Album Review: Two Things Always Happen Simultaneously by Veno Tagashi
Alright, let’s talk about this little gem from 2003. Two Things Always Happen Simultaneously is one of those albums that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. It’s not your typical rock record—it’s got this weird mix of experimental vibes and acoustic warmth that feels like someone just decided to throw caution to the wind and see what stuck. And honestly? A lot of it does.
First off, props to Ueno for writing music that feels both chaotic and intimate at the same time. The design crew (shoutout to Drumsets!) and photographer Kiyasu clearly had their heads in the game too because the whole package has this raw, DIY charm to it. Like, you can almost smell the late-night studio sessions wafting off the cover art. Majikick Rui, the label behind it all, must’ve been feeling brave to put this out into the world. I mean, who else would greenlight an album with a track literally called “Untitled”? Bold move, but hey—it works.
Now, onto the songs. There’s this one track—"Simultaneous Echoes" (I’m totally making up names here since half the tracks are untitled)—that hit me like a ton of bricks. It starts off slow, almost hesitant, like the instruments aren’t sure if they want to play nice together. Then BAM! This distorted guitar riff crashes in, and suddenly everything clicks into place. You don’t know whether to nod along or sit still and soak it in. That tension between chaos and calm? Pure magic.
Another standout moment is—you guessed it—the actual "Untitled" track. At first listen, it feels like a random collection of sounds, but give it a few spins, and BOOM, you start noticing these tiny details. Like how the drums sound like they’re being played in a tin can, or how the vocals seem to drift in and out like ghosts whispering secrets. It’s kinda haunting, but also really beautiful in its own messy way. Feels like eavesdropping on a private conversation between the artist and his subconscious.
What makes this album stick with me isn’t just the music—it’s the vibe. Listening to it feels like wandering through Tokyo at midnight, where neon lights clash with quiet alleyways. It’s confusing, thrilling, and oddly comforting all at once.
Here’s the kicker though: every time I finish the album, I find myself wondering…what exactly are the two things happening simultaneously? Is it order and disorder? Joy and sadness? Or maybe it’s just my brain trying to process why I love something so imperfect. Either way, Veno Tagashi didn’t just make an album—he made a puzzle. And damn, do I enjoy solving it over and over again.
