Concrete Revolutio's first season ended in fiery riots, as the student supporters of superhuman vigilantes demanded both greater government accountability and greater superhuman autonomy. But the house won that battle - even though Jiro's rage was only quelled through the combined efforts of official and undocumented superhumans, the violence of the riots demolished public faith in superhumans in the end. Jiro left the Bureau, with his dangerous nature and distrust of their methods making him a hunted fugitive. Greater government crackdowns commenced, and support for superhumans returned to a hope whispered in the dark.

The Last Song picks up several years after that cataclysmic event, where we learn that the world has kept on turning despite the riots' signigicance. The Bureau is smaller now - detective Shiba Raito joins briefly, but his own tempestuous ideals quickly force him to go rogue as well. The military police have gained great power over superhuman affairs, and Japanese-American efforts to weaponize superhumans have continued. Jiro has shifted from a champion to a ghost, popping up here and there to shelter a single superhuman, but no longer seeking to change society at large.

Many episodes of The Last Song play out like the first season's, as a series of episodic superhuman conflicts that eventually tie together into something bigger. There's an episode about the underground yokai of Emi's world and another that focuses on Olympic athletes as symbols of Japanese power. There are clashes within and outside the bureau, and historic parallels that range from broad in scope to a direct meditation on the consequences of the Vietnam war.

This structure might seem disappointing at first, since the show's first season seemed to be building toward a grand central narrative. But in truth, the similarity between day-to-day events before and after the Shinjuku riots is essentially the point. Concrete Revolutio takes the wide perspective on history - our actions are meaningful, but nothing is ever truly “solved.” The students who once raged against a tyrannical system have had to make their peace with the world; some choose to reject it like Jiro, others decide to either do good within the system or adopt more flexible ideals. Everyone does what they can and learns to live with the consequences of their actions. Concrete Revolutio is too dedicated to respecting the cyclical nature of history to pretend that anything ever ends.

Beyond their thematic significance, The Last Song's episodic stories also happen to be really good, if not fantastic. The show builds on all the characters and relationships it established in the first half, while also introducing a compelling new slate of episodic stars. These vignettes feel sharper than they did in the first half, more dedicated to skewering specific things like film propaganda or our relationship with the environment, better-constructed as dramatic wholes, and the addition of a slate of guest writers adds a variety of new twists to the show's formula.

The show's structure is still somewhat confusing, and the direction is less than ideal. A series that rapidly shifts between decades of distinct events is almost bound to be disorienting, and issues of dramatic composition do lead to several climactic moments feeling less impactful than they should. Concrete Revolutio sometimes makes unreasonable demands of its audience - you'll occasionally have to work to piece together the significance of an event, because the thread of the narrative is too obscured by its composition. This doesn't just mean “pay close attention” (although you definitely need to do that), it means some events are robbed of the emotional impact their intellectual content deserves in execution. More clarity and punch in direction and a little more focus in writing would have done the show a world of good. On top of that, not every character is equally well-served by these stories. While characters like Jaguar and Shiba get some phenomenal individual moments, both Emi and Kikko are often reduced to Jiro's groupies, expressing little motivation outside of their desire to pursue him. Emi eventually rises above this status and claims a crucial place in the narrative, but it often feels like Kikko's narrative ended at the Shinjuku riots.

But in the end, those complaints are dwarfed by how much the show accomplishes and how well it comes together. The last third of this season is a dizzying act of narrative fusion, pulling together virtually all of the show's lingering threads into a thundering, heartbreaking, inspiring conclusion. Jiro is ultimately forced to make a series of hard choices, as he comes to terms with the fact that hiding in the shadows means refusing to truly embody his beliefs. The ultimate reveal of Jiro's nature underlines his role as the voice of a generation - directly tied to the idea of the bomb, Jiro is the archetypal child of the nuclear age, struggling to find a way forward in a world that seems determined to destroy itself. Friends clash and old partnerships rekindle as the nature of justice, power of art, and indispensable hope for a better world are brought together in one rising, irrepressible chorus.

The show's aesthetics continue to be compelling in their wild variance. There's a broad menagerie of distinctive character designs, featuring character concepts drawn from a wide history of superhuman source material. But these disparate designs rarely feel incongruous; their diversity all fits neatly within the underlying aesthetic, a pop-art sensibility that gracefully accommodates pretty much any visual trick the show can invent. Concrete Revolutio's angular style of shading and rich color work also give its scenes a consistently unique sense of beauty.

The animation isn't entirely consistent, but when the big set pieces arrive, Concrete Revolutio shines. Yutaka Nakamura has essentially become BONES' go-to animation heavyweight - his style was clear in Space Dandy and Blood Blockade Battlefront, and his highlights dazzle in The Last Song. The show actually seems to have become an experimentation ground for the maverick animator - scenes like this one are somewhat awkwardly paced and more heavy on effects than impact, but still present a clear voice stretching the limits of his expertise. The show doesn't maintain consistently stellar animation, but it doesn't really need to. All of the big action sequences are excellent, and the finale is a visual joy from start to finish. Concrete Revolutio's music is nearly as eclectic as its character designs, embodying the diversity of mid-century pop-rock while returning to a core stable of electronic and guitar tracks. The first season's ending song remains the highlight; those opening chords never fail to chill, always heralding some great and terrible climax.

It's hard to stop gushing about Concrete Revolutio - I don't often come across a show this rich and satisfying, matching so many great ideas with so much emotional weight. Concrete Revolutio's narrative flaws feel almost inconsequential in light of its myriad accomplishments - the show is both immediately rewarding and fully deserving of a deep dive on any number of topics. You could explore the many cultural artifacts it draws into its narrative or the very real history its events are mirroring. You could interrogate its passionate feelings on art and music or unpack the layered significance of Jiro's place in its world. Many of the show's best characters are given texture through the slightest of moments - Jaguar receives perhaps fifteen minutes of screentime this season, and yet his development mirrors Jiro's in ways so satisfying that his ultimate resolution feels like a fist-pumping celebration. Raito Shiba is the epitome of a tragic hero, and Emi's fury feels as deep and relentless as the sea. The show's ultimate collective voice stands as a resounding rally in favor of optimism, sincerity, and hope.

Concrete Revolutio never provides any easy answers and never settles on an ideal form of activism or justice. It doesn't even assert that there is no immovable justice - Jiro has his doubts, but he fights for his childhood ideals right up until the end. The show's grasp of history is too broad and unflinching for any pat conclusion - but it still believes in the search for justice with all its heart. Concrete Revolutio is ultimately about the search for a better world in the reality of a broken one. It acknowledges that this search is all we have, but in the hands of such skilled and inspired creators, that hope feels like more than enough.