The First One

The hard part about defining a generational talent is that generally it’s trans-generational. That is, the art taps into something simultaneously grounded in a place and a time while being placeless and timeless. Cibo Matto, named after an Italian phrase that translates to "food madness,” was active from 1994–2002, then again from 2011–2017. Frontwomen Yuka Honda and Miho Hatori were two Japanese expatriates and multi-instrumentalists who moved to New York City with an expansive and unique vision that represented their melting-pot origins. And what better landscape than New York to serve that vision.

My gateway to Cibo Matto was Miho Hatori vis-as-vis the Gorillaz (she voiced Noodle). In fact, Cibo Matto clearly sounds the band the Gorillaz might have discovered Noodle from—her proto-project and sprawling, twinkling mind-city in perpetual twilight. The band’s music is trippy, synth-y avant-garde-hip-hop with a strong undercurrent of bossa nova and chillout. Hatori’s vocals are from Cloud 9—like benevolent alien melodies—while her spoken word/rap is fresh off the block in its garage-y roughness and authenticity.

The band released two EPs, Cibo Matto (1995) and Super Relax (1997), and three studio albums, Viva! La Woman (1996), Stereo Type A (1999), and Hotel Valentine (2014), as well as the compilation Pom Pom: The Essential Cibo Matto (2007). The entire discography on shuffle plays like a really good DJ picking deep cuts at your favorite rooftop or open-air venue. Here are a few favorites:

Sci-Fi Wasabi
The bike lane's glowing all over the city
My bike "specializes" in the nitty-gritty
New York City never had equality
It's reality, economic duality

Identity. Raps about riding a bike through Manhattan on the way to score some ‘Sci-Fi Wasabi’ turns into an observation on “multiplicity” and the expansiveness of a Matrix-like city where you’re the hacker—but it’s still just about riding a bike. As a cyclist, you know the rush Hatori describes seeing the city from a different angle. You’re both in it and not part of it. A free radical. Indeed, Cibo Matto hits on the grander theme of inclusion (remember, Honda and Hatori are immigrants) and the particulars their environment, like dodging potholes and passing tourists “on the right” side. Gotta grab some carbs, too.

Food mentioned: Wasabi, stromboli, ravioli

MFN
Cuz the room service was dead slow, it got no flow
You ate oyster, lobster, french bread and butter
You hallucinated, liberated, fascinated, vibrated, tolerated
Give me more bass, get me out of this place

Anthem. Once again, Cibo Matto seems to be aware the we’re living in a simulation and begging us to break out. Alien nations could take over (you know, space aliens), or we could break out of the trance of organized religion. Either way, it’s nature that hold us all together. Whatever you say, they’re the observer in this scenario. It’s like watching a car crash or some other sort of impending doom and saying “I told you so; why didn’t you listen?” The refrain “Don’t tell me ‘what the hell?’ I’m a ghost / Don’t throw the f*cking oyster shell at me” is brilliant in that it’s evocative of both a domestic dispute in a 3-star hotel and class warfare. Bonus points for the line “sucks hard like a diamond.”

Food mentioned: Oysters, lobster, French bread, butter, chocolate

King of Silence (Dan the Automator Remix)
You are the king of silence
You don't need one word to talk to me
All I know is we have sympathy
Close your eyes and lean your head on me, free

Vibes. This was the first Cibo Matto song I ever heard, and it’s probably got the most potential to be commercially successful. This could be straight from a chillout 3-disk box set that you would dig up in a Virgin Records (on a visit to New York, no less). The vibes are immaculate. Cibo Matto is very feminine in that they transcend the purely sexual relationships that pop so often glamorizes and dig into real human connection. It’s like drawing a forbidden tarot card—the King of Silence. As for the production, it’s been said that “Dan the Automator might just be the most low-key super producer on earth” [Dan the Automator]. And low-key is right. He’s worked with Dr. Octagon, Cornershop, Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, Deltron 3030, Handsome Boy Modeling School, and, of course, Gorillaz. That’s a vibe and if you know you know.

Food mentioned: None actually

Sugar Water
I'm riding on a camel that has big eyes
The buildings are changing into coconut trees
Little by little

Downtempo. The tempo is down. This song from Viva! La Woman (1996) is trip-hop that Portishead could get behind. The theme seems, again, to be seeing the world as something different from what it really is. But then again, what’s real? You might say that the island never leaves the girl, and that even in the modern chaos there remains a dream.

Food mentioned: Sugar, coconut

I. We’re open source.

II. We don’t have resources and we don’t need them.

III. We studied everything.

IV. We’re pretty partial toward tangents.

V. We thirst; we’re not thirst traps.

VI. We flex morals.

VII. We live in a society.

VIII. We’re better together.

IX. We ask for it.

X. We’re self-aware without a hint of irony.

I was elated to have received the LEGO Botanical Collection Bonsai Tree (#10281) for Christmas. My underground apartment doesn’t receive much natural light, and I struggle keeping plants alive. Even my Dracaena trifasciata withered and died. The LEGO bonsai would be an eternal plastic testament to my taste and craftsmanship.

At 878 pieces, the set stands 7 inches tall and is curiously designated for ages 18+. (This latter fact, in hindsight, should have given me pause). I’m used to the fantastical sci-fi, fantasy, robotic, animal, and, yes, even botanical models LEGO has produced for decades. Most recently, I had built the Botanical Collection Succulents (#10309) and Tiny Plants (#10329) to decorate my living room, and they were a joy to put together and behold. Surely, the bonsai would be the ultimate zen building experience.

According to writer and bonsai curator Mariya Kanegi, the golden rule of bonsai is often summarized as “Patience and Observation.” The tiny trees are living works of art, requiring constant attention and meticulous care akin to meditation. Similarly, building a LEGO set often enters one into a flow state—disparate pieces accumulating into a solid, synergistic whole.

Indeed, the first two components are beautiful in their simplicity. The brown ‘wooden’ display platform and black pot/container for the tree are both geometric rectangles and use long, flat pieces that fit flush into something LEGO rarely makes—practical objects. I built the LEGO Botanical Collection Bonsai Tree in installments, and for a couple weeks I used the platform to display a small, waving ‘money cat’ tchotchke because I liked it so much.

 When I sat back down to start the tree, though, the experience took on a different light. Expecting to sink into the flow of simply ‘building LEGOs’, I turned a page in the sutra of instructions I was given and faced a dark reality. The pieces for the trunk are, more or less, entirely brown. Add to that, they are odd, unfamiliar shapes which LEGO claims are ingeniously borrowed from other sets to recreate the form of gnarled wood. There is no building this set without the sutra (instructions)—one might as well try how to explain to the unenlightened how the river is both one entity and never the same to make the pieces connect and look realistic. And yet the instructions in the booklet are nearly indecipherable. The glossy paper and ink with which they were printed literally reflected back at my (aging) eyes a mahogany blur. Also, the images of the tree rotate in dizzying pirouettes (90 degrees? 120 degrees? On the x-axis? Both x- and y-?) with almost every step. It’s thus that I learned the First Noble Truth of the LEGO Botanicals Collection Bonsai Tree and unearthed a deep irony—that building the rest of this set would be to embrace suffering.

But if only I could transcend. Perhaps by examining the instructions deeply, by truly understanding the pieces, I could make them take form. Also, I am an adult dammit.

I completed the trunk almost three weeks later in several sit-downs. Next came the foliage. Here, I approached the same roadblocks as with the trunk—the greens (or rather, green) in the instructions blend together. It’s at this point that I learned the origin of suffering—the desire to attain that which cannot be attained. In building LEGO sets, the goal is a picture-perfect recreation of an ideal form. The foliage I completed, however, was more of an approximation, and could not be anything more than an approximation.

This fact pained me; and yet, the tree was complete. Well, almost. The final step is to empty two bags of small, multicolored pegs into the pot/container like stones at the base of the tree. And thus, after so much consternation, I reached my enlightenment: the LEGO Botanical Collections Bonsai Tree does not come out of the box to be perfect because it is meant to be an idiosyncratic masterpiece. Each one is a unique interpretation vis-a-vis the phenomenology of spirit. It is art.

This art piece is available most places LEGOs are sold.

be me
absolute loser, peak loneliness
have exactly one (1) friend
he's probably only my friend out of pity
decide to start an online zine because why not
call it "Digital Dumpster" because self-awareness
write about obscure movies, bands nobody cares about, personal rants
get exactly 3 readers (one is mom, one is friend, one is some random dude from Finland)
Finnish guy leaves comment: "Interesting perspective, keep it up"
literally the highlight of my year
friend occasionally contributes poorly-written anime reviews
traffic spikes from 3 to 5 readers when he posts
think we've made it big
tell parents I'm now a "publisher"
"That's nice anon, when are you getting a real job?"
mfw the hustle never ends
still a loser, but at least now I'm a loser with a zine