Welcome to Major Dreams Minor Thoughts, an audio diary by Aresevé — where music meets memory, and history hums beneath every note.

In this entry, Aresevé traces the origins of The Blues, the evolution of Jazz, and the ways Black music became an act of protest and preservation. Before music was commodified, before record labels and radio play, there were songs sung in the fields — laments and prayers that carried both sorrow and survival. These early sounds were not mere expressions; they were lifelines.

From the horror of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade came a forced migration that sought to strip millions of Africans of their history, language, and identity. Yet even within captivity, culture endured. Enslaved Africans retrofitted their traditions — weaving them into new forms that could exist hidden in plain sight. They merged rhythm and melody with the limited instruments available, blending African tonalities with European scales. From these improvisations emerged spirituals, field hollers, and work songs — the earliest foundations of what would become Gospel, Blues, and eventually, all modern popular music.

These songs carried encoded messages — hopes for freedom, memories of home, and the promise of salvation. In their call-and-response structures and improvisational spirit lay the seeds of resilience and rebellion. Over time, these oral traditions became the basis for a new sound: The Blues, born in the American South as both testimony and therapy. Its rhythm was the heartbeat of a people who refused to be silenced.

As The Blues gave rise to Jazz, and Jazz to Rock & Roll and beyond, the influence of Black artistry spread across the world. Yet history books often fail to acknowledge how deeply African Americans shaped the global soundscape. Without their innovation, there would be no pop, no country, no rock, no soul — only silence where rhythm should be.

This episode invites listeners to reexamine what has been forgotten or rewritten — to understand that the story of American music is, at its core, a story of Black endurance, cultural reclamation, and creative defiance. Through rhythm and harmony, African Americans not only survived — they rebuilt.

Because every note of The Blues carries history.
Every melody of Jazz holds memory.
And every song born from Black expression remains an echo of liberation — a reminder that from pain, beauty can still rise.

Welcome to Major Dreams Minor Thoughts, an audio diary by Aresevé — where music meets memory, and history hums beneath every note.

In this entry, Aresevé dives into the glimmering yet bittersweet world of Japanese City-Pop — a genre that once captured the heart of a nation at its economic peak. Born from Japan's postwar prosperity and the optimism of urban modernity, City-Pop became the sound of ambition, luxury, and liberation. Its lush synths, breezy rhythms, and cosmopolitan energy mirrored the nation's self-image — confident, forward-looking, and beautifully adorned in neon.

But as Japan's economic miracle dimmed, so too did City-Pop's glow. The same sound that symbolized wealth and progress began to feel like a relic of a vanished dream. The genre's decline wasn't just musical — it was social, political, and psychological. It reflected a country grappling with disillusionment, shifting identities, and the quiet aftermath of excess.

This episode was born out of a personal drought — a period where inspiration felt distant and new albums failed to move me. As someone who deeply values cohesive, story-driven albums over singles, I felt detached from the emotional immersion that once fueled my creativity. That changed when I stumbled upon No, No, No by Naoko Gushima, a 1997 gem in 4/4 time and C major — delicate, deliberate, and drenched in melancholy.

From that single song, I found my way to Gushima's album Mellow Medicine — and with it, a rekindled curiosity. Listening pulled me back into the world of City-Pop, but this time not just as a fan, but as a researcher. I wanted to understand how a genre so warm and whimsical could fall from grace — how beauty could be buried beneath the very success it once represented.

In this episode, we trace the origins and evolution of Japanese City-Pop and J-Pop, uncovering how economics, culture, and global perception intertwined to both elevate and erode its legacy. From its roots in Western influence and technological optimism to its rediscovery in the digital age, City-Pop's story is one of reinvention — proof that even the sounds of yesterday can find new life in the ears of a new generation.

This exploration comes with humility and respect. As a non-Japanese researcher and admirer, I acknowledge the limits of my perspective and welcome corrections, insights, and dialogue. My goal is not to speak for a culture, but to listen closely to how its music continues to echo across borders and time.

Because music, at its core, is history set to rhythm — a reflection of who we are, who we were, and who we dream of becoming.

Works Cited:

Callen, Tim, and Jonathan Ostry. "Japan's Lost Decade --- Policies for Economic Revival." Www.imf.org, 13 Feb. 2003, www.imf.org/external/pubs/nft/2003/japan/index.htm.

"City Pop Is Spreading around the World." Web Japan, 2022, web-japan.org/trends/11_culture/pop202203_city-pop.html.

Guo, Jeff , et al. "Japan Had a Vibrant Economy. Then It Fell into a Slump for 30 Years. : Planet Money." NPR, 5 Apr. 2024, www.npr.org/2024/04/03/1197958583/japan-lost-decade.

Office of The Historian. "Milestones: 1945–1952 - Office of the Historian." State.gov, 2019, history.state.gov/milestones/1945-1952/korean-war.

Salazar, Jeffrey. "Memory Vague: A History of City Pop." Umass.edu, Sept. 2021, scholarworks.umass.edu/entities/publication/4e93bdc0-d8a9-4496-b4c7-32e4371b8618. Accessed 28 Sept. 2025.

Welcome to Major Dreams Minor Thoughts, an audio diary by Aresevé — where music meets memory, and history hums beneath every note.

In this episode, we travel into the haunting legacy of Blackface Minstrelsy — a performance born of cruelty, polished into profit, and etched into the fabric of American music. It was a stage built on mockery, yet it became one of the first places where Black expression, despite every boundary, found a way to survive.

Minstrelsy was more than spectacle — it was a system of racism, theft, and class-based exploitation, dressed up as entertainment. And still, from within those confines, African Americans transformed pain into power, reshaping the industry that once sought to destroy them.

History rarely tells this story. When it does, it turns the gaze toward the survivor — asking how such degradation was allowed — while the hand of the perpetrator fades quietly into the background. The result is a narrative steeped in shame rather than truth; an inheritance of sorrow, while the nation escapes the weight of its own violence.

But Major Dreams Minor Thoughts listens differently. It asks: why are Black Americans taught to carry only the grief of their history, and not the brilliance of how they rebuilt it?

Because from the ashes of minstrelsy rose the rhythm, the voice, and the sound of modern music — a testament to endurance, creativity, and reclamation.