Cornelius keeps it cooking
Cornelius, the enigmatic Keigo Oyamada, has spent decades perfecting a musical style that defies simple categorization. From the late 1990s onward, when his third album, Fantasma, received international distribution, many Western critics immediately drew comparisons to Beck. This association was well-earned; Cornelius demonstrated a mastery of sampling, an innate sense of rhythm, and a deep appreciation for the often-obscure corners of pop-music history.
Today, nearly three decades later, Cornelius continues to party and plunder musical history, though the approach has become distinctly more relaxed and less reliant on the influence of groups like the Beach Boys. While he has never picked up a harmonica, his influence remains vast, demonstrating a continuous, playful mutation of sound.
As he drifted into middle age, Cornelius wisely steered away from sad-dad folk, opting instead for urbane, slightly deconstructed pop. This evolution is evident in recent works like Mellow Waves in 2017 and Dream in Dream in 2023, which prioritize energy and sophisticated melodic lines over sentimentality.
Albums such as Refractions exemplify this shift, showcasing a penchant for gliding vocal melodies and silky syncopation that aims squarely for the dance floor rather than the cocktail lounge. The sound is rich with unexpected collaborations, pulling in a roster of English-speaking vocalists. For instance, on the groover “Aeons,” longtime colleague Sean Ono Lennon adds an extra layer of faux-authenticity to a 1970s funk groove with his electric-piano driven presence.
The eclectic spirit of Cornelius is further illuminated by his use of language. He often sings in Japanese on tracks featuring Japanese titles and kanji, such as “まざらない/ Mazaranai” and the flower-powered closer “溶解線 / Dissolving Line.” Yet, this bilingual approach doesn’t make the music more traditional; the tracks remain firmly rooted in ever-evolving funk-pop formulae, often featuring popping bass and smeared synth hooks.
When the approach takes a harder turn, as on the track “Mirrors,” the sonic experimentation intensifies. This track, one of the album’s longest at over eight minutes, is built around a relentless two-note bass line, dangerously cowbell-adjacent percussion, and a whirlwind of samples and sweet, noisy meltdowns. It embraces the dizzying eclecticism of his 1990s work, even incorporating a quote from Sun Ra’s immortal “Nuclear War.”
Whether exploring the retro-funk influence of Arto Lindsay on “Bad Advice,” or weaving complex sonic tapestries on “Mirrors,” Cornelius proudly continues to mutate. He proves that true musical longevity lies not in sticking to a lane, but in confidently exploring the most interesting, unpredictable corners of the musical landscape.
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