Hidden Identities: The Culture Behind Japan’s Masked Singers

Two Sides of a Mask

Since the early 2010s, a wave of performers who veil themselves behind masks, silhouettes, and animated avatars, have established themselves in Japan’s music industry. Known as fukumen shingā, or “masked singers,” artists like Ado and the band Zutomayo have risen to prominence via online platforms like YouTube, becoming stars even as they fiercely guard their true identities.

Masks have been a part of Japanese culture and performing arts since ancient times, and masked singers can be viewed as a modern interpretation of an old tradition, with expression and artistry juxtaposed against a desire for anonymity in a celebrity-crazed world.

Their appearance was foreshadowed by pioneering technopop band Yellow Magic Orchestra in their 1979 hit “Behind the Mask,” a song that evokes the emotional void lurking behind the different “faces” people are forced to wear in their lives. Sung through a vocoder—a device that blends vocal and instrumental sounds—the lyrics by British songwriter Chris Mosdell evoke the two sides of a mask in a hauntingly robotic tone. Pop superstar Michael Jackson took the imagery a step further in his cover of the song, with the mask in the music video, which was released after his death, quite literally becoming the star.

Different Faces

The rise of masked singers began around the late 2010s, with a growing number appearing on online platforms. These include Ado, whose 2020 hit “Usseewa” was an anthem to the frustrations of today’s youth, Yama, and the band Zutomayo, whose only somewhat identified member is the female vocalist calling herself ACA-Ne. The reasons given for keeping identities hidden vary widely among acts. The four members of the forerunner group GRe4N BOYZ (GreeeeN), for instance, have kept their faces hidden since their 2007 debut to keep their musical pursuits from interfering with their day jobs as dentists.

The English word “mask” can be translated as either fukumen or kamen in Japanese, but the terms are, strictly speaking, not interchangeable. Kyoto University of the Arts Professor Yoshioka Hiroshi points out that Japanese, in fact, has three different words for mask, adding to the list masuku borrowed from English. Yoshioka notes that kamen can carry a Western or Gothic image, whereas fukumen describes hiding one’s identity for a specific purpose. (The third term, masuku, on the other hand, is a general face covering, like those worn by medical workers, whose primary purpose is not concealment but blocking out unwanted matter to protect the wearer.)

Following Yoshioka’s interpretation, Japan’s masked singers combine the different qualities of both kamen and fukumen. In a Japanese sense, the former kamen mask is often a means of stripping away emotion and allowing the pursuit of pure expression, like the neutral countenance of nō masks that combine with the stylized movements of performers to convey an array of emotions, or the black hoods worn by some puppeteers in the traditional art of bunraku. This presents a contrast with the kamen of the Western tradition, such as the coquettish masks worn by the nobility at masquerade balls, allowing the wearers anonymity and freedom.

It is important to distinguish the Japanese and Western cultural nuances of kamen and fukumen when considering the phenomenon of internet-born masked singers. While J-Pop may be rooted in Western music traditions, a consideration of Ado, one of the most prominent masked singers, brings to light the traditional Japanese context of keeping one’s face hidden.

Ado as a Nod to Tradition

Ado got her start as an utaite, an artist singing covers of tracks created with Vocaloid singing-synthesis software. She quickly gained international attention, and has been on a world tour since 2024. Speaking to the Manila Bulletin prior to her first concert in the Philippines, she said she wanted to use the tour to create opportunities for people around the world to learn more about the beauty, culture, and music of Japan.

Ado has expressed her deep appreciation of traditional Japanese culture. Her stage name, a term for a supporting character in a play, and her first album Kyōgen, released in 2022, are nods to Japan’s classical comic theater. These may be somewhat odd choices for a masked singer as kyōgen, unlike nō, is performed largely without masks, but her intention is clear. There is also her appearance on national broadcaster NHK’s Kōhaku uta gassen New Year’s Eve music program in 2023, where she stood dramatically silhouetted like a shadow puppet on the nō stage of the temple Higashi Honganji in Kyoto in a performance that merged Vocaloid culture with traditional performing arts.

Before Ado began projecting her silhouetted form at concerts, though, she appeared online in a virtual guise, posting songs she had recorded in her closet at home, a style known in Japanese as takuroku. Even after crossing over into mainstream J-Pop, where artists are typically expected to show their faces, she has made the unusual choice to stay anonymous.

In lieu of artistic PR photos, Ado uses an avatar created by illustrator and image director Orihara to shape her public image. By contrast, Billie Eilish, who is around the same age as Ado and also rose to fame through takuroku, recording her first album in her bedroom, performs openly, illustrating that remaining anonymous is not the global standard for home-recording artists. This then raises the question of whether the choice of Ado and other Japanese masked singers to hide their faces is rooted in Japan’s traditional culture.

Facing Inward

The Japanese philosopher Sakabe Megumi has described the transformative role masks play in Japanese culture. In nō, masks are understood as omote, the outer face, whereas a maskless face, hitamen, represents the ura, the true inner self, with the two sides shifting back and forth between each other.

Nō actor Katō Shingo describes putting on a mask as liberating. He says his field of vision narrows, his concentration sharpens, and any feelings of self-consciousness disappear, enabling him to perform as his heart guides him. This freedom that Katō and other nō performers say they feel was shared by many in the public during the pandemic, when face coverings were an obligatory part of life. Children often became so accustomed to wearing masks that they developed “mask dependence,” and after the pandemic subsided felt anxious about showing their bare faces, a phenomenon that Katō says he easily relates to.

Seen as a whole, these suggest that in Japan, masks are less about projecting an outer persona than creating a mechanism for turning inward. Paradoxically, focusing on the inner self leads to a freer, richer form of expression. Like with nō, where the inner and outer overlap in subtle ways, masked singers skillfully navigate this interim space to reveal their ura, their true selves. The mask also shields them from excessive scrutiny from others, allowing fans to focus on their music, performances, and individual expression.

In a March 2024 interview with the British daily The Guardian, Ado stated that her aim in her live shows is pure expression through her singing, the lighting, and her silhouette, reflecting her desire for audience members to enjoy the expressiveness of her art, free of the influence of her actual appearance.

Should we consider the international success of Ado and other masked singers as a new and different reblooming from the seeds planted by YMO in “Behind the Mask” a half a century earlier? If it is, Japan’s masked singers may shake up the music industry by overturning the global assumption that artists should show their real faces, which would be a remarkable achievement.

(Originally published in Japanese. Banner photo © Pixta.)