Memorial Park locate — through a corridor. The corridor is called Ecorium; at its end, the sea glimmers under the sunlight.
Those tourist attractions contribute to only part of my interest in the city. Instead, my motive is but somehow a band named after the city: Oh Hiroshima. They’re a post-rock dual based in Kristinehamn, Sweden, and their fourth full album Myriad (2022) has lately been released. Unlike Hamaguchi’s Hiroshima, the album opens with distorted feedback that shadows the audience’s sight. Only when vocal and guitar join later can the listeners see the shape of such darkness.
As they’ve always done, the band plays with catchy riffs that fit perfectly into every fragment of chord progressions. Putting together ascending and descending chords in syncopated rhythm, they stay loyal to their usual techniques to dramatise the flow of songs. Audience may find the traces of familiar patterns in “Veil of Uncertainty,” “Tundra,” and so on. Pieces like “All Thing Past” also include iconic guitar lines that resemble the ones previously introduced in “In Solar” and “Ruach.” I particularly appreciate how the band deals with dissonance in the last track, “Hidden Chamber.” Their brilliant transition between chords and instruments smoothens all the inharmony and sharpness, leaving the album an elegant, lingering conclusion.
In spite of the similar elements, Myriad is definitely more than another copy of Oh Hiroshima’s previous works. The band underwent member reshuffle over the last few years, which drove them to discover new possibilities in how their tracks can be constructed. And they certainly succeeded. In their earlier works, bass drums and lead guitar lines together frame out the space in which effect pedals echo. Such space dissolves, in Myriad, into layers of voices that pile up the wall of sound in a brand new manner.
The opening track “Nour” exemplifies how the texture of sound has varied, as well as the innovation such variation has carried out. The intro begins with echoing vibration, followed by low-pitch hymn, as if driving on an endless plain under northern moon. Later on, the ascending guitar lines shed light to the surroundings, suggesting the upcoming sunrise with a touch of colour in the vast space above. As the brass enters the song, the scenery constructed by notes finally becomes clear. The solo breaks through the distorted tone like the first ray of a day, creating fascinating sense of immersion into the imageries of music.
The emotional trumpet blast as if ignites a spark in the mist, reminding me of the one in “Kerzliao,” a track from Aphasia’s Take It, You Need Medicine (2012). The song develops a fluent, andante movement with regular chords, as though pacing on a costal embankment alongside splashing waves. Following the sorrowful main theme, the audience can see the Taiwanese southwestern shore full of bleakness of countryside. The ending brass casts a pale light that penetrates through layers of cumulus clouds, as though the captivating phrase that can be heard in “Nour.”
It is amazing that all these imageries pop out and echo each other from works having different origins and composed in different times. Perhaps that’s why the genre post-rock attracts fans from all over the world. Myriad undoubtedly deserves acknowledgement as a great post-rock album, as Oh Hiroshima once again prove themselves capable of creating emotional resonance through excellent techniques. The band successfully led my senses to approach the northern night of Sweden, the eastern brightness of Japan, and the southern sorrow of Taiwan. They have certainly managed to captivate a myriad of invisible darkness and light.
