Windhill Journal

a fashion writer's fantasy musings

Dreaming I was dreaming

My partner and I recently raised the question during one of our many car rides in and out of the city – if a supernatural entity were to make contact with you somehow, where and how would they appear? In our dreams was the consensus, either with the face of family or friends, or as some sort of personal idol (ie: Britney Spears). It’s a common question that fiction often ponders, and so let’s elaborate.

I recently pored Thomas Ligotti’s first two short fiction prose, Songs of a Dead Dreamer (originally, 1985) and Grimscribe (1991). Penguin Random House compiled the two into a Penguins Classic publication in 2015, into this perfect tome of horror (sidenote: a perfect fit for my MUJI bag). Originally introduced to me through Clifford Sargent’s review of the non-fiction The Conspiracy of the Human Race (2010), Ligotti’s fiction marries his supernatural fantasies into the mysterious void of the dream world. Ligotti subsumes his H.P. Lovecraft influences, and outputs an evolved, surrealist form of cosmic horror, as described by modern sci-fi writer Jeff VanderMeer in the introduction. “The Music of the Moon”, “The Spectacles in the Drawer” and “Dream of a Manikin” stand out as unnerving examples of dreams and reality ominously colluding with one another. As prep for this blogpost, I revisited Lovecraft’s “Dagon”: our maddened protagonist suffers nightmares after his encounter with antediluvian forces outside of his understanding. It seems the elusive nature of dreams are roadmaps to encounters with eldritch beings.

Haruki Murakami may not draw obvious parallels to Ligotti, with the former leaning more towards Japanese magical realism, but they both possess a hypnotic quality in their writing. Ligotti paints in deeper tones of earth and indigos, with a thicker sense of dread and broader strokes. Murakami invokes a balmier colour palette, with a spring-time eye for modern details. Kafka on the Shore (2002) may be my favourite Murakami work, a surreal and labyrinthine interpolation of Oedipus’ tale in Greek mythology. A soft theory of dreams as a passageway between reality and the spirit world is a common topic in Murakami’s work. This bridge between worlds is apparently not difficult to cross in Murakami novels, which is all the more disconcerting when you realize his novels could be set anywhere, details notwithstanding.

“The more you think about illusions, the more they’ll swell up and take on form. And no longer be an illusion.”

Kafka on the Shore (2002), by Haruki Murakami

Like a swan song for the PS4 generation of consoles, 13 Sentinels: Aegis Rim was released worldwide September 2020, developed by Vanillaware. A magnus opus of winding plot twists and teeming with sci-fi lore (time travel, giant robots, kaiju), less than ten hours in and 13 Sentinels has been locked. The concept of dreams has been a constant mist in my mind, and like Murakami’s illusion, they’ve somehow taken on form in the plotlines of the game. One of my favourite plotlines involves a high school rich kid dreaming(?) about having a late night conversation with a pop star on his TV. Title that short story “Dream Within a Dream“. Check out the song below for those late-night apartment vibes. For posterity’s sake, also check out Namie Amuro’s “Dreaming I was dreaming“, which could have been an moodier alternate song choice.

Dreams are impossible, ethereal things, which makes them a rogue’s passage for supernatural or extraterrestrial forces. In any of the above mentioned stories, these forces thread in and out of mind with ease, masquerading as simple thoughts. If Britney Spears appeared to me in my dreams, I don’t think people would disbelieve me. The question of my sanity would take priority, but I don’t think I’m unhinged enough to imagine myself a protagonist of a cosmic horror. I’d want her to be angelic, reassuring, but instead, she might just be an omen to a troubled story.

“That’s the problem with telling stories, though, isn’t it? After the dust has settled, when you sit down to piece together what happened, and maybe more importantly how it happened, there are moments, like the dream, that forecast subsequent events with such accuracy you wonder how you possibly could have been deaf to their message. Thing is, it’s only once what they were anticipating has come to pass that you’re able to recognize their significance.”
The Fisherman (2016), by John Langan

Additional reading:

“Zhuangzi and his butterfly dream: the etymology of meng” by Jingjing Chen, for The China Story Project

“Thomas Ligotti 101: A Guide to the Cult Writer Now Linked to True Detective” by Jeff VanderMeer, for Vulture

“13 Sentinels: Aegis Rim” for Abby’s Gaming Blog

Jay De Belen

April 26, 2023
I read about a talking cat and now I’m happy

It’s been a laidback winter here at the Windhill Journal. Evidently too laidback, as I’ve been sleeping on the Journal; the last post was in January. This blog post exists because I got a call about the website’s hosting. Guilty, red-handed, for sitting around on a business expense. And it’s not like I’m in a media consumption drought; March 2023 and I’m eight novels and two, 30+ hour gaming experiences in, and I’ve just started God of War Ragnarok. I have no right to stew in my nerdy thoughts in solace, so blog writing it is.

After an arduous journey with the Losers’ Gang in Stephen King’s IT, I needed to come up for fresh, unhorrifying air. I believe in temperance and balance, so I sipped on Sosuke Natsukawa’s The Cat Who Saved Books, a YA novel translated by Louise Heal Kawai. My reading predilections have outgrown young adult fiction; creature features, cosmic horror and classic literature (recently, Herman Melville & Robert W. Chambers) is the current diet. But, The Cat was an impulse purchase from Book City, and a practice at washing off the rough edges. But another bookstore in my regular rotation, weighing in favour of fiscal irresponsibility… everyone has their addictions.

In The Cat Who Saved Books, we meet Rintaro Natsuki, a highschooler who inherits his dear and recently deceased grandfather’s bookstore, Natsuki Books. A quick Google search translates natsuki as green, or vegetable, or moon – collectively invoking farmer’s markets and RPG farming sims, in my mind. Natsukawa’s coming-of-age of a high-school hikikomori slots comfortably beside my Haruki Murakami and Sayaka Murata collections. His brand of prose leans far more towards a younger audience. In my imagination, the adventures of Natsuki and a talking tabby cat are painted in brushes of Hayao Miyazaki and Guillermo del Toro. For a light-hearted magical realism, Natsukawa is a comfortable read – it’s a bit on the nose, but a light Ghiblian dessert after a heavy Lovecraftian meal is a sweet bell.

The Cat Who Saved Books illustration by Yuko Shimizu

“This world throws all kinds of obstacles at us; we are forced to endure so much that is absurd. Our best weapon for fighting all the pain and trouble in the world isn’t logic or violence. It’s humor.”

As said by a talking tabby cat in a bookstore. Natsukawa leans heavy-handed into wholesome life lessons, wise in his homely naivety. “Logic and reason are never the best weapons in an irrational world,” says one villain in his labyrinth. It doesn’t get much more Miyazaki than that (unless of course the cat transforms into a twelve-legged yellow school bus). Miyazaki tends to be overt in his allegorical storytelling, and The Cat Who Saved Books reads within the same vein. At the end of the novel, Natsuki recommends to his young sweetheart Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude – this is an option that I may or may not take up. I’ve just got to plow through GoW Ragnarok first, Keep you posted, promise. I’ll leave you with my favourite passage:

“Reading is a lot like climbing mountains. It’s like finding a great view at the end of a long climbing trail. Reading can be gruelling. Of course it’s good to enjoy reading. But the view you can see hiking on a light, pleasant walking trail are limited. Don’t condemn the mountain because its trails are steep. It’s also a valuable and enjoyable part of climbing to struggle up a mountain step by step. If you’re going to climb, make it a tall mountain. The view will be so much better.”

Additional reading:

The Cat Who Saved Books (review) by Kathryn Hemmann, for Contemporary Japanese Literature

February Favourites 2023 by Alannah Batchellor, for Tiny in Toronto

“A commentary on 2022’s reading habits” for Windhill Journal

Jay De Belen

March 14, 2023
A review of Citizen Sleeper, by Jump Over The Age

Humanity’s struggling against a hostile world that hates them stretches back to the dawn of time, further than steel, oil and machines. “Survival of the fittest,” they say, and in Citizen Sleeper‘s intergalactic cyberpunk world, humans are not the only sitting on the gift of sentience. Do digital copies of human consciousnesses dream of pixel sheep? The humanoid replicant in a neon-lit city is a compelling motif, explored by other downtown sci-fi experiences, as in Cyberpunk 2077‘s Night City (developed by CD Projekt RED), Denis Villeneuve’s Blade Runner 2049 (best cinematography: the setting wins best actor) and my last-reviewed, SIGNALIS, by rose-engine. The kicker here is the point-and-click visual novel game style, and a larger focus on a smaller scale of struggle, as developed by Jump Over The Age, and published by Fellow Traveler.

I am no stranger to visual novels, let alone actual hard copy literature, so Citizen Sleeper‘s comes down with a satisfying gulp. Released on all major platforms except (curiously) on PlayStation, the game is a healthy plate of sci-fi meanderings on the streets of a planet-sized space station called Erlin’s Eye. As a sleeper, you are in the trenches here, in the stalls and shacks, clubs and bars, the rubble and the impossible overgrowth, all awash in a droning, mechanical glow. Delivered with dice rolls, resource management and a daily cycle, I heavily imbibed on Citizen Sleeper, on a two-day binge. I’m no marathon gamer, but time somehow slipped away as I watched the stories of my citizen friends, in their heroic and pitiful struggles, unfold. As creator Gareth Damian Martin ominously puts in WIRED Magazine, “dystopian stories have a history of portraying corporations as ruthless—and ruthlessly efficient.” An apt parallel to my experience as a decade-long sales associate.

The art, by Guillaume Singelin, reminds me of Scott Pilgrim and Keisuke Mizuno’s work on Megaman, and the user interface is armed with the warmest pinks in gaming sci-fi. Amos Roddy soundtracks the thing with synth muzak, currently going through test runs in my personal music library rotation. Citizen Sleeper‘s story luxuriates in its ten hour runtime, a rich chocolate cake that will most definitely command your reading comprehension.

Instead of larger than life stakes (steaks?), Martin wants to “stay with these people living ordinary lives in extraordinary settings.” It’s a mirror to every player’s existence living their own life, outside of grasping onto that controller, a figure, a blade of grass in a green meadow. The mundane and the everyday shouldn’t be treated with disdain, but cherished – how fleeting moments can be. I believe beauty is in the mundane. Citizen Sleeper is no sprawling epic, but by zooming the lens in on the individual experience, the poignance of these stories is revealed. Truly evocative, and a storytelling gem in the videogame medium, comparable to many wistful moments in other games, film and art.

I’ve been discovering many artists lately that romanticize the mundane. Haruki Murakami’s writing style paints with the combination of highbrow and lowbrow details. After very recently watching Chungking Express (1994), Happy Together (1997), and In The Mood for Love (2000) for the sole purpose of getting lost in Tony Leung’s eyes, I’m enamored by Wong Kar Wai’s dreamy, elegiac view of everyday life and romance. I am now tempted to get a Criterion Channel subscription. Even Hideo Kojima’s Death Stranding, the struggles of a package courier, juxtaposed against the natural beauty of Iceland, are revered. Any of those media touchpoints would be great reference to what Citizen Sleeper and Jump Over The Age can offer.

Additional reading:

“Citizen Sleeper and precarious survival in a capitalist world” by David Wildgoose, for Games Hub

“Citizen Sleeper Review” by Wesley LeBlanc, for Game Informer Magazine

“Enter the World of Wong Kar Wai with One of Criterion’s Best Box Sets” by Brian Tallerico, for RogerEbert.com

Jay De Belen

January 23, 2023
A commentary on 2022’s reading habits.

As it stands, John Langan’s The Fisherman was a key component to my blog writing renaissance of 2022. It hurled me back into the world of fiction and literature, a creative pool I’m familiar treading. My Grade 10 summer nights of young adult fantasy, rented from the local library, were the best. Consider this blog post a reflection of my own reading habits last year, also serving as sampler to my personal philosophies. Healthy doses of retail therapy has transformed my living space into a library and a curated retail store display. The current assessment is that the library needs more inventory. You can take the sales associate out of the mall, but you can’t take the mall out of the sales associate.

Published by Word Horde in 2016, The Fisherman uses German-American painter Albert Bierstadt’s Puget Sound on the Pacific Coast (1870) as its art, depicting a luminous storm on American shores. I’ve read through the book twice and somewhere in the historical recounting of its setting, the Ashokan Reservoir in New York, Langan’s convinces me that inexplicable, fantastic stories can hold true for different places. Every culture has its creation story, and every continent has its geological framework. Who’s to say how these stories can transpose through epoch and space, to reach different minds and times. Posthumously, Bierstadt’s work went largely unnoticed in the 1900’s, but had a resurgence in the 60’s. The hyperrealism of these landscapes, the technical minutiae, remind me of how surreal videogames can be – digital, non-existent spaces only available after the touch of man, or even, machine.

Bierstadt’s paintings aren’t simple, classic observations of landscapes, but purist fantasy, set in our own world. Scenes painted with heart-shaped hands, the luminosity of his work speaks hopefully to me, a Great Beyond smiling with the raspberry-tangerine sorbet of dusk. I read somewhere that Bierstadt’s style was soulless and corporate, but contradicting opinions are missed messages in the ether to me. Luminism, an American art movement of landscape paintings in the 1850’s, has this transportive quality to it – details finely hoevered over, even the least romantic heart would flutter. Videogame enthusiasts of the romantic persuasion will find the same escapist quality of Bierstadt’s landscapes in Guerilla Games’ Horizon franchise. I spent a chunk of time barrelling through the robodinosaur post-apocalyptic plains of California, Utah and Nevada, in awe of how wondrous and terrifying it must truly be to a puny human in a world beyond a bombed out understanding.

It’s probably a similar or comparable feeling Frodo and Samwise’s final stretch within Mordor, a sopping wet rag of dread, accompanied with their already heavy task of destroying that damn Ring. Tolkien painted its desolation is such musical beauty, the typical heaviness of description-heavy prose was instead arresting. The reason why readers and fantasy enthusiasts would continue to plow through this over 900-page epic is because Tolkien’s worldbuilding is bar none. I wouldn’t have felt so invested in Sam and Frodo’s journey had I not been with them since their worried squabbling, in the Shire. Many complain that the Shire bits of Lord of the Rings can be meandering, but that’s the point – Fellowship of the Ring can be seen as a literary portal, a hole into the Middle-earth dimension, through the rollicking medieval fields of the Shire.

Worldbuilding and painting seem to fall in the same spirit realm, creation through large swaths of colour, but details peppered in like ants in a colony. If large swaths of blue were a landscape, Yann Martel’s depiction of the Pacific Ocean in Life of Pi would be a character all its own. The spiritual trials of Pi Patel requiring their own writing, but Martel’s blue ocean is truly a god. Pi and his tiger are simple lifeforms against the vastness of the ocean, and the story delivers into its oceans watery depths, as if like Pi himself, it is all that we can see.

They say the ocean is humanity’s final frontier, the truest portal to a dimension before our land-dwelling ancestors. Should humanity conquer that dark fantasy? 2022 leaned heavily towards painterly scenes and escapist themes, mostly involving the ocean, already a motif in the horror I enjoy. Some epic fantasy was enjoyed, and I hope to tackle Guy Gavriel Kay’s Fionavar Tapestry or C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia, at least for the sake of ticking off the big box fantasies. I’d like to make an honourable mention to my favourite author of that year, Haruki Murakami, I love the style and respect he has for mundanity. I need a 300-page J-Horror.

Additional reading:

“About Jamilla Wu”

“Dreaming of Leviathan: John Langan’s The Fisherman and American Folk Horror” by Alexandra Hauke (University of Passau), for Revenant Journal

“A commentary on Oil Of Every Pearl’s Un-Sides by SOPHIE” for Windhill Journal

Jay De Belen

January 20, 2023
A review of SIGNALIS, by rose-engine

All images via rose-engine

When it comes to the polygonal PlayStation aesthetic, my rose-colored glasses are my favourite accessory, ones I’ve carried with me since my childhood JRPG experiences. Nostalgia is a powerful thing, carrying my credit card information all the way through a call to action by YouTube essayist Jacob Geller, into an assault by a PlayStation purchase screen. It won. Sold, on Signalis‘ polygonal, top-down gameplay and generous helpings of classic survival horror references.

A leisurely 15 hours in, rose-engine’s debut has sunk its fingers into my flesh. Being that the game is slow-paced and introspective take on a German/Eurasian Cold War setting, each revealed story layers feels dense and relevant in our current wartime zeitgeist. The clutch of Signalis feels like last winter’s playthrough of Parasite Eve. Ominous, confident and its lore calling for smart achtung (attention!), this is easily my most riveting videogame of 2022. Item management, claustrophobic corridors, and lo-fi horror science fiction storytelling – Silent Hill, Metal Gear Solid and Resident Evil all come to mind. Signalis, a light prism of references, commands its own attention.

Major applause to Barbara Wittmann and Yuri Stern, the two-person team at rose-engine, may Signalis be inducted in the pantheon of classic survival horror gaming. The screeching doors, the scarcity of usable (and sometimes combinable) items, save rooms to store your salvaged gear – all reverentially executed survival horror mechanics. It’s a sharp reminder that videogames don’t have to be open-world luxuries or graphical exegesis. A puzzle to tickle the mind is enough reason to pick up and play.

The breadth of references in Signalis is widespread, a highbrow selection of music, anime, film, videogame, art, and literature are all available for perusal. Art direction inspired by Neon Genesis Evangelion, Ghost in the Shell, Bladerunner, horror writers Richard Chambers (“The King in Yellow”) and H.P. Lovecraft (“The Festival”), European mid-century paintings; somehow, these all breathe within the walls of flesh and metal and wiring of the Signalis lore. And lo, does the lore beg to be taken apart with symbolic and analytical scalpels. I pride myself on my healthy diet of tasteful media and literature. Whatever weird fantasy rose-engine has churning in their witch’s brew, either for this current project or future releases, is welcome on my tasting menu.

I’m hoping rose-engine is able to continue making these chic indie games. Their debut Signalis has impregnable confidence in its eerie tone and shadowy gore, I was pushed to an instant purchase, an accidental, cosmic Christmas gift, I guess. I’m compelled to multiple playthroughs, each one like a dream. I highly recommend this for those looking for a Lovecraftian sci-fi, and I’m looking forward to shelling out cash for my Signalis merch.

Additional reading:

“A commentary on Aya Brea in Victoria Beckham FW2021” for Windhill Journal

“Exploring the resurgence of the low-fi 3D visual style of the PS1 era” by Paul-Walker Emig, for Retro Gamer Magazine

“Signalis‘ gorgeous design helped me overcome my fear of horror games” by Noelle Warner, for Destructoid

Jay De Belen

December 22, 2022
A commentary on Aya Brea in Victoria Beckham FW21

Parasite Eve‘s piercing winter setting begged me for a holiday playthrough last year. My creativity forge is kindled by JRPG femme fatales, so post-playthrough, I tinkered and eventually forgot about this PlayStation cover art mock-up I cobbled together. Taking inspiration from the savvy commerciality of Victoria Beckham’s Fall 2021 Ready-to-Wear collection, protagonist Aya Brea received a luxury makeover.

Fashion makeovers for videogame characters is a particular blogging niche, an idea copied and repurposed from John Jannuzzi’s Textbook Tumblr blog; Jannuzzi’s highbrow interpolations of fashion concepts was a personal North Star. Now, I am no wizard with digital paintbrushes, nor a warlock of layers, and vectors, and software of all types, but my criticizing eye can see that basics have done me fine. Last year’s unnecessary insecurities are a figment of the recent past, so here I share a visual take on Aya Brea.

The intersection of videogames and fashion is a quiet spellcraft, unsullied by the bombast of the toxicity of videogame journalism and fandom rhetoric. It’s a stylish road to take, traversed mostly by videogame girls and gays looking to dream up their favourite characters like dolls. Yoshitaka Amano, a forefather of the Final Fantasy lore, draws much of inspiration from fashion magazines and runway, as explored in previous musings on Amano’s Vogue collaboration.

In the game, Aya Brea is blonde and nubile, lacking in the impractical adornments and accessories in Tetsuya Nomura’s signature anime cyberpunk art style. Sporting an unassuming wardrobe of denim and blacks, it’s no stretch that Aya shops from the cool, understated cuts of the Victoria Beckham brand – the black and navy look is a modern interpolation of her opera incident dress, shifting the suggestive thigh slit to a flirty decolletage. Antagonist Eve dons a floral jacket, subtle reminiscences of Alexander McQueen and Christopher Kane, and a beautiful arrow pointing at to her biochemical abilities. It’s a pharmacological horror story, apparently worth over $200 in lightly used paperback format.

For the fellow creatives and artisans searching for mood music, check out and create to an extended version of Yoko Shimomura’s “Out Of Phase”. It soundtracks the story’s Manhattan police department, and is a moody, R&B jingle, encapsulating the bio-mystery of Parasite Eve.

Additional reading:

“How Parasite Eve Was A Step In (Social) Evolution” by Shanna Wynn-Sheriffs, for Sprites and Dices

“20 Years Later, I’m Still Thinking About The Bouncer” by Chingy Nea, for Kotaku.com

“Victoria Beckham Fall 2021 Ready-to-Wear” by Andres Christian Manders, for Vogue.com

Jay De Belen

December 1, 2022
A commentary on tackling Tolkien

I am only at waist-level in the waters of the magical prose of Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, and I’m enveloped, dripping in glorious, rich fantasy. I’ve built up to this enjoyment, training and enduring. I’ve been cutting my teeth on less intimidating texts, but still plowing through a healthy variety of reading this 2022, fiction, creative non-fiction and assorted anthologies included. Somehow, my initial penchant for JRPGs and other some such world-building videogames has manifested into a deeper appreciation for the written word – in and of itself, one of the paragons of my childhood entertainment. As much as I’ve been recently loving Haruki Murakami’s direct and conversational tone, phrases every so often landing a critical hit, or the meandering horror of H.P. Lovecraft’s prose, whose negative, miserable voice is human none the less, the high fantasy of J.R.R. Tolkien is the crème de la crème of novel writing, for me. The Hobbit has influenced my life, aesthetic and philosophical sensibilities, and can be found as a forefather in the genealogy of my love for the fantasy genre, offshoots and all.

I’ve read “The Fellowship of the Ring” before, during a personal transitory stage (aged 13-14) of moving from the loud and sticky Quezon City, Philippines to the wintry suburban Toronto. I do not think I was of the mind to fully digest “Fellowship”; I barely remember the reading experience, besides finding Tolkien a hugely descriptive slog, a tortoise in the rabbit sprinting of MTV and my diet of 90’s anthropomorphic YA novels based on bats (Kenneth Oppel’s Sunwing), deer (David Clement Davies’ Fire Bringer) and spiders (Colin Wilson’s Spiderworld series). In my mind, I remember only the rollicking fields of the Shire, a plodding conversation with Tom Bombadil, and nothing else. I’m prepared to exercise maximum thoughtfulness to fully digest. The Lord of the Rings is the equivalent of fantasy comfort food for me, and this is a full-bodied meal I’ve not savoured for decades.

Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings trilogy is tightly wound into my family’s Christmas traditions, full-volumes karaoke and Noche Buena included. Of course, we consider the entire film as one movie, divided as if by the three major meals of the day (more, if we feeling particularly peckish and hobbit-ish). One may enjoy any of the three movies individually, but it is best to consume the feast one after the other, without any other movies choices in between, Netflix/Crave/Amazon Prime be damned. The goal is to find no pause between the books, instead submerging into Tolkien’s Middle Earth, a metaphysical vacationer from the realm of the existing. The Silmarillion waits on the horizon, while Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials series and Guy Gavriel Kay’s Fionavar Tapestry wait even further out, ready for consumption.

Additional reading:

“Thoughts on Re-reading The Lord of the Rings” by Audrey Driscoll, for Audrey Driscoll’s blog

“How To Read The Lord of the Rings In Order” by Adrienne Westenfeld, for Esquire

“A commentary on Final Fantasy XII’s Ashe” for Windhill Journal

Jay De Belen

November 21, 2022
A commentary on Oil Of Every Pearl’s Un-Sides by SOPHIE

Coming from the rhapsodical squelching of Product, a compilation album pushing the avant-garde edges of pop music, to the aquatic, otherworldly shimmer of Oil Of Every Pearl’s Un-Sides perfects the organized freneticism of SOPHIE’s signature sound. Rumours of her brother Ben Long producing a posthumous release have amounted mostly to hearsay, though there’s reportedly hundreds of unfinished SOPHIE tracks ready for any other on-brand producer to maim or make magnificent. But, if all hyperpop aficionados are privy to is the rippling soundscapes of Oil Of…, the SOPHIE legacy at least remains a beautiful approximation of her voice, aesthetics and curiously, the shape of water.

The record crashes and waves like the rolling of the ocean, in all its natural glory. Unlike the natural, SOPHIE’s voice is twisted, distorted into varying shapes and colours, inserted here and there in precision tandem to every audio detail – an exercise in contrast. “Ponyboy” attacks the four-to-the-floor dance squelches, while “Faceshopping” lurches in industrial beats and reverie. A punchier version of the now retired Jpop vet Namie Amuro’s “B Who I Want 2” is found in “Pretending,” the closest we get to a cookie cutter hyperpop song, paradoxical phrasing aside. The wide landscape of “Is It Cold in the Water?” serves as prismatic reprieve to the heavier front half of Oil Of…, and “Whole New World / Pretending” is a ten-minute opus on swooshes and lasers, bringing us up from the water into the air.

More interestingly, the pervading thought I have about Oil Of… is it’s subconscious reference to the ocean. I’m more convinced that my recent delves into subaquatic media is colouring my filters. Yann Martel’s Life of Pi sits on my bookshelf, a prophet on his mountaintop, recently read and cognizant of its affectations; Herman Melville’s Moby Dick and Nick Cutter’s The Deep wait in the wings, to be swallowed up in the greedy depths of my imagination. It might also be that I’ve clocked in 40 hours careening in Unknown Worlds Entertainment’s Subnautica. But the ocean is calling me to, in every book, every film, every song I listen to – the reasoning for these conversations with the seas eludes me, but I’m hearing them in SOPHIE. The depths of the ocean roll in the sonic details, mechanical and synthesized but dripping in cosmic magnificence, but the oil rises top of mind.

Additional reading:

“A commentary of Final Fantasy XII’s Ashe” for Windhill Journal

“A commentary on Black (Dolby Atmos Music) by Britney Spears” for Windhill Journal

“A commentary on Versace Resort SS2023” for Windhill Journal

Jay De Belen

November 16, 2022
A commentary on Final Fantasy XII’s Ashe

Arguably one of the most nuanced, and criminally discounted, female protagonists of the Final Fantasy series, Ashe lays claim as one of my personal favourite FF characters. Ashelia B’Nargin Dalmasca, a princess of a conquered nation, has motives that live within the grayscale of the plain-sightedness of good and evil within most games in the franchise. Alleyway Jack explores this concept best – Ashe as a foil to her antagonist Vayne Solidor, an imperial micromanager for venomous gods, who is also equipped with his own dark, political agendas. All fantasy state of affairs aside, Ashe’s character designs are a tasteful mix of needless dishabille and blacksmithery, and somehow so in vogue.

Reflections of John Galliano’s irreverent couture collection for Christian Dior in 2006 are woven together through bronze-plated threads, battle greaves and pauldrons, adorned in delicate fleur-de-lis patterns. There’s even some Thierry Mugler Fall 1995, with armour bodices, and some Balenciaga Fall/Winter 2021, and its heavy greaves. Akihiko Yoshida, also responsible for designs in Final Fantasy XIV, Final Fantasy Tactics and Vagrant Story, breathes such specific life to his work, leaning more towards a medieval fantasy aesthetic. It’s a contrast to the cyberpunk anime of Tetsuya Nomura, or the storybook joy of Akira Toriyama. The fashion is so deftly reimagined, its travelled through before and after its 2006 release.

I am both a Final Fantasy veteran fan and a couture enthusiast – a luxurious makeover for Ashe’s character design, one befitting a crowned queen, would be a moment.

All images via Livingly

Additional reading:

“Christian Dior Fall 2006 Couture” by Sarah Mowers, for Vogue.com

“An Atypical Princess: Ashelia B’Nargin Dalmasca” by Melissa Velte, for Fantasy Magazine

“A review of Louis Vuitton SS2023” for Windhill Journal

Jay De Belen

November 7, 2022
A commentary on Blackout (Dolby Atmos Music) by Britney Spears

Any positive news concerning the body of work of Britney Spears, the unbreachable and ubiquitous celebrity extraterrestrial and a personal god, is cause for celebration. Thankfully, thirst for Spears music can now be quenched with the Dolby Atmos Music spatial audio update. For connoisseurs and frequenters of the original 2007 release, this new aural immersion carves out sharper depths and details in the mix. Previously unheard, we can now apparently pinpoint the genesis of Katy Perry’s entire sound (“Ooh Ooh Baby”), a seed in Pharrell Williams’ mind of Ariana Grande’s Sweetener (“Why Should I Be Sad”), while the Pussycat Dolls’ ephemeral discography can be completely knocked back quick in “Perfect Lover”.

“Radar” gets the most obvious treatment, a buzzier and dizzier affair, its phasered harmonies whipping the chorus around; “Toy Soldier” is painted similarly, squelching to great effect. Wielding a wide and ominous spectrum of frequencies, “Get Naked (I Got a Plan)” is an eviler twin to the processed Atari lasers of “Gimme More”, now featuring some heavier sidechain compression on the background vocals. “Piece of Me” practically features Swedish pop auteur Robyn, coming off rockier than any of their previous material. With interplanetary strings, skittering percussion, and Spears’ unmistakeable tone and delivery, pushed and spread out into the audio forefront, the Dolby Atmos version of Blackout is essentially a sci-fi pop album.

It’s easier to hear the transition from the post-In The Zone rebellious impunity, performed with blistering sexuality and electricity in “My Prerogative”, “Do Somethin’”, and “I’ve Just Begun (Having My Fun)”, to the pulsating, ruinous after hours of Blackout. By and large, the potation of Britney Spears produced a spatial sound and pop music magnum opus, the purest distillation of 2000’s pop music. If her creative cabinet runneth permanently dry, Blackout will forever serve as the perfect aperitif; the Dolby Atmos update a clean and biting gin and tonic to the original’s scandalous shot of tequila.

Additional reading:

“WTF is Dolby Atmos Music (aka Spatial Audio)” by Chris Boylan, for eCoustics.com

“Britney Spears’ ‘Blackout’: A Salute to Her Misunderstood Punk Masterpiece” by Rob Sheffield, for Rolling Stone

“A commentary on Versace Resort 2023” for Windhill Journal

Jay De Belen

November 3, 2022
A review of Louis Vuitton SS2023

Creatives, be it in literature, film, videogame or fashion space, have an impossible trove of inspiration in the trenches and plains of our oceans. Classic lit writers like Herman Melville (Moby Dick) and Ernest Hemingway (The Old Man and the Sea) wax poetic on loneliness and the resolute man at sea. James Cameron hopes from movie success in pelagic setting, in the upcoming Avatar: The Way of Water. Videogame developers Unknown Worlds Entertainment breathe life into the Subnautica series’ sprawling underwater biomes for virtual exploration.

Especially, fashion finds beauty in the seas: Alexander McQueen’s Spring/Summer 2010 remains an iconic collection, Dutch designer Iris Van Herpen brings a technical, geometric approach to biology and Japanese designer Tomo Koizumi‘s gigantic ruffled organza dresses look just like coral and anemones. In Louis Vuitton latest SS2023 collection, Nicolas Ghesquiere plays with oversized hardware elements and a mastery in print-mixing that evoke a threatening beauty, and what is more threatening than the mystery of the ocean?

South Korean actress HoYeon Jung, of Netflix’s Squid Games, opens the show with puffed air bags – notable are the supersized zippers, luggage tags, excess panniers and exaggerated silhouettes throughout the collection. Like colossal squid and most of the cetacean genus, the deeper into the ocean we go, the more supersized entities can be. As if Ghesquiere is imitating nature’s evolutionary paroxysms with proportions, only his canvas can be found in the folds and frills of Vuitton womenswear.

There is a caricatured quality to many of the looks, reminding us of Jeremy Scott’s creations at Moschino. The mixing of colours, prints and textures seem impossibly styled – a magical pitchfork matching floral lace leggings against chiffon or ostrich-tinged baby dolls, a campy chateau handbag carried with dazzling elastic trousers, with dreamy tempered corduroy looking like brain coral. This collection doesn’t opt for subtlety.

Capricious as the industry may seems, Ghesquiere has his finger on the pulse of the Louis Vuitton customer – extra embellishment and a forward-thinking interest in fashion. The only pairings these garments would allow are sundries that swim the same maximalist waters – stylists will go mad for the spring/summer 2023 editorials.

All images via Vogue.com

The Louis Vuitton clientele may not be of the most accessibly financial tax bracket, but the brand’s aquatic SS2023 collection is a casual visit to coral reefs and ravines. Prints and colours suggest marine life, but luxuriate in Ghesquiere sensibilities – simplicity begone! Maybe the discerning consumer will sense the seabiomes, and turn a favourable eye instead to the preservation nature’s most bountiful treasure trove. We are due a new Plato’s Atlantis.

Additional reading:

“Nicolas Ghesquiere Supersizes Reality at Louis Vuitton” by Kristen Bateman, for W Magazine

“Fashion Flashback: When Alexander McQueen Met The Internet” by Aria Darcella, for Fashionista

“A review of Christian Dior SS2023” for Windhill Journal

Jay De Belen

November 1, 2022
A review of Secret by Ayumi Hamasaki

By 2006, eight albums into an already illustrious career as the “Empress of J-pop,” Ayumi Hamasaki would be a priestess to the art of theatre and production value, in all its campy glory. Even Secret was initially announced to be a seven-track EP, eventually emerging as a full-length album and a well-packaged cornerstone of mid-2000’s J-pop. The product packaging has always mattered in Hamasaki’s career, a diamond in the crown of American pop star success, in the vein of Britney Spears, Destiny’s Child and ultimately, Madonna. In Hamasaki’s case, we’re sold the record label version of a porcelain doll, with a wardrobe curated and Vivienne Westwood-ified. True to corporate excellence, Secret comes out the factory a palatable serving of Japanese pop rock, awash in mid-aughts nostalgia and over-produced arrangements.

Happy to report that Secret is an unspoken gem in the glimmering Hamasaki discography. It’s easy and funny to come back to, like a chirping bird song in the homogenous woods I’ve grown much accustomed to. It evokes a time of youthful sincerity, hopeful for the sake of being hopeful – poignantly, Hamasaki’s music has always paraded its glittering optimism. Secret is a time-capsule tonic.

The immediacy of the electrorock tracks like “until that Day…” and “1 LOVE” is palpable but comically oversized – Hamasaki’s shrill, melodic tone is mixed to the its best capabilities underneath the charge of guitars. “Born To Be…” has reverb turned to max, battling against a wall of orchestra, while “BLUE BIRD” delivers the quintessential Hamasaki summer feeling. “Startin” is akin to a family pack of sweets, 2000’s pop trends and everything in between is candied and accounted for. But remember, Ayumi Hamasaki music is direct companion to its visuals – all seven music videos from the album cycle carry a joyfulness intrinsic to the J-pop craft. Viewers will experience a sparkle-heavy Swarovski ad (“JEWEL”), a Narnia meets Lord of the Rings set that’s very mid-aughts (“momentum”), and a curious interpolation of the gyrating of Britney Spears (“Startin”).

The Another night remix of “Ladies Night” runs well along Secret’s tracklist (the original can be found on (miss)understood), with its fizzy production finding much clearer threads within other rock-influenced cuts. As well, a well-performed cover of TRF’s “teens” is relegated as a b-side to the single release of “Startin’/Born To Be…,” slotting in quietly into Hamasaki’s ballad repertoire. Both tracks are welcome extras.

The 2022 pop music landscape finds modern iterations of J-pop in Rina Sawayama, the revitalized Utada Hikaru career and the foundations of hyperpop. Sawayama’s discography is a deep dive into manufactured pop stardom, while riffing on the Hamasaki sense of theatricality. And while Hikaru’s new phase in their career is inspired, it’s indebted to the recent rise of 90’s house beats. Secret delivers a glossy vision all its own, like the pages of a 2005/2006 Japanese fashion magazine.

I recall Ayumi Hamasaki’s mid-2000’s form fondly, as much of her music ‘06 to ‘10 were set in my post-high school, pre-university graduation timeframe. Hamasaki is context to the formation of my personality. Her entire Japanese pop star package, I worshiped, a goddess of zealous effervescence. These days, I like to light a candle or two at her altar, Secret is my tealight and a tonic.

Additional reading:

“Album Review: Ayumi Hamasaki – Secret” by Random J, for Random J Pop / Pop Commentary Foolishness

“Bold & ambitious: Innovation in Ayumi Hamasaki’s (miss)understood” by Anna, for appears music blog

“A review of BORN PINK by BLACKPINK” for Windhill Journal

Jay De Belen

October 27, 2022