Ever found yourself spiraling down a 90s anime rabbit hole at 3 AM? If you have, you've probably bumped into the haunting, ethereal melody of Morning of the Angel. It’s one of those tracks that feels like it’s been stitched into the very fabric of Japanese pop culture. Most people recognize it as the "other" big song from Neon Genesis Evangelion, standing in the massive shadow of "A Cruel Angel’s Thesis." But honestly? This track, known in Japan as Tenshi no Yubikiri or sometimes Ame nochi Angel, carries a weight that the upbeat opening theme just can't touch.
It’s weird.
The song captures a specific kind of melancholy that defined an entire era of Gainax production. We aren't just talking about a catchy tune here. We are talking about a cultural artifact that bridges the gap between 90s J-Pop and the psychological deconstruction of the giant robot genre. It’s the sound of Shiro Sagisu’s genius colliding with the vocal prowess of Yoko Takahashi.
The Sound Design Behind Morning of the Angel
What makes it work? It’s the contrast. You’ve got these crisp, almost optimistic orchestral swells clashing with lyrics that feel like a fever dream. Shiro Sagisu, the legendary composer who basically defined the "sound" of Evangelion and later Shin Godzilla, didn't just write a song. He built an atmosphere.
Think about the instrumentation for a second. It uses a 90s-specific MIDI-heavy string section that somehow manages to sound both cheap and expensive at the same time. It’s nostalgic. It’s also deeply unsettling if you listen to it while thinking about Shinji Ikari’s mental state. While "A Cruel Angel’s Thesis" is about the call to heroism, Morning of the Angel feels more like the quiet, terrifying realization of what that heroism actually costs.
Most fans get the versions mixed up. You have the Takahashi vocals, but you also have the various instrumental iterations that pop up in the Evangelion Death and Rebirth soundtracks. It’s a mess of discography, frankly. But that’s the charm. It’s layered. It’s messy. It’s very Hideaki Anno.
The Takahashi Factor
Yoko Takahashi is a powerhouse. Period.
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Her voice has this vibrato that feels like it’s vibrating at the same frequency as the soul. When she recorded Morning of the Angel, she was at the peak of her "Eva" fame. But here’s the thing: she doesn't over-sing it. She keeps it grounded. In a series where kids are screaming in cockpits and the world is ending in a puddle of orange LCL, her voice is the only thing that feels human.
Why Morning of the Angel Isn’t Just "Another Anime Song"
Let's be real for a minute. Most anime songs are disposable. They’re marketing tools meant to sell CDs and boost Oricon rankings. Morning of the Angel is different because it functions as a leitmotif for the franchise’s more philosophical leanings.
It’s about the morning after the apocalypse.
When you look at the lyrics—and I mean really look at them—they talk about the "cruelness" of the morning light. It’s the idea that life continues even when you’re broken. That’s the core of Evangelion. It’s not about the robots. It’s about the fact that tomorrow morning is going to happen whether you want it to or not.
The Cultural Impact in Japan
If you walk into a karaoke box in Shinjuku today, you will still see this song on the "top requested" lists. It’s not just for the "otaku" crowd. It’s a standard. It represents a time when anime music started being taken seriously as legitimate art.
The track has been covered dozens of times. Some versions are jazzier. Some are acoustic. None of them quite capture that original 1990s "lightning in a bottle" feel. It’s the audio equivalent of a grainy VHS tape—flawed, slightly distorted, but utterly indispensable.
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Misconceptions and the "Lost" Versions
People often confuse this track with Angel’s Promise (Tenshi no Yubikiri) from Kare Kano. It makes sense. Both involve Shiro Sagisu. Both have "Angel" in the title. Both have that same vibe. But they are distinct entities.
- Morning of the Angel is darker.
- It’s tied specifically to the Death and Rebirth era.
- It’s more "theatrical" in its arrangement.
There’s also this weird myth that the song was supposed to be the ending theme for the original TV run. That’s not true. "Fly Me to the Moon" was always the intended closer. Morning of the Angel was born from the need to expand the brand as the movies began to take shape. It was a bridge. It was the sound of the franchise growing up and realizing it was a global phenomenon.
The Technical Brilliance of Shiro Sagisu
Sagisu is a maximalist. He loves big sounds. He loves choirs. He loves tension.
In Morning of the Angel, he shows restraint. He lets the melody breathe. If you’re a musician, try stripping the song down to its chords. It’s surprisingly complex. It doesn't follow the standard I-V-vi-IV pop progression. It wanders. It feels like it’s looking for a resolution that never quite arrives.
That lack of resolution is intentional. It mirrors the show’s ending—or lack thereof, depending on which version of the finale you’re watching. The song is a question, not an answer.
How to Actually Listen to It Today
Don't just stream it on a crappy phone speaker. You’re doing it wrong.
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Find the high-res FLAC versions from the Evangelion Finally collection. Or better yet, find the original 1997 CD release. The mastering on the original discs has a dynamic range that modern streaming services crush into oblivion. You want to hear the air in Takahashi’s voice. You want to hear the way the reverb tails off into nothingness.
Moving Forward with the Legacy
So, where does that leave us? Morning of the Angel is a reminder that anime music can be high art. It’s a reminder that even in a series about giant monsters, the most impactful moments are often the quietest ones.
If you’re looking to dive deeper into this specific corner of music history, there are a few things you should do.
First, track down the "Renewal" soundtracks. They offer a much cleaner look at the layers Sagisu put into the production. Second, compare the vocal tracks between the 1997 version and the later re-recordings. You can hear the age and experience in Takahashi’s voice as the years go by. It adds a whole new layer of meaning to a song about the passage of time.
Finally, watch the Death and Rebirth credits again. Don't skip them. Let the song play out. It was designed to be the final emotional beat of that experience. In a world of skip buttons and 15-second clips, giving a six-minute masterpiece your full attention is the only way to truly "get" it.
Start by listening to the Evangelion Death (True)² version. It’s arguably the most "complete" realization of the song’s intent. From there, explore the rest of Sagisu’s 90s output to see how he refined this specific sound. The rabbit hole goes deep, but the music makes the fall worth it.