Skip to main content

The god/doglike genius of Asako Ota ... Meet the Maltese!

I wouldn’t know a damn thing about the Maltese were it not for my friend, Todd Newman. Todd is a wonderful singer-songwriter himself with a pretty sweet recorded legacy, including one record, Too Sad for Words, that I co-produced. Todd is a devotee generally of the best of J-pop. He’s especially a fan of an artist named Asako Ota. She’s the driving force behind the Maltese. Previously, she led another band called the Dog Hair Dressers. 

I’m not sure what her fixation on canines is about, and I’ll damn sure never know from listening to her music, because all the lyrics are in Japanese, which is Greek to me. 

What I do know is that she’s a damn fine songwriter, singer and guitarist. Her singing is gracefully tuneful, never overpowering, her playing strong and accomplished, but never showy; everything Ota does is dedicated to her really, really good songs. The music she makes is loosely categorizable as power-pop, and the Maltese isn’t twee; they’re not afraid of the power side of the hyphen. 

In 2015, the Maltese released Suncrush, their first, and I believe only, album. It’s a small masterpiece of the genre. Todd tells me they have crowdfunded an upcoming release. 


Every song  on Suncrush is catchy. Each one melodic,  packed with hooks, novel arrangement twists and great playing. Fans of Jellyfish, Sloan, Teenage Fanclub, Matthew Sweet, Redd Kross and the Posies should feel right at home with the Maltese. 

(General advisory re. “power-pop:” Using Big Star as a reference point is usually lame. In this instance, the Maltese sound more like all the aforementioned bands who love Big Star but don’t really sound like Big Star. No one in the annals of power-pop has really brought along the Memphis feel (Big Star is looser, more rhythm and blues limbed than their inheritors) or the damaged genius of Alex Chilton to their Big Star emulation. Chris Bell? Brilliant sometimes. “I Am the Cosmos” is godlike. But Bell had zip to do with Radio City and Sister Lovers. And Bell without Alex would have sounded as chaste and white as all the bands who wag their tongues about loving Big Star.) 

The Maltese sound also reminds of the Bangles, Bettie Serveert, and the poppier side of the Manic Street Preachers (Welsh, but huge in Japan); some of their melodic moves are very James Dean Bradfield. 

“Heroine” opens things up with the drum intro from Nick Lowe’s “Heart of the City” and is fired with guitar licks beholden to the Clash’s take on “I Fought the Law.”


There are no real letdowns from there, but it’s the succession of four songs at the end of Suncrush that really seal the deal.  The Posies-inflected “Dorobo,” into the Merseybeat-tinged “Spaghetti,” the dual-guitar enhanced “Yasumi” (shades of Lizzy and the Manics), culminating with “Doughnuts,” with its opening chord-chug echoing the Velvet Underground's “Rock ’n’ Roll.” 

On Soundcloud, Asako Ota has all of four followers, despite a fetching photo of her reading Murakami’s The End of the World in French. C’mon, who can resist that? If Maltese sang in English they’d double their audience worldwide, and quickly. Might I be so brazen as to suggest they concoct a covers collection chock-a-block with resonant and surprising  tunes by inspirations from America and the U.K. 

I’d sure love to hear their version of “Sick of Myself” or “What You Do to Me.”

For now, dig the Maltese. And brush up on your Japanese. 

Comments

The people have spoken.

Keene Kovers

I don’t get out much anymore. I try. Hell, I’m a club crawler for a guy my age. But still, measured against my knock’em-back youth. And there’s so much shit on Netflix.   So no, I didn’t make it to Knuckleheads to see Matthew Sweet and Tommy Keene, even though I meant to. I about had my kid talked in to it, but he dropped out because of “homework,” Ya think? But I did listen to music by those guys preparatory to (not) seeing them. In the process I finally dove in to a collection of Tommy Keene’s that I’d never really explored. It’s called Excitement at Your Feet, a reference to the Who’s “See Me, Feel Me.” Just in case you thought it was a collection of songs about foot fetishism. There’s even a Who song on here - “Much too Much,” which is pretty ace. It’s all pretty ace.   A video of that Television cut, "Guiding Light." Some songs are better suited to Tommy’s plaintive aggro than others. I’m not thrilled with his take on “The Puppet” by Echo and the Bunnymen...

1. July 30, 2017, Jane Weaver, Justin Bieber, Starcrawler

This week I’ve been sampling a lot of music. Sampling in the old school sense, that is.   Jane Weaver is a British artist who’s been around in one group or form or whatever for over twenty years. Her recent solo work has become beloved of the psych-folk crowd, the same people I suspect who get giddy over Joanna Newsom, Meg Baird, and whatever. Her new album is World Kosmology . Whoo, there’s a title that any self-respecting punk in 1997 would have called pretentious twaddle. But these are more generous and inclusive times for fans of outsider music. Boris fans may be Margo Price fans may be Kendrick Lamar fans. Weaver combines trippy analog synths, motorik beats (4/4 time, but rigidly mechanical, favored by Krautrockers), chiming electric and strumming acoustic guitars and her own ethereal vocals. It all works because the songwriting is fetching. Give it a chance and it charms. It probably sounds great fucked up on pot, although I haven’t tried that yet.   I hea...

10. Alan Vega - It (Fader) ... SPEW'S Top 10 countdown.

If you know who Alan Vega is we can move along.  Alan Vega with one of his installations. But maybe some of you don’t.  Alan Vega was part rockabilly hiccup, part electronic futurist. He was a poetic minimalist. Whether as musician, either with his partner Martin Rev in the band Suicide or solo, or as visual artist (his gallery shows were infrequent, but legendary), Vega was uncompromising and unwilling to play the game. He was interested in energy, in process, not in creating a portfolio. One romanticizes artists at one's peril, but Alan Vega didn't have time for bullshit, and his work shows it.  Alan Vega died in 2016; he was seventy-eight years old. Much of his life he’d been a bit cat and mouse about his age, not wanting to let his Seventies “punk” peers at Max's and CBGB's know he was fifteen years older than them. He needn’t have worried. Nothing dated Alan Vega.  His posthumous swan song It i(the back half of a New York 'exit...