Joji’s latest album is a masterpiece that demands attention—a raw, emotional journey through the complexities of growing up. But here’s where it gets controversial: while some tracks feel like fleeting interludes, the album as a whole is a bold experiment in sound and emotion that challenges listeners to embrace change. Let’s dive in.
During the isolating days of lockdown, Joji’s music became my sanctuary. As a preteen confined to my room, his dreamy melodies offered a sense of stability in a world turned upside down. His ability to transform loneliness into something hauntingly beautiful has always set him apart. (Photo courtesy of Bandcamp)
Japanese-Australian artist George Kusunoki Miller, better known as Joji, released his latest album on February 6, marking a departure from the sound that initially captivated me. This record mirrors my own evolving relationship with his music—it’s complex, layered, and not always consistent. And this is the part most people miss: the album’s brilliance isn’t in its perfection but in its fearless exploration of vulnerability.
Joji’s music pulses with the rhythms of adolescence. As his sound evolves through experimentation, so does the listener. His songs are drenched in heartbreak, longing, and insecurity, yet they seamlessly blend passion with aggression—a defining feature of this album. Take the opening track, ‘PIXELATED KISSES,’ a heavy, edgy anthem where flickering drums and bursting synthesizers underscore his raw eagerness to connect with an out-of-reach lover.
‘Last of a Dying Breed,’ the third track, begins with a prolonged melody that feels almost desperate, its synthesizers echoing the complexities of love. The split drum track and organ piano create a rhythm that’s both grounded and fleeting, perfectly complementing Joji’s introspective lyrics. Then there’s ‘LOVE YOU LESS,’ a standout track with its real drum kit and lulling rhythm, reminiscent of indie rock anthems. The line, ‘If I love you less, will you love me more?’ serves as the album’s emotional thesis, capturing Joji’s internal struggle.
Beyond these highlights, tracks like the tender ‘Hotel California,’ the transient ‘Love Me Better,’ the ethereal ‘Sojourn,’ and the closing track ‘Dior’ deepen the album’s emotional intimacy. This is undeniably Joji’s most experimental work yet, with blown-out bass lines and restless beats that add a new edge to his signature melancholy.
But here’s the controversial part: despite its ambition, the album isn’t flawless. Some songs, like ‘Silhouette Man,’ feel underdeveloped, more like extended interludes than fully realized ideas. Yet, these shortcomings don’t overshadow the album’s impact. It’s honest, indecisive, and restless—a mirror to adolescence itself.
As I continue to grow alongside Joji’s evolving sound, this album reminds me that change isn’t something to fear but to feel deeply. Joji remains an artist who not only understands loneliness but transforms it into art. Now, I want to hear from you: Do you think Joji’s experimental approach is a risk worth taking, or does it detract from the album’s coherence? Let’s discuss in the comments.
About the Contributor
Junior Avery Boyle serves as editor-in-chief and news editor, now in her second year on staff. When not crafting stories, she enjoys playing guitar, reading, and sharing meals with friends.
