Ash — Twilight of the Innocents: a youth spent in the recording room, and the people music brought my way

Ash's Twilight of the Innocents (2007).

Entry eight of the From the Shelf series.

When I think back on this album, it isn't only the sound that returns — it's the taste of a certain plate of food, and the face of a certain photographer.

2009, in a Futako-Tamagawa apartment

The year I was deepest into this album was 2009.

Back then I was helping a friend's band — RUSSIA GROUP — make a record, the lot of us holed up in a cramped apartment in Futako-Tamagawa. Day after day of nothing but sound — and one taste fixed in my memory: the curry and spaghetti at Puppy, the Kaminoge branch. Eat that, then back to the gear. That was the rhythm of those days.

The RUSSIA GROUP story could fill a whole post on its own, so I'll save it for another entry.

In that sealed-off little room, the album that kept playing between takes was this one — Twilight of the Innocents.

men's FUDGE, and a certain photographer

Around that time, I was fond of a fashion magazine called men's FUDGE, and would often leaf through it.

What caught my eye most were the candid snapshots of young people in Britain printed in its pages. Every frame felt alive; the photos stopped my hand mid-turn. I learned they were taken by a photographer named Akemi Mori.

Here's the part I love. Even back then I was writing this very Cats and Dogs blog, and when I wrote a post about those photographs, Akemi Mori herself got in touch with me (we stayed in touch on Facebook afterwards). This exact place, where I'm setting down words right now, was the doorway to that connection.

I remember one of our exchanges where she mentioned, of all things, that she'd been shooting Ash, too. She had a gift for catching artists at their most alive; every shot drew me in.

She'd never been to a photography school, she told me — entirely self-taught. She couldn't play an instrument, but she wanted to be part of music, and out of that came her policy: if the subject was a musician, she'd shoot. She wrote to me about the joy of working as an equal alongside musicians she admired. That stayed with me.

There are artists who support artists. That's what I felt, right there.

A dream of apprenticing in London

Right around then, I was seriously turning over the idea of apprenticing as a recording engineer in London.

I talked it over with Akemi Mori, too. She told me she'd help if I went to study abroad — I still remember that. The dream never came true in the end, but looking back, all of it is a good memory of being young.

Make music, and encounters like this find you. Standing out front as a player isn't the only way to be part of music — those Futako-Tamagawa days taught me that, quietly.

Now, the band itself

Long preamble — but to Ash at last.

To me, Ash is a band with a boy's heart, loved by everyone. The first one I bought was Nu-Clear Sounds (1998), but if I had to name a favourite track, it'd be "Oh Yeah" from their first album, 1977. A lot of people think of "Kung Fu" first when it comes to Ash, or love the era when Charlotte Hatherley was in the band.

Twilight of the Innocents is the first album they made after Charlotte left, back to a three-piece. It turns away from their earlier high-energy image — a record with a distinctly grown-up side, the sound of a band pausing to look at where they stood. The strength of the melodies stands out more than ever.

How to listen — track eight, "Shadows"

My favourite song on the album is the eighth track, "Shadows."

It isn't a flashy one. But it carries a quiet shading — the sound of a once-boyish band coming to know grown-up shadows — and I keep coming back to it.

That said, this album suits being played all the way through more than picked at track by track. Follow the way the boyish sound shifts into a grown one, from the top to the very end.

Pick another one off the shelf

See Ash — Twilight of the Innocents on Amazon (JP)

That's entry eight of the From the Shelf series.

The sealed-off room in Futako-Tamagawa, the curry at Puppy, the pages of men's FUDGE, the dream of London. Every time I take this one off the shelf, the air of 2009 rises up all at once. Music doesn't just bring back sound — it brings back the person you were.

Next disc — undecided. I'll open the closet, see what catches my eye, and bring another one out.