Japanese WalEPaper - Japanese WalEPaper EP (EP)

There’s a special kind of glow to Japanese Wallpaper’s debut, the self-titled EP that landed in 2015 and quietly rewired a lot of Aussie ears for tender, late-night synth pop. Gab Strum was still a teenager in Melbourne when these songs took shape, but the music carries the calm focus of someone who already knew what to leave out. Everything is featherlight and deliberate. Pads rise like steam. Beats flicker, never shout. It is intimate headphone music that still feels cinematic, a balance he nailed early and never really lost.

The collaborations define the set, and they still feel beautifully cast. Wafia’s turn on Breathe In is the obvious entry point. That song slipped onto Zach Braff’s Wish I Was Here soundtrack in 2014 and gave Strum the kind of break artists dream about. It also telegraphed what the EP does so well: a gentle thrum of kick, glassy keys, and a vocal that feels close enough to fog a mirror. Airling’s voice on Forces floats over bell tones and soft-focus bass, and the whole thing moves like a tide that pulls rather than pushes. Pepa Knight adds a coastal shimmer to Waves. Jesse Davidson’s warm baritone on Between Friends grounds the EP in something more earthly, the melancholy of after-school tram rides and old text messages you never sent.

You can hear how carefully these tracks are put together. Strum has a knack for negative space and for sounds that sit where most people leave air. A little chime here, a sighing synth there, a drum pattern that side-steps the obvious hit. Nothing is rushed. He lets tones decay so you feel the room, not just the notes. That restraint is the hook. It is pop, but the kind that looks you in the eye rather than blasting you from across the room.

Context helps too. In 2014, he won triple j’s Unearthed High, which nudged a whole wave of listeners toward his kind of understated electronic music. By the time the EP arrived, there was a sense that he’d become a touchstone for kids making tracks on cracked laptops in share houses. Plenty tried the formula, but these five songs have a softness that is hard to fake. They do not lean on drops or busy percussion. They bloom quietly and they stick.

I’ve returned to it often and it still plays like a short film you know by heart. Breathe In opens the door with that breathy hush. Forces is the sunrise after. Between Friends has the melancholy chord change that always lands right in the sternum. Waves lets the light in again. Nothing here outstays its welcome, which makes the EP ideal for repeat spins. You hear new little details each time, a shaker barely there, a synth tail that brushes into the next bar.

If you trawl the bins at a Melbourne record store looking for Japanese Wallpaper vinyl, this EP is the one you wish you could pluck out, even if you end up settling for later releases. It is the origin story in full colour. For collectors, keep an eye out for any Japanese Wallpaper EP vinyl chatter, because these songs suit wax. They’re intimate, roomy, and built for needle-drop evenings. If you tend to buy Japanese Wallpaper records online, the usual spots that specialise in vinyl records Australia will be your best bet. And if your search history already reads something like Japanese Wallpaper albums on vinyl, consider this your nudge to keep this EP on your radar anyway. Put it on, and you’ll remember why you cared in the first place.

What makes the record endure is how human it feels. Strum’s production never hides his guests or the emotions they carry. The songs are tender without being cloying. They breathe. It is easy to hear why so many local artists took cues from it in the years that followed. This is a debut that landed softly, then refused to fade, and it still feels like a quiet little landmark from a producer who learned early how to make small moments feel big.