Cultural Theory of Anime Soundtracks: The World Inscribed in the Body - [Japanese Anime Cultural Theory] Chapter 17
Connecting composers and the world through six decades, from the 1960s to the 2020s
Soundtracks have evolved from supporting sounds to the world itself. A soundtrack does not explain a worldview. It is an expression that inscribes a worldview into the body without the mediation of words. Sound first acts upon the body, and through that change, the audience feels the world before they understand it. A soundtrack is a device for designing a world, and at the same time, an interface that connects the body to that world. Over a history of more than 60 years, Japanese anime soundtracks have transformed from sounds that support a scene to the point where the entire work becomes a single musical experience. This transformation is not only an evolution of musical technique but also runs parallel to the deepening of the questions posed by the format of anime itself.
The Era of Function (1960s–70s): Isao Tomita and Yasushi Miyagawa
The music Isao Tomita wrote for Kimba the White Lion (1965) was a functional score that supported the emotions of each scene. In the dawn of television anime, soundtracks were "BGM." They were literally "background sounds," designed to assist the meaning of a scene without interfering with the visuals.
The turning point was Yasushi Miyagawa's Space Battleship Yamato (1974). Miyagawa gave Yamato "music that tells a story." The grandeur of the orchestra delivered the sense of "humanity's mission" to the body without explanation. BGM changed from something that assisted the scene to something that carried the emotional skeleton of the story. Yamato's soundtrack might be remembered as the first moment the relationship between music and work shifted from "support" to "amplification."
Expansion of Emotion (1980s): Joe Hisaishi and Shunsuke Kikuchi
In the 1980s, soundtracks used melody as a weapon. The scores Joe Hisaishi wrote for Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (1984) and Castle in the Sky (1986) aimed to move emotions directly while perfectly corresponding with the visuals. The experience of "I cry when that melody plays"—a structure where the audience's emotions and the music are linked by a conditioned reflex—was established in this era. Shunsuke Kikuchi's Dragon Ball (1986) also established a methodology where music designs the exhilaration of battle scenes. The question this era's soundtracks asked was "
how to make them feel." Music functioned as an emotional amplifier. It became an entity that directly manipulated emotions rather than just supporting the work.
The Era of Authorship (1990s): Shiro Sagisu, Kenji Kawai, and Yoko Kanno
The 1990s was the era when soundtrack composers began to be recognized as "authors." What Shiro Sagisu brought to Neon Genesis Evangelion (1995) was a strange eclecticism where Baroque, contemporary music, and pop music coexisted. The organ and strings playing behind "A Cruel Angel's Thesis" and the chorus used for battles with the Angels—this was not "music that fits the scene," but rather music constructing a theological worldview independent of the visuals. In Kenji Kawai's GHOST IN THE SHELL (1995), koto, ethnic percussion, and electronic sounds embodied the philosophical proposition of the "boundary between human and machine" through sound. It is a sound design that makes you feel the distortion of the world in your body the moment you hear it.
Yoko Kanno's Cowboy Bebop (1998) is positioned as the pinnacle of this era. Jazz, rock, blues, and classical music coexist in a single work, and it is not a "mismatched feeling," but rather consistent with the existence of the protagonist, Spike. The mixture of musical genres becomes a sonic expression of Spike's "loneliness of having nowhere to return to." An authorship that makes you realize "this is this person's sound" began to define the worldview of the work itself. Music changed from something that merely amplified emotions to something that assimilated what the work is.
Sound Design Era (2000s): Yoko Kanno, Yuki Kajiura, and Hiroyuki Sawano
In the 2000s, soundtracks evolved beyond the concept of BGM into "sound that creates space." The sound Yoko Kanno constructed for "Ghost in the Shell: STAND ALONE COMPLEX" (2002) has the texture of a "city that exists nowhere, yet is certainly there," where electronic sounds, ambient noises, and ethnic music melt together. It is closer to the sensation of breathing in the atmosphere of that world than simply listening to music. In Yuki Kajiura's ".hack" series and ".hack" and "The Garden of Sinners," lyrics containing invented words and unique vocal languages etch a "non-existent place" into the body. Hiroyuki Sawano combined epic orchestral music with electronic sounds in "Mobile Suit Gundam UC" (2010–) to simultaneously set "the loneliness of space and the tragedy of war" to sound. If one were to express the change of this era in a single phrase, it would be "
music has come to exist as space." It is the sensation of being inside the atmosphere of that world rather than just listening to music. Soundtracks became something that designs the texture of space, not the flow of time.
Design of Emotion (2010s): Hiroyuki Sawano, Kensuke Ushio, Evan Call
The hallmark of 2010s soundtracks is the precision of their integration with visuals. In "Attack on Titan" (2013–), Hiroyuki Sawano incorporated the contrast of an explosion from silence as a structural element of the music. Minimal strings and choral arrangements build tension to the limit, where electronic beats then erupt. This design is inseparable from the visual direction. Here, we see a shift from "music helping the visuals" to "music and visuals being designed while sharing a timeline." If the 2000s were "music of space," the 2010s are "music of time." The breathing of the visuals and the structure of the music are inseparably synchronized.
Kensuke Ushio's "A Silent Voice" (2016) and "Liz and the Blue Bird" (2018) take a contrasting approach. Post-rock minimalism creates a space that does not over-explain. Instead of "piling on" emotion, it "leaves it behind." This methodology resonates with the stillness of the visuals, generating emotion within the audience. In Evan Call's "Violet Evergarden" (2018), the intricate intertwining of piano and orchestra performed the theme of "knowing love" through sound. It is one of the arrival points of an era where soundtracks function as "the design of emotion."
The Disappearance of Boundaries (2020s): Kensuke Ushio, Kevin Penkin, YOASOBI
In the 2020s, the boundary between soundtracks and theme songs is beginning to vanish. In Kensuke Ushio's "Chainsaw Man" (2022), the sonic language of the soundtrack is continuous with the context of the opening and ending themes. Kevin Penkin's "Made in Abyss" (2017–) intentionally uses music to stage the divergence between solemn choral music and cruel visuals. The essential structure of the work—"cute character designs and a cruel world"—is embedded in the very design of the soundtrack.
Theme songs by artists like YOASOBI and Vaundy no longer function as "insert songs outside the work," but rather as the emotional core of the work itself. If you listen to the theme song, you can return to the world of the work, or you enter the work by listening to the theme song first. Soundtracks, theme songs, and the work itself have come to be designed as a single musical experience. Music has come to dominate not only the inside of the work but also its entrance and exit. You enter the world through the opening and are held in the world by the ending. A feeling is emerging that "the entire work is one album."
Sixty Years of Transformation - What Soundtracks Have Continued to Ask
From BGM to sound design, from the amplification of emotion to the design of emotion, from soundtracks to the musical experience of the entire work—tracing this transformation reveals a single question. Soundtracks have changed from something that supports a work into the work itself. The music that Isao Tomita used to assist visuals became the space of a world through Yoko Kanno, and through Kensuke Ushio, it became a structure of thought that shares time with visuals. The influence that Japanese anime soundtracks have had on global film music has not yet been fully discussed. However, the depth of that question continues to ring quietly alongside the works.
Keywords for this chapter
The Era of Function (Isao Tomita, Hiroshi Miyagawa): From BGM to the 'Emotional Skeleton of the Story' — The First Transition from Supplement to Amplification
The Expansion of Emotion (Joe Hisaishi, Shunsuke Kikuchi): Melody Directly Manipulating Emotion — The Establishment of Music Etched into the Body as a Conditioned Reflex
The Era of Auteurism (Shiro Sagisu, Kenji Kawai, Yoko Kanno): Soundtracks as Entities that 'Define the Worldview of a Work' — Eva, Ghost in the Shell, Bebop
Sound Design (2000s): An Era Where Music 'Exists as Space' — The Sensation of Breathing the Atmosphere of a World
The Design of Emotion (Hiroyuki Sawano, Kensuke Ushio, Evan Call): Visuals and Music Designed Sharing a Timeline — Silence and Explosions, Negative Space, and Precision
The Dissolution of Boundaries (2020s): Soundtracks, Theme Songs, and Works Merging into a Single Musical Experience — The Feeling that 'The Entire Work is One Album'
A Sixty-Year Question: From BGM to Sound Design, from Emotional Amplification to Design — Soundtracks have Changed from Supporting a Work to Becoming the Work Itself
Next Chapter: To 'Chapter 18: The Same Sensibility Appeared in Both: The Contemporaneity of Anime and Techno/IDM'
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