For a few years now, the Los Angeles-based label Black Editions has been doing a bang-up job reissuing the catalog of the deservedly storied Japanese imprint P.S.F. Records. The latest selection is Heavenly Persona, the sole studio album from Shizuka, the band of vocalist-guitarist (and dollmaker) Miura Shizuka and her guitarist husband Miura Maki; drummer Kosugi Jun completes the lineup. A record of captivating beauty and intensity, it’s making its vinyl debut April 7 as a double set with an etched fourth side and a tri-fold jacket + mounted booklet that includes an English translation of Miura Shizuka’s extensive final interview (she passed by suicide in 2010). It’s an essential acquisition for fans of the 1990s underground.
Heavenly Persona opens with an exquisite fake out, as the record’s first track “+” finds highly potent noise rock with a tangible heavy psych undercurrent immediately bursting out of the speakers (and in league with the heavier side of the P.S.F. label roster). The barrage lasts for roughly two minutes, at which point a quieting down commences as Miura Shizuka’s voice enters, speaking not singing, and the track ends at a succinct 2:45.
And yet it’s important to note the cacophony that dominates and eventually dissipates in “+” is unlikely a fake out by intention, as this sort of psych squall came naturally to Miura Maki, he a member of both the legendary Japanese psych-noise rock outfit Les Rallizes Dénudés and also the estimable Fushitsusha alongside the great avant-garde disrupter Keiji Haino (Shizuka’s drummer for this album Kosugi Jun also played in Fushitsusha after Maki’s departure).
Heavenly Persona’s second track “Pandora’s Box” is more indicative of Shizuka’s general direction on this record, which as stated was Shizuka’s only studio release amongst four subsequent full-lengths all documenting live performances—the Live Shizuka CD (Persona Non Grata, 1995), the Tokyo Underground ’95 CDr (Last Visible Dog, 2000), the Traditional Aesthetics CD (P.S.F., 2008), and the Paradise of Delusion LP/CD (An’archives, 2021), plus four self-released cassettes, the last of which, “4” was reissued by Black Editions as part of a limited edition Heavenly Persona bundle that’s already sold out in pre-order.
“Pandora’s Box” is a quieter and prettier affair, but it’s not aptly described as gentle or dream poppish, as a tension is felt in the track’s progress that reinforces Shizuka’s psychedelic orientation. But missing is a calculated expression of codified psych-rock form moves; Shizuka has drawn comparisons to 4AD, and while that’s not inaccurate, it’s worth remarking how “Pandora’s Box” is a smidge reminiscent of something Kendra Smith might’ve released solo post-Opal.
However, nothing on Heavenly Persona invites easy comparisons. One could suggest the slow drift of “Butterfly, Alight on a Girl’s Lips” will please ears attuned to the sounds that Damon & Naomi were making during the same era, but it’s necessary to underscore the small number of direct stylistic correlations across the album.
In terms of pacing and in Kosugi Jun’s drumming, there is a similarity to early Low in Heavenly Persona’s standout track “Plan for Solitude,” though it took me nearly a dozen listens to hear the likeness. Next is “Plan for Solitude,” stretching out to nearly ten minutes, with the emotional thrust coming courtesy of Miura Shizuka’s vocals, though the impact is deepened by Jun and the sharpness of her husband’s soaring guitar solo late in the track.
So it is on Heavenly Persona as a whole. “Bloodstained Flower” extends from this template wonderfully and introduces a deeper current of melancholy. The relatively concise “Crystal Wings” expands the instrumental foundations with some bowed (likely guitar) strings. And in closing the record, “6 Gram Star” breaks ten minutes and through another blistering psych guitar solo in the song’s back half, reintroduces some of the rock heaviness, if not flat-out noise scorch.
It feels impossible to contemplate Heavenly Persona without also thinking of Miura Shizuka’s suicide, and I’m not sure I’d even want to separate the two. The record endures as a remarkably powerful statement (especially when absorbed with Shizuka’s sheer talent as a dollmaker) and a testament to the strength of the 1990s Japanese underground. Hopefully this reissue will raise Shizuka’s profile so that the band’s live records receive new editions on vinyl.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
