Joji’s latest album is a masterpiece that dares to ask: Can loneliness be transformed into something breathtakingly beautiful? For me, the answer is a resounding yes. During the isolating, restless days of lockdown, I found solace in Joji’s ethereal melodies. As a preteen confined to my room, his music became my anchor, a reminder of normalcy in a world turned upside down. (Photo courtesy of Bandcamp)
But here's where it gets controversial: Joji’s music isn’t just about loneliness—it’s about the raw, unfiltered experience of growing up. Japanese-Australian artist George Kusunoki Miller, known as Joji, released his boldly titled album on February 6, and it’s a testament to his ever-evolving sound. This record is a mirror to my own journey with his music: intricate, layered, and occasionally inconsistent. Not every track resonated with me, but those moments of dissonance only highlighted the album’s overall brilliance.
Joji’s artistry pulses with the rhythms of adolescence. As his sound experiments and shifts, so do I. His songs are drenched in heartbreak, longing, and insecurity, yet they seamlessly blend passion with aggression—a duality that defines this album. Take the opener, ‘PIXELATED KISSES,’ a heavy, edgy track where flickering drums and explosive synthesizers capture his urgency. Joji’s lyrics feel like a direct conversation with an out-of-reach lover, circling thoughts we’ve all had but rarely voiced.
And this is the part most people miss: Track three, ‘Last of a Dying Breed,’ begins with a haunting melody, its synthesizers echoing a desperate yearning—the very essence of love’s complexity. The split drum track and organ piano create a rhythm that’s both grounded and fleeting, perfectly complementing his lyrics about soaring and falling. Then there’s ‘LOVE YOU LESS,’ a standout track with its real drum kit and indie rock vibe. The line, ‘If I love you less, will you love me more?’ feels like the album’s thesis, a question we’ve all grappled with.
Beyond these highlights, tracks like the tender ‘Hotel California,’ the fleeting ‘Love Me Better,’ the enchanting ‘Sojourn,’ and the closing ‘Dior’ deepen the album’s emotional intimacy. This is Joji’s most experimental work yet, with blown-out bass lines and restless beats that add a new edge to his signature melancholy. But let’s be honest—it’s not flawless. Some songs, like ‘Silhouette Man,’ feel more like extended interludes than fully realized ideas.
Yet, despite its imperfections, this album is a triumph. It’s raw, indecisive, and restless—a perfect reflection of adolescence. As I continue to grow alongside Joji’s evolving sound, this record reminds me that change isn’t something to fear, but something to embrace. Joji remains an artist who not only understands loneliness but elevates it into art. Is this album a reflection of our shared human experience, or is it too experimental for its own good? Let’s discuss in the comments—I’m eager to hear your thoughts.
