Are denpa songs reclining? Are they changing into something else? Would introducing content from further beyond and stretching their definition save them? These questions that occasionally surface portray some of the anxiety fans of denpa songs have regarding the future of the genre. With activity slowing down and the peak far behind, it seems like a matter of time until the journey ends - and with it the denpa dream will fade away. There is no aid to put an end to this horror scenario.
In the past few years, I was busy looking back, not forward. I was trying to find evidence of earlier and earlier "denpa songs" and fit them inside its flimsy definition. In obscure doujin albums that have long not been sold, in decrepit websites archived and forgotten, in denpa song discussions both in 2channel and in 4chan's /jp/. History going back more than half a century, to understand better what people congregated around two decades back, what vision they had. Many others have done so before, with extensive websites dedicated to denpa songs scattered over Internet Archive.
Traditional Interpretation of Denpa Songs
One instance, an essay written by an anonymous website administrator only known by handle "kyun-nou" (キュン脳), had an extensive interpretation of what "denpa song" was at the time of writing, February 2004. It offers an informative glimpse to the early days of denpa songs. Next is a rough translation of what I think to be the relevant parts.
"Denpa song? What's that?
It is unconditionally referred to as denpa song, but what makes it a denpa song? The explanation varies from person to person, and as such the definition of denpa song changes depending on the person. But even now, if you call it a denpa song everybody will agree.
I wonder why that is.
So I've been thinking on what the hell makes denpa songs what they are."
The explanation is as follows, in short:
The vast majority of denpa songs have two elements, "denpa" and "moe". The first, "denpa", is mostly applied in the writing - the content of the songs is so strange as to deter normal people. The second, "moe", is mostly applied in the singing - it is cutesy to the point of bringing an ordinary listener, but to the denpa song listener, it is a source of immense satisfaction. The importance placed on each element differs from song to song.
"Let's break down denpa song into different categories
Earlier I said that I wanted to break down denpa song to different categories. And so, what types of denpa songs are there? I got the mp3 data and separated it into several categories. Below are the categories I came up with:
* Moe songs
* Burning songs
* Painful songs (i.e. "cringe")
* Funny songs
* Strange songs
I was able to divide them to these five categories."
Here too, let me paraphrase the author's interpretation of the different categories:
Denpa songs are divided into five categories which may overlap. Moe songs have the impression of cuteness and affection, with a feeling of attraction that is almost impossible to put into words, but comes naturally to the listener. The burning songs are the masculine and energized songs originally featured in old mecha anime and the like (i.e. "Japan Break Industries", trending at the period). The three last categories, painful, funny and strange, group together terrible singing or terrible lyrics or are otherwise thematically obscene with sexually explicit lyrics.
Not all denpa songs have the capacity to "brainwash" people (that is, in denpa-kei spirit, be very catchy). However, moe songs are catchy by design, and given the chance will get stuck in your head. They are written like shoujo manga, focusing on the feelings of a storyteller projected to the listener. This storyteller assumes the ideal image of an innocent maiden, and transmits the feelings with a youthful voice. How catchy they are, their ability to captivate people, is what makes them "denpa songs" in the first place despite being entirely different from the other categories on their own. They are the manifestation of an unlikely high-school age girl entering a lonely adult male's life in song.
Moe Songs within Denpa Songs
Evidently, many sorts of songs have been labeled "denpa songs" over the years. The Denpa Song Guideline website, commonly known in the denpa song fan community, shows too an attempt at categorization - splitting denpa songs into "moe-denpa style" and "real-denpa style". This distinction was also made in the first two Denpa Song Prize rankings, having different rankings for each category. However, that distinction was made only twice - for the first and second halves of 2003. The distinction was abandoned as of 2004. Moreover, the number of votes for the "moe-denpa style" category are visibly higher. Compare 900+ votes versus 350+ between "moe-denpa" and "real-denpa" in the first half of 2003, and 9000+ votes versus 1000+ in the second half of 2003. This gives at least some manner of indication that "moe-denpa" was the main attraction of denpa songs in the first months after its conception.
One feature of these sort of more-or-less personal websites is that they often linked to other, similar websites. Some of them referred to other song rankings, established just a year or two before the term was coined. Take for example Project Angel Wing's Moe Moe Ranking from 1999.
The website gave the following criteria for the songs it listed:
"Singing - the more energetic it is, the more points it gets, without consideration for actual singing ability.
Composition - the more poppy and and high-spirited the song is, the more points it gets, without consideration for melody and performance.
Lyrics - the more carefree the lyrics are, the more points it gets, without consideration for artistic quality.
At times, there are songs mixed in I thought were genuinely good without being moe (no points given).
They are ordered from the top by their use of powerful poisonous radio waves"
In other words, the ideas were already present a couple years before the appearance of the 2channel threads that spawned in the wake of Miko Miko Nurse's popularity. What's important however, is actually not the underline in bold. The ranking is, in its nature, a moe song ranking - which suggests that as far back as 1999, the concept of moe songs already existed. Other song rankings also connect between moe songs and songs from bishoujo games. I believe this adds to the flimsiness of the denpa song terminology. After all, only a couple years prior, what seems to be the same subset of people referred to the same subset of songs under a different name. At the very least, it suggests that "denpa song" was built on an existing platform of songs, which remained the significant part over the years.
From Deduction to Induction
The problem with this chase after terminology is that no term is eternal, going back in time forever. Only a couple years prior to these early song rankings, the term "moe" was coined. What of the songs before then? Was Manikyua-dan performing moe songs, denpa songs or something else entirely in 1993? Was Fumie Hosokawa just an idol singer in 1992? Was Idol Hakkenden's ending theme just that, an ending theme for a game in 1989? And so on and so on, reaching even the mid-60s, with magical girl anime theme songs.
The issue with the thinking process is assuming in the first place a general concept and inferring from it general qualities that are then located in the songs. In other words, to get a better understanding of the nature of these songs, one has to assume first that there is no "denpa song" and there is no "moe song". There are songs made for audiences in the general public - like theme songs from magical girl anime, written for a crowd of young girls. There are songs made for the growing otaku crowd - like theme songs from bishoujo anime, written for a crowd of young adult males.There is idol music, subject to trends of "kawaii" and "burikko" throughout the 80s and 90s. There are also non-commercial songs, made by amateurs and hobbyists from within otaku culture, so called "doujin music". Songs that can be tied together, in several ways, grouping them together with more valid conditions that stem from evidence and not conjecture.
Therefore, I suggest taking the first step in putting an end to "denpa song" - not to the music, but to the definition. Changing times and new discoveries force us to revise the ways in which we think. The term "denpa song" doesn't hold water anymore, and it has to go. I will present a different concept of the music in the near future, which may or may not be accepted, and could very well be challenged and fall apart. You, the readers, the denpa song community, and the otaku community in general, all have a part in determining the future of the flagship music of otaku culture. As such, I wish for more of you to come forward, explore, challenge and pave the way for new discoveries and realizations.
Friday, August 6, 2021
Essay on the Mechanism of Moe in Otaku Culture
Otaku culture is a learning
experience. It’s also a personal experience. Different niches that speak to
different people – there’s never a shortage of things to hear about for the
first time. There are people who dedicate their entire lives to researching anime,
manga and video games, as well as their creators and consumers. Some, like cultural
critic Eiji Ootsuka, would say that it is for naught, that, that scholarly
attention to ‘otaku’ is a farce, and that the academia is better geared towards
solving real issues. Maybe they’re correct, and there’s really nothing to it. But
otaku culture is a learning experience, and a personal experience. There are
many who feel indebted to this world, and want to give back – columnists in
local fanzines writing about their interests, restoration teams that preserve
old works, small online dedicated fan servers, all kinds of hobbyists and
enthusiasts and even pirates – a collective integral to the loosely defined ‘otaku’
community and its associated culture. Step by step, I also tried contributing
in several ways, this decrepit blog one of them.
The
following is an adaptation of an essay of mine, titled “Gender Performance and
Salvation – Moe Healing in Otaku Culture”, originally intended to be in the
general theme of women in modern Japan. Technically, that’s indeed the case,
with one small caveat - the women are fictional. Cute girl characters,
henceforth referred to as ‘bishoujo’, were plastered all around otaku culture
since time immemorial, or perhaps better put, since there was anything like
otaku culture to begin with. Cybele introduced a generation of manga
fans to the incorporation of erotica into manga art and kicked off the bishoujo
trend. The DAICON IV opening animation introduced
a generation of science fiction fans to the incorporation of bishoujo into
science fiction anime. Even MCMLXC, the doujin CD album known as the
first of its kind, featured a bishoujo character on its cover – a cheery and
youthful little witch, adorned with ribbons and little stars. This despite
having only one vocal track, which does little to suggest it having any
relation with bishoujo. When I take a single glance into contemporary otaku, I
see cute girls everywhere. Bishoujo’s latest iteration, Virtual YouTubers, have
spread far and wide, capturing the hearts of millions of fans around the world.
My blog’s namesake, denpa songs (or moe songs), are equally dependent on these
fictional girls to work their magic. There’s something at hand, but what?
Surely there’s a logical approach that can contain all of these examples and
explain them as one.
Synergy Music Network's MCMLXC (1990/1)
This is how I
initially thought of it. I spent many restless nights trying to come to a
conclusion of what ties all of these together, based on the academic research
and other evidence I had available. That hasn’t happened, maybe for the best. I
haven’t come across anything new, anything groundbreaking. Patrick Galbraith in
Debating Otaku warned against the academic discourse that haphazardly
connected between several key instances associated with otaku culture: the
supposed coinage of the word ‘otaku’ in bishoujo magazine Manga Burikko
in 1983, the capture of serial killer Tsutomu Miyazaki in 1989, or perhaps the
airing of Neon GenesisEvangelion in 1995. These are not
unimportant things. But they dazzle so brightly that it’s easy to miss the
things that happened long before them, the things that happened alongside them
and the things that happened between them. My intention is to try to draw lines
between the different iterations of the purported ‘otaku’ community and from
that cast a new light on the function of the equally flimsy term ‘moe’ (as per
the title).
Understanding the Rise of Otaku
Yoshihiko Fujii is a veteran
musician and one of the original participants of Synergy Music Network’s doujin
CD albums with singer-songwriter Ikuko Ebata as part of band Nekoya (猫屋). In a series
of essays from 2009 (titled “The Age of ‘Otaku’ Pioneers”), he wrote
extensively about the meaning of the word ‘otaku’ and the different generations
of fans and enthusiasts associated with it. While the experience of a single
person does not and cannot reflect the reality of many, his writing nonetheless
provides relevant insight to the intricacies of the period.
The
word ‘otaku’ is ambiguous by the virtue of English transliteration not properly
reflecting its Japanese use. As I understand it, it is generally agreed upon in
academic research that the origins of the word are in the way visitors of fan
conventions in the late 1970s addressed one another, adapting the honorific second-person
pronoun ‘otaku’ (お宅). For enthusiastic fans, it was a way to respectfully talk to
other people with whom they weren’t yet acquainted. So far so good, but fans of
what? According to Fujii, mostly fans of manga. However, Ootsuka, in an
interview conducted for Galbraith’s The Moe Manifesto, said it was first
used among science fiction fans. Which one is correct? Probably both. In Gainax
founder Yasuhiro Takeda’s The Notenki Memoirs, the early history of the
Japanese science fiction conventions (日本SF大会) is described in extent. If I recall correctly, there were
numerous animation contests in the wake of the success of Osamu Tezuka’s Astro
Boy, and the artist alleys had all sorts of fan comics made after science
fiction media. But there was a split between fans of “pure” science fiction
content, like literature and cinema, versus those who took pride in science
fiction anime, like the space operas of the 1970s. Thus amateur manga artists,
a dominant faction in the science fiction conventions’ artist alleys,
influenced the nature of the commercial Comic Market to be established in 1975.
In conclusion, I think it can safely be said that while the two communities
weren’t the same, they had much in common.
MEGCON (1962)
All things
considered, ‘otaku’ (お宅) is still a fairly formal word, comically so even, so why use it
instead of simply ask for one another’s names? Fujii described it as part of
the nature of the “mania of the time”. Mania. The word is not exactly
figurative. The slang ‘mania’ (マニア) or ‘maniac’ (マニアック), was used to refer to all sorts of fans who took pride in their
enthusiasm. But that’s not all. As Fujii put it, the very expectation of
meeting other ‘maniacs’, people who likewise spent a major portion of their
free time on their science fiction and/or anime-manga hobbies, meant that one
had to be ready to face off one another in a battle of knowledge. Or at least,
to avoid this situation, the convention visitors of the period used respectful
language that considered the standing of the people they met, and by using
‘otaku’ (お宅), they could create a sense of distance in their relationship, as
if they were colleague scholars. Moreover, to maintain this relationship, it
was necessary to be not only a consumer, but a creator – most notably in the
production of the hobbyist manga called ‘doujinshi’, but also in writing and
even programming. Impressive, but not exactly unique. There were badminton and
tennis players, amateur potters and wood carvers, collectors of model trains
and ships, etc. – many sorts of ‘maniacs’ in their own ways. What separates the
titular ‘otaku’ community of science fiction and anime-manga fans from the
rest?
Going
further back to the 1960s, Fujii reveals an important clue regarding what made
sci-fi and animanga stand out from the rest. The 1960s were a turbulent period
for youth all around the globe, with major student protests against what were
deemed cruel and brutal policies of the authorities of the time. Most notable
were the protests against the Vietnam War and American imperialism. The Japanese
government, as host of US military bases and a major resupplying location for
the American war efforts, faced harsh criticism from the left and right over
bowing down to American interests, with Japan seeing increasingly violent
student rioting in the late 60s. By the end of the decade, with student
activists failing to realize their goals, the protests lost their momentum, and
eventually political student activity receded. However, the disdain from
authority and adult life in general didn’t necessarily wane. Students,
particularly from urban areas, gave up global justice for the consolation of
being able to live a relatively free life according to their own interests. It
was not in their power to change Japan and the world, so at the very least,
they should be able to do what they want. Hobbies, such as those described
above, and particularly in the way of student clubs or ‘circles’ (サークル), were a
method of momentarily putting aside the political issues of reality and
concentrating on something enjoyable.
One
type of student club to appear in this period was the ‘Manga Research Society’
(漫画研究会). To
concentrate one’s life on manga was, according to Fujii, an antithesis to the
political way of life. Comics and cartoons were considered to be made for
children, not adults, due to their youthful and humorous way of being. Therefore,
for students on the verge of adulthood, to base their identity on the pursuit
of manga knowledge meant to anchor themselves to their childhood state. They
rejected becoming another cog in the machine of society and giving up their
individuality – a political message in itself by a minority that refused to
grow up and kept to its adolescent hobbies in adult life. While only manga fans
were explicitly mentioned, I imagine similar motives laid in the foundation of
the first science fiction conventions in Japan. Fortunately for both groups,
which were likely almost entirely composed of men, the economic miracle in
Japan spelled the advent of mass consumerism by the mid-70s, with the rise of domestic
popular entertainment such as film, television and music. In other words, this
period of economic growth allowed more and more people to engage with their hobbies,
including the two groups that comprised the first iteration of otaku. It is
this economic condition that likely helped propel other subcultures alongside
otaku.
Mass
consumerism of the mid-70s manifested not only in hobbies, but in other trends
among youth. For instance, the spread of television with televised song
contests led to an influx of amateur teenage singers, scouted by record labels
for fleeting professional careers, what is commonly referred to as ‘idols’. But
it didn’t only manifest in entertainment, but also in consumer products. Cheap
mechanical pencils are seen as the leading actor in the trend of rounded
handwriting among teenage school girls. They allowed neat and informal writing,
complete with stars and hearts, becoming a major part of the “cute wave” to
wash over Japan over the following years. Yes, the keyword is ‘kawaii’ (可愛い, or perhaps
better put as かわいい, since kanji is “not cute”). Not only pencils, many other
accessories, stickers and confectionary, all with a predominantly childish
demeanor, spread across Japan over the course of the late 70s, reaching
nationwide status by the 1980s. Animal print clothing with vibrant colors or
conversely frilly dresses in pure white, infantile speech and other childish
slang, physical gestures that suggested a (much) younger age – all slightly
reminiscent of the demeanor of the predominantly male student clubs described above.
The young female student too, in a way, wished to remain in a childish world
and postpone their adult life. Being cute was to ignore the social
responsibilities associated with the modern reality of young women, to marry
early, become housewives and bear children, as put by Sharon Kinsella in her
1995 article Cuties in Japan. It is no surprise, then, that kawaii had
great compatibility with otaku, and that the two would eventually join hand in
hand to protest adulthood.
Mixing Eroticism and Cuteness into Bishoujo Characters
The same way space opera manga and
anime opened a channel between the science fiction fan community and the
anime-manga fan community, ‘shoujo manga’ and the magical girl or ‘mahou
shoujo’ genre in particular allowed the predominantly male ‘otaku’ (お宅) crowd to
intersect with predominantly female ‘kawaii’ crowd. With word ‘shoujo’
referring to an ambiguous age range of preadolescent and adolescent girls,
shoujo manga created with a young female crowd from the get go. As Kumiko Saito
put it in her 2014 article Magic, Shoujo, and Metamorphosis, shoujo
manga and anime were based in many ways on the contrast between childhood and
adult life, especially in the 1960s. Magical girl manga and anime are fantastic
examples of this contrast. Their young and cheery heroines are leading and
proactive, compared to the submissive and passive ideal of Japanese women in
the period. Beginning as ordinary girls, they acquire supernatural magic power
by coincidence, using it to become “cute warriors” that save humankind from
danger. However, at the end of their journey, they are all destined to lose
their magic power and return to reality. This, according to Saito, symbolized
the relative freedom young girls had prior to their arranged marriage that
loomed over their teenage years. The magical girl characters did not threaten
the gender roles of adult life, and in practice, placed the magical girls often
in roles already associated with women. In other words, even a magical girl had
to realize that childhood is fleeting, and it is her responsibility to become a
“good wife and wise mother” that sacrifices her own interests for the sake of
her family.
This
grim message of social responsibilities changed with the turn of the decade. In
the 1970s, magical girl anime such as Fushigi na Merumo (1971) and Majokko
Megu-chan (1974) compensated for the original traditional cues into
something more free and liberal, by having the girl protagonists engage in
romance and even sexuality. Only in 1972 was the Japanese Association for Sex
Education (JASE) established, with Japan gradually shifting from a model of
“sexual purity” to proper sexual education, as compared to the erotic
experimentation artists and producers had with shoujo manga and anime. For
instance, the heroine Merumo of Fushigi na Merumo received the power to
magically transform into her older self, flaunting an erotic body on the verge
of adulthood. The magic transformation did not impact her clothing, forcing her
to undress or otherwise remain in a tight and exposing attire. These
experiments with sexuality, accompanied by the split of amateur manga artists
from the Japanese science fiction conventions, and with a female majority
attending Comic Market, were all significant catalysts to the creation of
erotic doujinshi over the course of the late 70s.
Beginning
with amateur works parodying shoujo manga, the first doujinshi paired select
characters from the cast in unlikely relationships, of either romantic or
sexual nature. These imagined encounters, far removed from the original plot,
were early erotic fantasies put into writing. At the time, it was only
‘gekiga’, a type of comic aimed at adults, that freely explored mature themes
of sex and violence between men and women. Therefore, the youthful drawing
style associated with shoujo manga remained an unexplored territory ripe for
female eroticization. Hideo Azuma is said to be the one that first put young
girl characters in erotic situations in 1979 doujinshi Cybele, making
him the forefather of bishoujo. The further production of magical girl anime
with romantic and erotic cues in the 1980s, even if milder than their
counterparts in the 1970s, also helped propagate the association of young girl
characters with sexuality and lead ‘otaku’ in a new direction. Most notably Mahou
no Princess Minky Momo (1983) and Mahou no Tenshi Creamy Mami
(1984), who both magically transformed their title heroines into eroticized
older selves, drew the attention of male fans in peculiar ways. By weaving into
the plot the tedium of adult life and the futility of magic, that cannot even
save adults from themselves, another type of magic power was emphasized – the
magical girls’ ability to capture the hearts of the viewers, young girls
alongside adult men, through their cheery, childish and cute attitude (as told
by their respective producers in The Moe Manifesto).
Akio
Nakamori’s series of opinion columns titled ‘Otaku’ Research (『おたく』の研究) are commonly
said to be the starting point of ‘otaku’ in public discourse. While that may be
said from a perspective of popular use, it is incorrect to assume that the word
simply referred to fans of anime and manga, or otherwise used in a derogatory
manner against “uncool geeks”. Reading further into each of the columns,
Galbraith in 2015’s Debating Otaku shows how Nakamori focused an
increasingly specific demographic. What began as a calling out against
unfashionable attendees, developed into the targeting of bishoujo – despite, or
rather because, the columns were published in the bishoujo magazine Manga
Burikko. These hiragana ‘otaku’ (おたく), in Nakamori’s eyes, were failed men, with no interest in real
women, instead fantasizing adolescent cute girl characters such as those in
magical girl anime, or in moderate cases were rabid fans of idol singers. The
‘otaku’ in Nakamori’s column were not meant to be the ‘maniacs’ of the mid-late
70s, but a group of young men who have an obsession with bishoujo (“lolicon”) –
separating fantasy from reality and willingly favoring the former over the
latter. Magazines such as Manga Burikko that initially had erotic
photography of young women, sometimes bordering on pedophilia, ceased printing
them due to a lack of interest from the audience, further emphasizing the
preference for pure fantasy. However, as described in Yoshihiko Fujii’s essays
on otaku, the meaning of hiragana otaku (おたく) that saw common use in the 1980s was simply that of ‘maniacs’. That
is, the second iteration of ‘otaku’ was also used to refer to enthusiasts that
not only consumed media such as manga and anime but also created content of their
own.
Manga Burikko (1984)
To
paint a more complete image of the situation in the opening of the 1980s,
another term seldom associated with otaku culture should be thoroughly decoded.
The keyword is ‘burikko’ (ぶりっ子), the same one in the name of Manga Burikko. Originally popularized
as ‘kawaiko-burikko’ (かわい子ぶりっ子, akin to “cute pretender”), this slang word was used to pejoratively
to a certain type of cute gender performance. As Laura Miller described it in
her 2004 You Are Doing Burikko!, burikko performance feigns a childlike,
naive and even ignorant attitude, in a way that benefits the performing women. The
performance is described as one that puts men at ease and is comfortable for
them to communicate with, in turn making it easier for women in social
environments like work and university as well as in romantic courting. In other
words, it can be said that interaction with genuine women was seen as
challenging or even threatening men’s social position. I am of the opinion that
it can be treated as a highly specialized form of the kawaii behavior that
became trendy just several years earlier. Initially reaching widespread
recognition by Kuniko Yamada’s 1981 novelty song parodying the behavior, over
the course of the 1980s it reached its peak with burikko-type idols such as
Seiko Matsuda, but waning in popularity by the 1990s, at which point it was
commonly disliked by women and men alike. It retained an extent of its former
fame through the 1990s with teenage idols such as Tomoe Shinohara. The
inclusion of ‘burikko’ in the title of Manga Burikko thus reflects the
influence real life trends still had on otaku culture despite supposedly
rejecting adult life.
The Social Implications of Consuming Bishoujo in the Post-Bubble
Period
Throughout the 1980s more and more bishoujo
works geared towards otaku were explored. Starting in 1982 with PSK’s Lolita:
Yakyuuken, erotic video games were increasingly made for consumer computer
systems like NEC PC-88 and Fujitsu FM-7. By 1984, the first pornographic ‘hentai’
original video animations were produced, beginning with Lolita Anime and
Cream Lemon. Hideo Azuma continued his activities in pioneer bishoujo
magazine Lemon People, and his own manga Nanako SOS was adapted
into an anime series in 1983. Film projects like Project A-ko from 1986
garnered mainstream appeal. Science fiction anime such as Super Dimension
Fortress Macross in 1982 and Gunbuster in 1988 incorporated pretty
girl characters into the writing. Idol units such as Lemon Angel, formed
in 1987, provided music for the Cream Lemon series and burikko-like image
songs were produced for OVA adaptations of bishoujo manga like 1986’s Outlanders. The attendance for Comic Market has also risen significantly over
1980s, and with it, a large number of doujinshi and doujin games featuring bishoujo
characters. More than ever, it was possible for otaku to surround themselves
with bishoujo and immerse themselves in fantasy. Eventually, the increasing presence
of bishoujo content and the pressure exerted by the growing otaku community
were noticed by the Japanese public as a cause for concern.
Outlanders original soundtrack (1986)
"Sex Comics Have Become a Hit in Japan", Yedioth Ahronoth (1987)
While it is difficult to gauge the
true influence of the capture of Tsutomu Miyazaki in 1989, it can be said that
the way the Japanese public understood the words ‘otaku’ and ‘lolicon’ as they
appeared in newspaper and television put the otaku community in newfound
danger. A new iteration katakana ‘otaku’(オタク) focused solely on the consumption of bishoujo, while the term ‘Lolita
complex’ was associated with the line of crimes committed by Miyazaki – from
rape and murder to cannibalism and necrophilia. He was associated with otaku culture
both due to his extensive collection of video tapes, including some erotic
anime, as well as his participation in Comic Market. The new katakana otaku
were considered by the public to be like Miyazaki, young rabid consumers that
cannot distinguish between fantasy and reality – a permanent threat to the
cohesion of society that could turn violent at a moment’s notice. This
understanding was a far cry from Akio Nakamori’s columns, which indeed
portrayed obsessive consumers of bishoujo content, but ones that were a burden
on society because they rejected reality and embraced fantasy, rather than
mixed up between the two. However, to say that a single person brought moral
panic to the Japanese public by his own virtue paints an incomplete image of public
opinion.
The second drug epidemic in Japan which peaked in the 1980s saw a rise
in violent crime associated with methamphetamine abuse, such as the 1981
Fukugawa Street Murders (深川通り魔殺人事件), in which the murderer claimed in court to have been controlled by
radio waves. The Japanese economy was also in a turbulent period of growth and
recession, followed by aggressive stimulation and uncontrolled growth. The
appreciation of the yen compared to the US dollar forced the Japanese
government to focus on increased local consumption and promote loans for the
establishment of small businesses. From moderate consumers with significant
deposits, the Japanese public suddenly started taking heavy risks with its
investments. Thus to introduce the growing otaku community to the Japanese
public through mass media would be paramount to adding fuel to the fire. While
I cannot say that these were the reasons for the social rejection of otaku the
wake of Miyazaki’s crimes, in my opinion, to suggest that media coverage alone
dictated moral panic is to ignore the very conditions of the period.
Tsutomu Miyazaki's capture in 1989. The end of otaku? Not quite.
By 1991, the Japanese economic
bubble has exploded, leaving the Japanese public in a state of uncertainty. New
university graduates experienced a decrease occupational security, no longer
signing contracts for life, to assure them employment in the same company until
the day of their retirement like the generation of their parents. Many others
had to settle for temporary part-time jobs which offered even less both in a
monetary sense and in the looming fear of dismissal. Whereas in the 1980s, a
breadwinner husband could provide for his wife and his children on his own, in
the 1990s, a young man could barely provide for himself, let alone another
person. The nuclear family model of the decade prior could no longer be
sustained in the opening of the decade. The working middle class, once the
backbone of the Japanese economy, started to be associated with depression and suicide.
Fears of a new generation of forever bachelors was rampant, and youngsters who
lost hope in making it through life increasingly became dependent on their
parents into their 20s and 30s.
Even in the most desperate of
situations, there are those who come to help, and there are those who come to
reap the rewards. From the mid-90s onwards, new businesses such as animal cafes
started providing an assortment of tension relieving services, marketed as ‘iyashi’
or “healing” (癒し). Of particular note are changes in the nature of sexual services. In
the 1980s, places such as host clubs were places for working men to maintain
and strengthen the relationships with their work peers, as well as show off the
middle class luxury they had. Likewise, in the 1990s, female sex workers served
an auxiliary role in the maintenance of the male work-life balance, but in a
different way. Instead of group activities, there were more and more personal
sessions, in which the women performed a rejuvenating role, using a combination
of mature femininity bordering on maternity as well as sexuality in order to
support their male clients and make them feel like they are needed in society. These
“healing” sessions were provided new employment avenues for young women, as is
seen to this day with compensated dating (that might or might not involve sex).
The commercial success of Neon Genesis
Evangelion in 1995
was evidence of the otaku community’s unchanging consumerist tendencies even in
the face of nationwide recession. That is, despite their economic situation,
the enthusiasm involved in the mass consumption of manga, anime and games all
helped propagate a new notion that despite their misgivings, they yet have a
revitalizing role in society. At the very least, the period provided surprising
opportunities for companies to commercialize the desires of otaku, with
bishoujo games at the forefront. Dating sims like 1995’s Tokimeki
Memorial and
visual novels like 1997’s To Heart paved
the way for games featuring a cast of pretty girls with which the player character,
and in extent the player himself, can engage in romantic and sexual
relationships. Akihabara, a hub for maniac-type computer otaku since the 1980s,
also gradually shifted, with electronic appliance stores making way for
computer software and hardware, and bookstores for manga and doujinshi. Cheaper
computers with the relatively convenient Windows 95 operating system, and the
spread of both BBS systems and the Internet, possibly hastened by the national
tragedies of the mid-90s, were also important parts of the growing industry of
commercialized romantic and erotic fantasies. Thus the introduction of the
‘moe’ (萌え or 燃え) in BBS networks and Internet forums in the mid-90s comes as no
surprise.
Example of doujin software:¥100 Musik Disk (1990)
Example of bishoujo game: Sostugyou ~Graduation~ (1992)
The use of the slang word ‘moe’ is
described as an alternative, indirect way to express romantic feelings that
would have otherwise been expressed with ‘suki da’ (好きだ) or ‘ai shiteiru’ (愛している). Most commonly, it is used when the
recipient of the romantic feelings cannot experience them in reality – for
instance, when it is a fictional character, or when it is a fetish for a
certain characteristic. On its own, it might seem like a novel concept. I do
not know if I can define it in any better way. However, I think that it’s easier
to understand it by thinking of it as “commercialized lolicon”. Not the one
popularized in the wake of Tsutomu Miyazaki, but the one used in Akio Nakamori’s
columns. In other words, it’s the application of mass consumerism to attraction
to bishoujo, and the preference of fantasy over reality. In other words, the
feeling of “lolicon” experienced by otaku in the 1980s is the same as the
feeling of “moe” experienced by otaku in the 1990s. The difference is that
while in the 1980s, otaku were considered unwanted audience by original
creators and had to manifest their fantasies in reality with their own hands as
hobbyist creators, the otaku of the 1990s had both enthusiastic creators from
the inside as well as commercial businesses from the outside serving bishoujo
content made-to-order, fitting any romantic and erotic fantasy that could be
brought to mind. The economic situation of the post-bubble period allowed
“lolicon” to undergo this “magic transformation” and turn from a notorious
niche to a mainstay of Japanese popular culture. But that alone is not enough. The
concept of moe could only bloom in this period because it was needed by otaku –
the same way other “healing” services made their way to the Japanese
mainstream, moe products and services were made to sooth the accumulated
tension of the otaku youth. For a generation of men without avenue for romantic
relationships, bishoujo came to serve a momentary realization of fantasy in
reality at no risk. The growing dependence on moe to substitute real life
interaction by itself could only worsen the social exclusion of otaku. So there
was no risk but one – the consumption of and by bishoujo content, trapping
otaku in a feedback loop of tension and relief, being in love with fantasy and
being ostracized by reality over it. That is what I refer to as “moe healing”.
Case Study: Maids, Catgirls and Robots
The three
titular tropes of moe, appearing alone or in combination, are living examples
of commercialized fantasy fetishism. Starting in the latter half of the 1990s,
erotic bishoujo games started including girl characters with these attributes,
fulfilling a common goal – compensating for the risks associated with interaction
with real women by having a fantasy condition anchor the relationship in place.
Maid characters were associated with submissiveness by the virtue of their
social standing. In the erotic fantasy of a master-servant relationship, they
were required to answer any and all demands of the male protagonist, whether by
consent, solicitation or coercion. Moreover, the naivety of the maid, that
doesn’t necessarily realize the ways in which the master uses her to fulfill
her erotic desires, created a contrast between the maid’s own sexuality and
immaturity that by itself was desirable to otaku. Girl characters with animal
attributes such as cat ears were similarly put in situations in which they had
inferior social standing – for instance, by being in an owner-pet relationship,
in which they are reliant on their owners for survival but are also obedient in
nature. Robot girls, likewise, couldn’t disobey humans, and were indebted to
their human creators for bringing them into existence. These three tropes are
of girls that are loyal in nature to the male player character, and won’t ever
betray his expectations. They will not leave his side and continue to love him
no matter what he does. Such girls truly did not exist in the real world – or
at the very least, were much “safer” than real women, who had their own thoughts,
interests and motives, and thus always had the risk of breakup and abandonment.
Maids were immortalized in
commercial venues not unlike the animal cafes targeting the general public –
cosplay cafes and maid cafes in particular, beginning too in the latter half of
the decade. It is difficult in practice to generalize maid cafes, since they
offer different types of food and services, but it can be said that they
provide the experience of interaction with “real-life maid” waitresses. Some
respectfully welcome in their guests and provide them with light entertainment
such as party games or singing, with simple meals that only exist as another
way to interact with the maids. Others take on a more minimal role, serving
meals proper meals and interacting little with the customers, instead opting to
provide them a calming environment in which they can look at maids without
having them directly approached by the maids. Unlike the host clubs of the 80s,
in which women only served an auxiliary role in the maintenance of male work
relationships, maid cafes see their male customers return again and again to
strengthen their bonds with the maid staff, maintaining a relationship with a
maid character manifested in reality through the cosplaying waitress. Some
venues even place time limits on the duration of the stay, requiring persistent
customers to enter again and pay the entrance fee. Maid cafes thus do not
pester their otaku customers to be working members of society, and instead answer their desire to experience a romantic-erotic fantasy.
Like maids, catgirls and robots,
there are many other archetypes of moe fetishism that have become mainstays of otaku
culture. Items of
clothing such as school uniforms, school swimsuits and physical education clothes
(“bloomers”) symbolize the youthfulness and immaturity of school age, a
period removed from the worries of adult life, in which pure romance can
develop. It is no coincidence that many bishoujo games such as Tokimeki
Memorial were set
around student life, for it was an optimal way of immersing the players in a
fantasy world lacking the tension of reality. Childhood friends and little sisters are affectionate to the male protagonist
due to their longtime relationship and strong bond from early age, thus having a stable relationship with minimal risk even when romance or sexual engagement is attempted. Adoptive daughters, especially those encountered suddenly, imitate fatherhood and care-giving without the responsibilities of planned family making, which blurs the line between parental or romantic relationships. In general, chance meetings with unlikely girls are important to the marketability of bishoujo media, since they disregard the otaku's "inability" to form relationships with real women. They provide opportunity to conveniently insert unlikely and perhaps supernatural girls into an unassuming, ordinary male protagonist's life. At times, they might directly imitate the unintended performance of magical girls in the 1980s - devoting their lives into "saving" the male protagonist and by extent the audience with their cuteness. Even
when these characters don’t fill an explicit romantic role, such as the
maid-robot Mahoro in Mahoromatic, or don't have romantic roles at all, such as with the maid-animals in Di Gi Charat, the moe tropes remain anchors to the world of fantasy. Moe provides a
soothing, "healing" feeling on its own without needing plot elements to connect with the audience, as moe tropes are powerful symbols of youth and immaturity. In conclusion, moe creates a sense of freedom and security that was lost in the post-bubble period, postponing
even if just by little the pressure exerted by real life responsibilities, such as work, marriage and family.
Case Study: Moe Songs
As early
as 1999, otaku have started taking note of “moe songs”, or songs that had a
sense of moe. The vast majority of these songs were from erotic bishoujo games,
but there were alongside them also many theme songs from anime series and also
idol songs. In the latter half of the 1990s, amateur singers such as Haruko
Momoi appeared in the streets of Akihabara, where they performed in front of an
audience of visiting otaku. One administrator of a moe song website described
moe songs as songs written like a bubbly shoujo manga. In those songs, the
singer gets into the shoes of a timid and likable girl, exposing her inner
feelings with an immature childlike tone. The feeling of moe transmitted by the
singing was heartwarming and addictive to the point of “brainwashing”. Academic
research on the origin of these songs is lacking, and it is hard to point as a
single point of origin, but it is possible to cite influences from the themes
of magical girl anime, image songs of bishoujo anime and idol songs over a
duration of more than 50 years.
Magical girl anime, being a long running staple of shoujo writing for
decades, is likely the oldest contributor to the idea of “moe songs”. Haruko
Momoi, for instance, covered theme songs from magical girl anime going as far
back as 1969’s Himitsu no Akko-chan in her 2007 Famison 8BIT albums, and Troubadour Record, pioneering doujin music circle of the
1990s, parodied magical girl theme songs in the 1997 album Majokko de Pon, going from Mahoutsukai Sally of 1966 to Mahou Shoujo Pretty Sammy of 1995. Magical girls, such as Minky Momo and Creamy Mami of the early 1980s, were already considered not just saviors of
collective humanity, but saviors of male individuals, providing heartwarming
affection with their cuteness through the screen of the television. Their songs
portrayed a combination of maidenly love and maidenly salvation, not meant only
for the ears of their intended girl audience, but to a growing audience of
adult men. The ensuing economic turbulence of the late 1980s, and fears over
plummeting birth rate in the post-bubble period, all brought change to the
magical girl genre. Some, like Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon parodied television genres out of the original scope of the ‘shoujo’
crowd. Others, like Pretty Sammy, were designed as bishoujo anime from the get go. Producers had to
take into account the growing adult crowd with gender-crossing themes,
additionally relevant to adult women who like their male counterparts immersed
in fantasy and rejected adulthood. Magical girl theme songs carried part of the
magic that their titular heroines flaunted, cast by the voice of the magical
girls themselves, or rather, the singing of the voice actresses.
Bishoujo games had a much more
direct influence on moe songs, since their theme songs were written intentionally
to arouse feelings of love in the listener. The songs presented a distinct
character archetype, emphasized by the visuals accompanying the singing, or
otherwise by the visage of the girl character on the cover of the game’s disc. Not
only in singing, the composition itself had to be cheerful and bubbly, setting
a dream-like atmosphere that brings moe feelings to fruition. However, they are
not innovators in this field. The burikko character of many idols in the 1980s
was also put into the writing of their songs, them too presenting a cheery,
youthful and sometimes silly attitude. Both put into use ‘kawaii’ infantilized
speech, with frequent use of onomatopoeia and simple romantic themes. The
similarities extend to voice actors bishoujo anime attaining idol status, carrying
over parts of the characters they voiced into face-to-face events. Even
stronger parallels exist in the formation of idol units such as I’ve Sound,
producing opening and ending themes to many successful bishoujo games and anime
series. Taking inspiration from the heart of Japanese pop music, the prevalence
of burikko-like singing in bishoujo anime and later in bishoujo game theme
songs is a strong sign of the commercialization of otaku fantasy.
Doujin music has also had its fair share of influence. Band Nekoya, performing live since around 1988, contributed a "first" amateur-independent song of otaku nature to Synergy Music Network'sMYSTERY CASE IN HI!SCHOOL!! in 1992. Nekoya vocalist Ikuko Ebata joined hands with Shinji Hosoe to form band
Manikyua-dan in 1993, expanding to include a total of five members with one major label album. They had upwards of a dozen live performances and many recorded
songs to their name, parodying themes of romance, science fiction and even
horror with Ebata’s high-pitched and immature singing. Over the course of the
decade, other hobbyist musicians appeared with their own contributions to the
new scene of "otaku music". Troubadour Records hosted several contributing
artists featuring moe-like songs in their albums, alongside other compositions taking from games and anime. ANAKREON, a joint collaboration of Ikuko Ebata and Aki Hata between
1996-1997, saw the production of several songs of immature and maidenly romance. Following
the success of To Heart in 1997
alongside other bishoujo games, small doujin music circles started producing
their own arrangements of the games’ score. Some initially only had lyrics with
no one to sing them, but before long they had vocalists singing moe songs in
the spirit of the games. In the late 90s and early 2000s, doujin circles
like Neruneruneruge and Eterna Musik collaborated with amateur vocalists such
as Tohko Morinaga, REM and Haruka Shimotsuki in making image songs based on
bishoujo games. Doujin units like DeviceHigh produced music in a similar vein
with the prior image songs, combining romance and cues from otaku
culture (like the unit’s own name). Doujin animation projects like Docchimo Maid in 2004 also incorporated music themes
with moe symbolism.
Shinji Hosoe over a poster of Troubadour Record's KAKI-IN 1993・夏, where Manikyua-dan first appeared (1993)
REM performing as part of DeviceHigh (2001)
Tohko Morinaga accompanied by pianist Kasumi Sawatari (2002)
By 2003, moe songs reached immense popularity on different websites and
particularly within dedicated threads in the 2channel online forum as
"denpa songs", equating their addictive qualities with drug-induced
psychosis and science-fiction brainwash. The addictive qualities of moe songs
are inherited from the romantic-erotic fantasies they transmit, even when they
are not explicit in their wording. Rather, assigning songs of pure romance to
clearly pornographic media is in line with the betrayal of expectations at the
heart of otaku culture. The more absurd it is, the more unreal it becomes,
which in turn feeds into a stronger contrast and feeling of moe. It is at the
point that otaku tropes are distilled into their most blatant forms
that moe songs are most effective in their "healing".
Leaping a space of one hundred million light years At last I arrive at such a hard to reach star! I'm here to invade! The weapon is my song and a flerovium dress Pew pew pew pew I'm shooting at your heart 650 nanometer laser beam
Case Study: Virtual YouTuber ASMR Videos
While it
is not in my ability to fully explore the nature of the interaction between ‘virtual
youtubers’, online entertainers predominantly using bishoujo avatars to
communicate with their audience, I wish to make note of a peculiar modern
application of “moe healing”. ASMR streams and videos are not unlike the
aforementioned cat cafes or sexual services in that they provide a soothing auditory
sensation with dedicated microphones. The focus here is on female entertainers
creating content for a male audience, in line with the previous sections and in
fact sharing close similarity with the sexual services of the post-bubble
period. In virtual youtuber ASMR, a plethora of methods are used to simulate
intimacy and closeness, often in the name of “healing”. Instead of
infantilizing themselves with the use of childish onomatopoeia, they
infantilize the listeners, essentially placing them in the social position of
children taken care of by a motherly figure. However, they are not just motherly
figures, they are also romantic companions – they hug, kiss and proclaim their
love to the listeners, all the while talking to them in whispers. The backbone
of ASMR videos is a combination of sounds that imitate real pleasurable sensations
(including erotic ones) – mostly having to do with the cleaning and stimulation
of the head and especially the ears. For example, the use of cotton swabs in fake
silicone ears housing microphones, or otherwise cleaning them with gels, shampoos,
wet towels and other tools. Most importantly, these sessions are “personal”,
despite sometimes being delivered live to thousands of people at once, who
communicate with one another praising the entertainer’s skills and donating meager
sums through YouTube’s ‘superchat’ feature. Their intention is to simulate a one-on-one
encounter with the fictional character portrayed by the entertainer. In other
words, it is an avenue for realizing fantasy in reality, and a performance in
which the female entertainers take on motherly, romantic and sometimes erotic
roles.
The daughter will take care of her favorite daddy
Conclusion
Otaku is
a learning experience. It’s also a personal experience. I think this can be
said regarding many of us who’ve spent a considerable time in a niche of our
own. There are those who play rhythm games, those who read visual novels, those
who follow virtual youtubers, and also a significant crowd of humble anime
watchers and manga readers. There’s never a
shortage of things to hear about for the first time, and the second time, and
the third. Otaku hoard information, and sometimes share it. They never have the
full image, but they work bit by bit to add to it, hearing about new things
from their friends or coming by them completely by chance. This isn’t the full
image, not nearly. I’m a foreigner who has never stepped in Japan. Even if I moved
to Japan, I’d miss the intricacies of those who lived there from birth. And
even then, I cannot turn back the wheel of time. But both otaku and moe are
still around, and in my opinion, still have much to be uncovered. It seriously
is a large part of our lives and our identities. So I cannot disregard it as a
waste of time.
Existing
information so far as I can tell suggests that a mechanism of tension relief
can be attributed to the trend called ‘moe’. It can also be linked to a
previous iteration of attraction to fictional girls referred to as “Lolita complex”.
All of this wouldn’t have happened without people wanting to disassociate with
the reality of adult life, going as far back as the 1960s in manga and science
fiction fan groups. It wouldn’t have happened if young women in the 1970s didn’t
reject the responsibilities of adult life by immersing themselves in commercialized
childish cuteness. It also wouldn’t have happened if anime enthusiasts in the
1980s didn’t deliberately adapt young girl characters intended for a young girl
audience as the ultimate expression of their disdain from reality. Last but not
least, without the economic conditions of the highs of the growth of the bubble
period and the lows of the recession of the post-bubble period to propagate
bishoujo content in the 1990s, moe would have not been in the same place it is
today. I think this is crucial, fundamental to the understanding of otaku
culture and the trends that continue to appear to this day. But this isn’t the
truth or reality – it’s a painting of a fictional history I have in my mind,
built with the information I have on hand. It’s impossible to go back and
verify what truly happened. But with my own hands, as long as the pioneers of
the different generations of otaku are still there, and as long as I
can continue to meet new people who will expose me to new angles I haven’t
considered, I wish to complete the painting of otaku culture.
CHEMOOL's Firecracker series of PC-88 music diskettes is STILL going?!
Sources
I gave up on
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writing this in line with the original essay.
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