The greatest triumph of Fujii Kaze’s first English-language album Prema is how effortlessly he conveys who he is. The nine songs gracing his third overall full-length finds the 28-year-old artist translating the same overarching themes of his Japanese-language work to a global audience. He’s singing about embracing optimism even in the face of the lowest emotional valleys, and imbuing it all with a spirituality that makes every love song here feel just as much directed at a higher force as a romantic partner.
It’s the same ethos that turned him into one of the brightest names in his home country, and it carries over to his most ambitious effort yet. The history of J-pop crossovers into the global market is littered with stumbles by artists trying to introduce themselves to new listeners, ranging from idol duo Pink Lady’s disastrous variety show to Utada Hikaru’s clunky “I’m Japanese-y” first impression. There’s a tendency to overthink or change up one’s image to adjust to an imagined audience. On Prema, Kaze is fully himself, and that’s a triumph on its own.
Musically, Prema provides a more mixed experience. Kaze has long been a sonic chameleon, capable of sounding at home in piano ballads, synth-powered groovers and acoustic strolls. He’s showcasing that flexibility across these songs, but embracing a sound rooted in the ‘80s and ‘90s.
“I tried to write a love letter to English pop music,” he told Melodic Magazine, with his first international-minded set doubling as a way to celebrate the Western sounds that shaped his own artistry. Kaze himself often shines, but the music itself can sometimes feel too one-dimensional, limiting what he’s capable of.
The retro mindset becomes immediate on the slink of opener “Casket Girl,” which matches its macabre imagery with a melody straight out of the Hall & Oates songbook. Nearly every song on Prema begs you to connect the dots to some sound of yesteryear, from the glossy big-stage funk rock of “I Need U Back” to the turntable-assisted R ‘n’ B of the title cut, both aiming to capture a specific Western era’s vibe via production techniques (though it’s easy to hear echoes of early Toshinobu Kubota and debut-era Utada in those numbers respectively, tying Kaze to a lineage of other artists with international aims).
Producer 250 appears on nearly every song here, and he would seem a good fit for an album interested in grafting the past onto Kaze’s present. He himself grabbed attention in his home of South Korea by revisiting the classic pop sounds of trot in the 21st century and for helping craft out-of-time masterpieces by K-pop group NewJeans. Yet on Prema the backdrops can come off as too referential without adding any modern twist to them. At its worst it feels like a stock soundtrack for a high school prom, as lowpoint “You” demonstrates with its percussive pitter-pat and synth chunks.
It’s also a bit telling that the biggest pop moment here comes from the one song playing with modern sounds. “Hachiko,” featuring prolific songwriter Tobias Jesso Jr. and producer Nolan Lambroza, pairs string swells alongside a shifty beat that gives Prema its poppiest moment, and the one inclusion that feels untethered to a different era.
Kaze remains able to adjust to whatever sonic background he’s in front of, and nothing gets lost in the change from Japanese to English. His lyrics have always relied on repetition and a deceptive simplicity allowing him to explore bigger themes with an economic amount of words. Here songs presenting as on love and loss conceal deeper reflections on impermanence and self worth, made direct on “Prema” as he digs into the Sanskrit origins of the title, with the most straightforward nod to his spiritual side with the hook “Prema / can’t you see that you are god itself?” He also comes off as completely earnest throughout, saving otherwise awkward lines like “Prema’s” “Living in this small world, and its future’s bright / brighter than my ceiling lights / and sweeter than my mother’s cream pies.” Only Kaze vocals could make something potentially eye-brow raising feel like it is about his mom’s baking abilities.
Prema works best as a sonic business card, introducing Kaze’s strengths to a new audience in a way true to how he’s functioned as a pop star in Japan during the 2020s. The full range of his singing is put on display, as does his upbeat worldview which feels genuinely welcome in 2025’s pop landscape (oddly, the themes he explores most closely resemble the worship-adjacent stylings of Alex Warren, yet Kaze has the decency to wrap his positivity up in upbeat music instead of plodding acoustic shout-a-longs). On this front, Kaze’s artistry comes across intact, instantly making it a success in the story of J-pop directly trying to go abroad.
The music, though, proves limiting. Prema also arrived online with a special Pre: Prema edition collecting Japanese singles Kaze released over the past year and a half. Nearly all of these top the songs on the album proper, either by stripping Kaze’s sound down to make his ennui come across stronger (“Masshiro”) or offering more modern touches alongside his piano chops (“Workin’ Hard,” “Hana”). Then there’s the numbers produced by long-time collaborator Yaffle, who always adds a touch of modernism to Kaze’s compositions, and whose work with him remains his high watermark.
At its best Prema offers a kind of introduction to Kaze, showing he’s capable of expressing himself in English without losing anything. His desire to highlight the Western sounds he loved growing up is sweet and results in some solid music, but also holds him back as he becomes too reverent to the past. Kaze is an artist for now, after all, and the next step is to face that challenge head on.
