Concert Review: Ichiko Aoba Casts a Spell at the Wiltern

By Sarah Hyun

As the lights dimmed and silence took hold of the crowd, it was clear that this would be no ordinary concert. Ichiko Aoba, Japanese folk singer-songwriter famous for her “Windswept Adan” album, played two nights at the Wiltern in Los Angeles on April 26 and 27 for her “Luminescent Creatures” world tour. I had the pleasure of attending the latter date. Aoba is a powerful wordsmith and adept at the guitar, blending intricate fingerpicked melodies with orchestral instrumentation and mesmerizing vocals that command attention and quiet. Her songwriting is filled with vivid imagery — coupled with her breathy yet compelling voice, Aoba hushed her audience into attentive stillness at the first note. She kept her audience engaged throughout with her sudden transitions from peaceful strumming to complex fingerstyle guitar, the orchestra and her voice following along and matching the energy. The excitement that filled the air as anticipating fans waited for the night to start was electric — many were spotted taking photos in front of an “Ichiko Aoba” titled sign and walking around in frilly dresses, bows and soft pastels that mirrored Aoba’s aesthetic. 

Ichiko Aoba entered the stage with the Wordless Music Quintet, dressed in a sparkling white gown and an intricate headpiece adorned with a single green feather. Opening with “Space Orphans,” Aoba’s voice did not so much cut through the room as it floated — soft, smooth and deliberate. No one whispered, no one shifted in their seat; it was the kind of presence that did not demand silence so much as invite it. The experience felt dreamlike as the music filled every corner of the venue, Aoba completely entrancing her audience. Not a single glowing cell phone could be spotted, nor any melodic hums from the crowd heard. Everyone was truly present, spellbound by her gentle tone of voice, eyes glued to the stage and heads swaying along gently. There was something very human about this show — despite the Wiltern’s larger 2300-person capacity, the concert felt deeply personal and intimate as the crowd soaked in the quiet and respected the performance. 

Aside from this mesmerizing marriage between Aoba’s voice and her backing orchestra, the stage was decorated whimsically, almost like a scene from a movie. Warm ambient lighting, a rustic carpet, old wooden chairs and tables and a large globe created an ethereal setting that evoked a film set more than a concert hall, further transporting the audience to an other-wordly realm. The orchestration coupled with the filmlike scenery and Aoba’s lyrics — rich with naturalistic imagery, dream references and symbolism — created a backdrop that was picturesque and meaningful. The deep pluck of a bass and the soft swell of delicately bowed strings added a sweetness that, in many songs, complemented Aoba’s tone, and in others created disjunction, adding an almost unsettling quality; it was characteristic of the unpredictable phases of a dream sequence. This juxtaposition of slow, delicate playing and more upbeat, aggressive playing perfectly highlighted Aoba’s voice and guitar strumming. With the stage resembling the living room of a house, a sense of nostalgia also filled the air. The visual elements really enhanced the emotion behind her music, making the performance feel like a surreal folktale unfolding in real time. 

Although Ichiko Aoba sings and writes in Japanese, she has the ability to emotionally deliver songs in a way that transcends language barriers. Those who do not understand Japanese can certainly feel the essence of her words; her melodies are enough to speak right to the heart. With her elongation of certain vowels, sudden tempo changes from upbeat to slow, and intentional pauses in her singing — allowing space for the instrumentals — Aoba has made her voice its own instrument, creating a rhythmically and sonically pleasing experience for listeners. She performed “Bouquet” and “Asleep Among Endives” — two tracks that gained significant traction in the U.S., amassing a combined 86 million Spotify streams, which helped her grow a large American fanbase. 

Both songs, along with many others from her most recent album, “COLORATURA” lean again into the illusory escapade felt at her shows; it is as if you are drifting into a musical landscape that is both soft and emotionally disorienting. In “Bouquet,” she sings, “You dance / This world just can’t hold you, just like a bouquet / For ordinary days, rewarding days too / For the future / This is a ticket, so live.” Similarly, in “Asleep Among Endives,” Aoba sings, “At the edge of the world / We strain our ears to hear the galaxy… Asleep among endives / Now, the world too / Closes its eyes / Concealing us.” Aoba’s words are deeply introspective, inviting reflection as she urges about the importance of cherishing the little time we have on earth, finding peace in living in the present moment and appreciating life’s simplicities.

To wrap up the night, Aoba sang “Omedetou no Uta,” unplugged and with only her guitar. She slowly stood from her chair, shifted closer to the audience and began singing, her voice reverberating naturally in the open theatre space. Every breath intake, every subtle vocal inflection — could be heard. Fans again watched in silent awe, seemingly careful as to not disturb the peace, as her gentle tone filled the room. This performance in particular — with no orchestra, no voice or guitar amplification and no focus on stage adornment — felt deeply human in its simplicity. 

When Aoba sang her final note, the crowd paused for a short moment before erupting in warm, grateful applause. Aoba thanked her audience for coming out before exiting, ending the night on a satisfying yet bittersweet note. Although fans were sad that the show had reached its end, they were also left content and somewhat entranced, lingering for a little while longer after she made her departure. For fans of acoustic and folk music, Ichiko Aoba’s live performances offer a rare kind of immersion — one where you do not just listen, but lose yourself in the art. Her concerts are less about personal enjoyment and more about stillness and presence — a tender and intimate invitation to connect and simply exist.