There are now 1,025 Pokémon to remember, pronounce, rank, defend in group chats, and insist were better before everyone else discovered them. That is a lot of creatures. It is enough creatures to fill a regional Pokédex, a national Pokédex, several binders, and apparently an entire musical expedition. For Pokémon’s 30th anniversary, The Pokémon Company has answered the obvious question—what if the Pokérap had the stamina of a full anime episode?—with an official song and video that runs for roughly 22 minutes and includes every Pokémon released so far.
The project serves as an enormous modern counterpart to the original Pokérap, the song many viewers of the 1990s Pokémon anime will remember from episode endings. That earlier number had the relatively manageable assignment of naming the original 151. It was performed by James “D Train” Williams and Babi Floyd, and its mixture of character names, rapid-fire delivery, and fierce commitment to making “Kabutops” sound like a chart contender lodged itself in the brains of a generation.
Pokémon later revisited the name-listing format during the Johto and Hoenn eras. But the roster kept expanding, as rosters in a monster-collecting universe are contractually required to do. The current total is 1,025, before Winds and Waves is expected to add more next year. The new anniversary track is therefore not just a nostalgia nod. It is a determined attempt to look directly at three decades of creature design and say: yes, we are doing every last one.
A Pokérap that refuses to stay in one musical lane
Masayoshi Oishi performs the new song, which does not simply try to recreate the sound of the old rap. Its opening has the bright, soaring energy of an anime opening theme more than a straightforward hip-hop track. From there, it changes shape repeatedly. Swing, salsa, smooth jazz, heavy metal, and other stylistic turns appear across the full piece before it circles back toward that energetic anime-theme feeling.
That genre-hopping is a sensible solution to a silly logistical challenge. Twenty-two minutes of uninterrupted alphabetical—or Pokédex-order—roll call would be less a song than a highly melodic inventory audit. Instead, the arrangement gives the complete roster changes in pace and personality. A listener is not meant to sit there feeling as though they have been assigned 1,025 flashcards. The musical shifts create little landmarks along a route that is, by necessity, extremely long.
It also makes the scale feel appropriate for the anniversary. Pokémon has never been one single thing for very long. It is games, animation, cards, mascots, competitive battles, plush toys, regional myths, and the eternal childhood argument over whether somebody’s favorite is underrated. A tune that slips between genres feels unusually well suited to a franchise that has spent 30 years accumulating different tones, audiences, and species with varying numbers of wings.
Every Pokémon gets a moment, including the deep-cut crowd
The video’s visual approach is just as exhaustive as its lyric sheet. It combines official artwork, screenshots and imagery from the games, plus clips from the anime. The central promise appears to be fulfilled in earnest: each of the 1,025 Pokémon gets at least a few seconds of screen time. That is a meaningful feat when the cast ranges from worldwide mascots to creatures whose chief public role has been making a player pause mid-Pokédex scroll and mutter, “Oh right, that one exists.”
There are notable flourishes for certain Pokémon, including original animation or especially prominent callouts. Fans will likely recognize that some creatures have more institutional star power than others. This is Pokémon, after all; there are monsters with permanent real-estate in the cultural imagination, and there are monsters who have spent years waiting patiently beside a cave entrance for someone to appreciate their silhouette. But the larger video still makes room for the full catalogue rather than treating it as a greatest-hits package.
Related coverage includes Pokémon's 22-Minute Pokérap Celebrates All 1,025 Monsters.
That inclusive approach is the real charm of a project like this. Everybody has an oddly specific favorite. One person is delighted by a famous electric mascot; another has built their entire personality around a lumpy little Rock-type with a name that sounds like furniture assembly. A 22-minute song can accommodate both kinds of devotion. It provides the familiar applause lines while also delivering a small victory for fans who have waited a very long time to see their chosen underdog appear in an official anniversary showcase.
Japanese names make the roll call a different kind of Pokémon trivia
The song is in Japanese, which means many names will sound unfamiliar to people accustomed to English-language Pokémon games, cards, and anime. That is not a barrier so much as another layer of the franchise’s enormous naming puzzle. Pokémon species frequently have different localized names, and hearing the Japanese versions turns the video into a recognition game based on visuals, rhythm, and the occasional triumphant point at the screen.
It is also a reminder that Pokémon has always been a global franchise built from regional variations. Names change, the theme-song language changes, and memories of the anime can differ dramatically depending on where and when someone watched. The creature itself, however, remains instantly legible. Give it two seconds of artwork, a recognizable cry, or a dramatic pose amid a brass section, and somebody somewhere will know exactly which monster has entered the building.
The format makes repeat viewing almost inevitable. A single pass is enough to appreciate the sheer ambition, but it is not realistically enough time to process a thousand-plus arrivals. Viewers may approach it like a scavenger hunt: find a favorite from childhood, spot a beloved late-generation design, identify a Pokémon that deserved more attention, then rewind because a different favorite probably flashed by during the salsa section. It is a music video, but it also has the structure of a communal memory test with very good production values.
From 151 names to a 1,025-Pokémon marathon
The contrast with the original Pokérap is what gives the new song its particular comic grandeur. The old version had 151 names and felt huge because, at the time, it represented the entire known universe of Pokémon. Now that same universe has grown by 874 additional species. The new track does not pretend this is a normal amount of information for the human brain to keep handy. It embraces the absurdity and builds a whole 22-minute event around it.
There is a sweet continuity to that decision. The Pokérap was memorable because it turned a database of fictional animals into a performance. This updated version follows the same basic instinct, even as the task has become exponentially more intimidating. Rather than quietly letting the old song remain a relic of the 151 era, Pokémon has made a new work large enough to match the current scale of its world.
It is also a useful cultural snapshot before the roster changes again. With Winds and Waves set to bring additional Pokémon next year, the 1,025 total represents a specific moment in the series’ history. The anniversary video captures that moment in a form far more dramatic than a number on a website: as a constantly changing parade of designs, eras, media, and musical moods.
For longtime fans, that is probably the most satisfying part. The song does not ask anyone to choose between old-school attachment and newer discoveries. The original 151 are here, as are the many generations that followed, all crammed into an unusually ambitious celebration. The next time a friend claims they can name every Pokémon, there is now a 22-minute soundtrack available to test that confidence. Bring water. Bring a Pokédex. And perhaps establish the rules of couch multiplayer before turning identification duty into a competitive sport.
