Goldrush by Eikichi Yazawa: A Wild Ride Through Sound
Let’s get one thing straight—Eikichi Yazawa’s Goldrush isn’t just an album; it’s a vibe. Released in 1979, this sucker is like a musical melting pot where rock, pop, blues, funk, and soul all crash into each other like drunk friends at a house party. It’s messy, bold, and absolutely unforgettable. The guy didn’t just make music—he made moments.
First off, let’s talk about “Goldrush,” the title track. Man, this song hits hard. From the opening riff to the brass section that feels like it’s bursting out of your speakers, it’s impossible not to feel something. There’s a raw energy here, like Yazawa was channeling every ounce of his ambition into these four minutes. And can we take a second to appreciate Ryuichi Sakamoto on keyboards? That man doesn’t play notes—he paints emotions. You know those songs that stick with you long after they’re over? Yeah, this is one of them. Every time I hear it, I’m transported back to some imaginary desert chase scene from a movie I’ve never seen but totally want to.
Then there’s “Sameta Hada.” If “Goldrush” is the wild child, this track is its introspective sibling. It’s softer, slower, but don’t mistake that for weakness—it packs a punch in its own quiet way. Yazawa’s vocals are hauntingly tender here, almost like he’s whispering secrets directly into your ear. The strings (shoutout to Ryo Fukui) add this bittersweet layer that makes my chest ache in the best possible way. Honestly, I think about this song when I’m walking alone late at night, streetlights flickering above me. It’s melancholy without being depressing, if that makes sense.
What really stands out about Goldrush is how alive it feels. You can tell everyone involved poured their hearts into it. Tsugutoshi Goto’s basslines? Insanely smooth. Jake H. Conception’s brass arrangements? Pure fire. Even the cover art—designed by Teruhisa Tajima—has this retro charm that perfectly matches the vibe inside. Oh, and let’s not forget Hiroki Komazawa shredding on steel guitar. Dude brings so much texture to the mix.
But here’s the kicker—the album came out in both Japan and the Netherlands. Like…what?! How does that even happen? It’s like Yazawa wanted to prove music has no borders, no limits. He wasn’t just making tunes for one crowd; he was speaking to everyone who’d listen.
Listening to Goldrush now, decades later, feels kinda surreal. It’s like finding an old photograph tucked away in a drawer—you remember why it mattered so much back then, but it also takes on new meaning today. Maybe that’s what great albums do—they grow with you.
So yeah, give Goldrush a spin. Let it wash over you, mess with your head, and leave you feeling a little more human than before. Just don’t blame me if you start daydreaming about running through deserts or staring wistfully out rain-speckled windows afterward.
