In a musical landscape oversaturated by pop and rap, the technical complexity of past music can feel like a fading memory. Just a few decades ago, the Western scene was defined by the ambition of giants like King Crimson, Queen, and Pink Floyd. Yet today, the reigning champions of the charts recycle sanitized, four-chord slop that lacks any semblance of complexity or grit of its predecessors.
While rock has been slowly declining over the last century, it has resurged through the DIY blending of alternative and indie rock. While household names like Green Day and Red Hot Chili Peppers brought rock to the masses with melodic, pop-esque hooks, the indie scene has taken a different approach. Japanese artists have contributed to the genre by blending Western rock structures with jazz-influenced chord progressions and the technicality of math rock, creating some of the most unique music of the 21st century.
At the center of this movement is Cö shu Nie, a band formed in 2011 consisting of Miku Nakamura and Shunsuke Matsumoto. Initially working independently on small-scale projects, the group signed with Sony Music Japan and achieved international success with their release of the album Pure (2019). At its peak, Pure reached #27 on Billboard Japan and #29 on the Oricon charts, remaining as their most-streamed album across platforms. The standout track, “Asphyxia,” is the opening song to the hit series Tokyo Ghoul. It is quite simply, “a cathartic explosion of sound,” according to a Crunchyroll article.
What makes “Asphyxia” so jarringly beautiful is how it executes the asphyxiation motif. Unlike typical music, Cö shu Nie uses the musical instability of different instruments to tell a story about heartbreak and suffering. By shifting time signatures and executing calculated instrumental clashes, Nakamura forces the listener to experience it without merely singing about breathlessness.
The song opens in a standard 4/4 time signature. Nakamura’s vocals are upfront and strong, accompanied by clean piano chords. For a moment, there is comfort—then the arrangement quickly spirals down into a collision of acapella voices crashing against a fast-paced, driving bass line. This gives off a sense of suffocation, the feeling of being trapped in chaotic sound before you have had the chance to settle in.
As you enter the verse, the mood shifts to something dreamy, almost fragile. Underneath the vocals, the bass guitar performs a descending progression mimicking a staircase effect that pulls the listener down into the depths of the track. The percussion is anchored by the shimmering of the hi-hat, keeping the energy mysterious and bouncy.
As tension builds, the song moves into 6/8. You can feel the song inviting you to question when the guitar will finally enter the mix. There is a brief silence where the bass drops out for a second, creating a drop that feels like you have lost gravity.
The greatest execution of the asphyxiation motif occurs at the end of the verse. Nakamura sings the lyrics, “kore ga genjitsu.”(meaning “This is reality,”). Right as the phrase ends, the song jumps to 5/8 for a single bar. This insert acts as a literal gasp for air; a break, leaving the listener on their toes, anticipating the next line.
The instrumental break is my favorite part of the song.
The chorus alternates between 11/8 and 12/8, a time signature so irregular it feels like it is tripping over itself. You have Nakamura’s emotional, angelic head voice floating over piano chords. And then underneath is the fast-paced acoustics of the drums and a grungy, overdriven bass that adds a unique texture to the piece. She delivers these vocals across fourteen bars, without seeming to take a breath. That subtle detail mimics the physical strain of suffocation, intensifying this feeling of breathlessness and suffocation under the notes.
The little piano accents add a mezzopiano layer of complexity. It seems counterintuitive to have piano in such a bass-heavy piece, but it weaves moments of rest in mimicking the flickering of consciousness one might feel while suffocating.
The instrumental break is my favorite part of the song. This allows the guitar and bass to shine while the vocals are out. Here, the bass line becomes incredibly complex, making wide interval jumps that pair nicely with the overdriven guitar and snappy percussion.
The transition into the bridge rolls back into 6/8. It is marked by crisp drum rim shots, making the switch easy to follow. The mood feels romantic and “breathier,” incorporating jazz-influenced chords and a piano tremolo that builds toward the climax.
While much of today’s mainstream landscape relies on the same four chords, Cö shu Nie proves that there is beauty in instability.
The song returns to 11/8, reminding you of the clashing. The melody lures you into a false sense of rhythm and pattern before ending not with a bang, but the clash of bass and piano that settles into lone, quiet notes.
What makes “Asphyxia” so special to me is its use of contrast as a narrative tool. Nakamura freely works with soft vocals, pitting them against punchy, math-rock percussion and bass that somehow mesh together so beautifully to create a feeling of asphyxiation.
While much of today’s mainstream landscape relies on the same four chords, Cö shu Nie proves that there is beauty in instability. “Asphyxia” is one of many songs reminding us that music is at its best when it’s daring, unafraid to evoke emotion.
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