#karel arbus & eiji takamatsu

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Karel Arbus & Eiji Takamatsu - Coco And The Fish

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Reviews 344: Oto No Wa

I’m overjoyed to write again about Music for Dreams’ “Serious Collector Series,” not only because this run of compilations has produced some of the best vinyl sets of the past few years in the form of Jan Schulte’s Tropical Drums of Deutschland, Moonboots’ Moments in Time, and Basso’s Proper Sunburn, but also because the newest such collection, Oto No Wa: Selected Sounds of Japan 1988 - 2018, features a trio of curators who have all influenced this blog in significant ways. Listed first on the breathtaking cover is Ken Hidaka, who in addition to having a storied career as a DJ, journalist, and international record label liaison, has had a significant hand in coordinating many of my favorite reissues from the past few years…things such as Gigi’s Illuminated Audio on Time Capsule and Yutaka Hirose’s Nova + 4 on WRWTFWW, not to mention facilitating serenitatem…that spellbinding collaboration between Yoshio Ojima, Satsuki Shibano, and Visible Cloaks released last year on RNVG Intl. Then there’s Max Essa, one of the premiere practitioners of the balearic beat, whether it’s remixing tracks into euphoric seaside cruisers or producing expansive original works such as “Panorama Suite” for Is It Balearic?, the Lanterns LP for Music for Dreams, or his recently concluded trio of EPs for Hell Yeah Recordings: Themes From The Hood, The Cad & The Lovely, Haz Zan Roc, and The Great Adventure. And finally comes Dr. Rob, a far-ranging musical adventurer and gifted wordsmith whose reviews, interviews, mixes, and stories spread across Test Pressing and Ban Ban Ton Ton showed me entirely new ways to write about music, with his expressive poetics, deep references, and inimitable sense of cleverness rising far beyond standard music criticism and going a long way towards inspiring the creation of this very website.

As far as the music comprising Oto No Wa is concerned, Dr. Rob gives some background at Ban Ban Ton Ton, where he speaks of the trio meeting after one of their Lone Star nights at Bar Bonobo and compiling an initial list of some 200 hundred fantasy selections, which was miraculously whittled down to just 20 tracks. But then, the typically unflinching Japanese record label ecosystem slashed that list to all but nothing, leading Ken, Max, and Dr. Rob to reconsider the entire experience. I like to think that this was ultimately for the better, for in reworking the concept and flow of Oto No Wa, our trio of selectors struck upon the brilliant idea to, in the words of Dr. Rob, ”plot a course from pioneers, through to younger generations who`ve picked up the baton,” resulting in a spectacular set of balearic eclecticism focused on the 90s and 00s, which are periods often missed in the world of Japanese archival reissuing. Indeed, in contrast to the environmental ambiance, city pop, fusion, and jazz so often considered, the sounds here lean much closer to the romantic seaside vibrations of Flower Records’ Silent Dream CD mixes and the Ibizan chill out comps of React, as house beats are repurposed for summer fusion sways, sun-dappled ivories seek out a panoramic horizon, strummed acoustics jangle in an island breeze, electric guitars slide across cinematic deserts, dubwise basslines stroll down white sand beaches, chamber strings play themes for impossible sunsets, and steel pans bring touches of Caribbean splendor. Elsewhere, balafons dance through tropical forests, oceanic soundbaths wash the spirit clean, deep sea explorations transmute into Berlin school magic, and ceremonial drum layers surround barely there violin reveries, with the entire experience being bookended by a pair of kankyō ongaku drifters.

Oto No Wa: Selected Sounds of Japan 1988-2018 (Music for Dreams, 2020) Yoshio Ojima’s “Sealed,” the sole track here from the 80s, comes from the second volume of the producer’s now legendary Une Collection Des Chaînons: Music For Spiral collection and sees glowing hazes moving in slow motion…these harmonious swells mimicking the motions of some celestial sea while textures of digital crystal twinkle overhead. The vibe is hopeful and soothing, though there are moments where the swelling drones turn minor key and melancholic and the glass and gemstone atmospheres get caught in hyperspeed delay trails. But we always return to the floating stretches of major key majesty, with the music perfectly suited to scoring the motions of clouds across the sky or leaves drifting down a stream. And like many of Ojima’s tracks, there is a false ending…a fade to silence preceding a rebirth, wherein the melodic textures from before are reconfigured into mysterious forms…as if the cerulean sky scene mentioned earlier has been washed out by moody grey rainclouds. The original mix of Olololop’s “Mon” revels in washy 90s post-rock atmospherics, with increasingly free ambient jazz drumming underlying cascading pianos and plucked harps. And while the “orte Remix” by Kumi Hayashi and Takaaki Suzuki preserves many of these elements, the vibe here is more oriented towards classical chill out. The beats are rigid and slamming as they lock into a mechanized seaside swing, with the original’s jazz drumming fluidity replaced by pounding kicks, panning ride taps, and sketchy shaker patterns. Piano and harp flow into the stereo field, dropping plucked rays of golden harmony and washes of ivory ethereality before settling into a balearic dreamdance, one carried by gentle trance electronics and layers of droning bass positivity. At some point the rhythms pull away and we find ourselves in an extended beatless bliss out, wherein melodies of ocean crystal pulse around melodious harp motions, abstracted kick taps flutter on echo breezes, and pan-pipes sparkle in the distance. And later, the mix reduces to an industrial downbeat drum sway and a ceremonial hum of subdued choral mesmerism as the piano continues merging vibes of new age fusion and beachside romance.

Among my favorite cuts here is Kazuya Kotani’s “Fatima,” coming from the 2007 CD Made in Love. Seed shakers and rainsticks roll through echo machines, oceanic string panoramas shift in phase, and bongos and congas beat out a seaside beat as a cooing voice whispers sweet nothings in a way reminding me of Sth. Notional’s “Yawn Yawn Yawn (Dream… Another Reality Mix)”. Bulbous basslines bring touches of gentle dub exotica and a glorious chill out breakbeat swings with infectious forward momentum even as it lands like air, while pianos shimmer and shine via wavering chord mirages and prismatic delay leads that presage Coyote’s use of the instrument. The way everything locks in is so perfect, with hand drums bopping alongside the seaside breakbeat cruise and angelic strings glowing beneath sparkling ivory dreamspells…the whole thing coming together like some prototypical cut from one of José Padilla’s Cafe del Mar compilations or a Phil Mison curated Real Ibiza collection. At some point the drums pull away, leaving behind soft piano flutters, breathy whispers, and overlapping waves of orchestral resonance. And when the beats return, they are joined by heartwrenching chamber string progressions…a sort of swooning dance of cinematic sunset majesty before the track effortlessly glides back towards beachside chill out perfection. The B-side opens with “N.I.C.E. Guy” by Scha Dara Parra, who Dr. Rob describes in the liner notes as “Japan’s answer to the Beastie Boys.” The “Nice Guitar Dub” of the track presented here takes us into the world of the Major Force dance collective, and sees house kicks, hand drum loops, and clipped snares underlying lysergic repetitions of “feel good / checking things out” before dropping into a summery groove led by walking sunshine jazz bass, Hiroshi Fujiwara’s acoustic guitar strums, and Hirofumi Asamoto’s piano…a sort of ambient honky tonk cascade scoring some lagoon adjacent saloon. Occasionally, heavenly strings blow through the stereo field to envelop the vocal samples and there’s a strange midtro given over to urgent stick clicks and rimshots while towards the end, b-boy drum cut-ups and turntablist flourishes disturb the flow.

Little Tempo is an ever shifting group of dub and reggae explorers led in part by Takeshi “Tico” Toki and his shimmering steel pan. The collective has played the world over and released an impressive number of albums since the mid-90s, one of which is Ron Riddim, a 2xLP from 1999 containing the track “Frostie.” A stoner beat moves beneath a tropical panorama of steel drumming, with hi-hats occasionally opening, shekeres scraping, and snares pushing through granular reverb, and as we drop into the groove, liquid dub basslines pulse and slide while a piano glistens in the moonlight. The ivory performance is powerful and awash in twilight romance and noir mystery, sometimes dancing in solo and other times accented by glimmering steel pan flourishes. Elsewhere, the pianos are replaced by electric guitars, which let loose bluesy slides and space western leads…the mixture of desert twang and equatorial riddim strongly evoking the dubbier sides of Tortoise. There’s a moment where the track gives over to martial snare intensity as amphibian lasers and telephonic tracers fire across the sky, with the latter sound pulling my mind to the work of Eddie C. And eventually, the track settles into a sort of bluesy reggae zone out, with subsonic basslines skanking and dubwise drums smacking while wavering steel drum mirages surround spaghetti western slides in the style of Doug McCombs. Karel Arbus & Eiji Takamatsu will of course be well familiar to readers of this blog, both for their amazing Some Backland Plaze tape on Max Essa’s Jansen Jardin and for that completely stunning rework of Cantoma’s “Kasoto” from last year. “Coco and the Fish,” taken from the aforementioned cassette, sees idiophones splashing through sea spray while enigmatic electronics swirl in the background…like a vortex of kosmische wonderment pulsating in colors of deep purple and blue, one that occasionally opens up to reveal deep house chord stabs. It’s hard to say whether the main instrument played is marimba or balafon, but either way, it’s a hyperkinetic performance exuding an energy at once meditative and ecstatic...all while phaser wisps, starshine sparkles, and hidden voices swirl in the distance.

I first heard globetrotting DJ and Flower Records alum Kentaro Takizawa courtesy of Phil Mison and his Pure Ibiza 2xCD set released by I Label in 2008, which included the “Silent Dream Version” of the song taken from the aforementioned Silent Dream compilation. Originally though, the track closed Takizawa’s album Gradual Life from 2006, and this is the version included here. Ride cymbals shine amidst glorious murmurations of ambient synthesis while percussive eco fx mimic the songs of lizards and toads. Elecrosnares rocket across the spectrum, beauteous acoustic guitar arps fall like summer rain, and further six-string solos move in counterpoint, with subdead leads mesmerizing the mind. As psychoactive threads of static surround decaying triangles, sundowner string orchestrations ascend towards the clouds, causing the heart to soar in that Sacha Putnam or Vangelis kind of way, and when the beat drops, it’s a lackadaisical sway led by rolling bongos and tapped cymbals. Guitars dance playfully over a backdrop of fourth world alien magic and ever so often, filmic string themes diffuse into the spectrum. Elsewhere, the drums wash away, leaving e-pianos to execute breathtaking descents before disappearing into a synthesized mirage. Rainsticsk flow over the stereo field as the track evolves even further towards new age bliss, with a harmonious conversation of acoustic guitar sunshine proceeding in a fantasy jungle, wherein sunlight reflects off of glistening palm fronds and tropical birds sing intoxicating songs. And after returning to the bopping rhythms and tapestries of chill out exotica, the tracks ends with guitars being replaced by pianos while mermaid pads whoosh through a sunbathed rainforest setting. Mystical percussionist Yoshiaki Ochi inhabited similar circles to Yoshio Ojima, releasing through NEWSIC and seeing his music played, like Ojima’s, at the arts center of Wacoal lingerie company, otherwise known as Spiral. In “Balasong,” taken from 1990’s Natural Sonic, balafons bounce playfully while executing Steve Reich-style pattenrs of minimalist exotica. The drunken daydream motions and otherworldly idiophone polyrhythms are occasionally interspersed by fast motion twiddles and rapid fire rolls, while at the edge of the mix gourds buzz and textures of metal sparkle…perhaps the ghostly chiming of temple bells.

Kaoru Inoue is a hugely influential figure who for decades has been perfecting his own esoteric combination of house, techno, ambient, and spiritual world music. “Wave Introduction” was originally released on the artist’s 2006 album Slow Motion before being repurposed as the opener for one of my favorite albums ever released: Inoue’s horizontal masterpiece Em Paz released in 2018 on Groovement Organic. The track features the relaxing sounds of waves crashing to shore, joined by twinkling synths, distant foghorns, and psychosonic liquid drips, which eventually transmute into a Reich-ian dream sequence awash in textures of mermaid crystal. Undulating bass arps support slow moving pads that drift like cosmic fog while rhythmic wisps of laser static tickle the mind and the whole thing takes on the feeling of a drunken dream dance that slowly moves towards ambient rapture. The influential Flower Records and its founder Eitetsu Takamiya are represented here by the highly sought after “Scuba” under Takamiya’s Little Big Bee alias. Psychedelic bubble clouds blow over Kenji Jinguiji’s slithering bass guitar romantics and the e-pianos of Plaza Fujisaki glow with a sort of new age spirituality while Hawaiian guitars slide across a sunburst sky. A hushed house beat is accented by gentle clacks and seed shaker pulses as Jinguji’s lowslung basslines lock into a balearic fusion dance replete with vocal slides up the fretboard and as the pacific breeze guitar slides swim between solar organ dub chords, spaceage arpeggiations flitter all around. I detect a definite lean towards The Orb’s early merging of dub, ambient, and techno, with a stereo field colored through by cut-off motions, resonance flares, and whalesong pads that settle into a haze of golden light. The beats cut away momentarily, leaving filtering cosmic synthetics, pulsing organ accents, and emotive basslines while stick clicks build a rainshower rhythm. Seafoam siren synths swell in strength and subsume the entire mix as angels breath rainbow mist across universal expanses and eventually, a liquid guitar slide reintroduces the south pacific chill out groove, which now features hyperkinetic click cascades.

Coastlines, the duo of Masanori Ikeda and Takumi Kaneko, are huge favorites around here and given that I reviewed their cover of Ralph MacDonald’s “East Dry River” when it was originally released as a 7” back in 2018, I’ll present a modified version of my words from that time: Joyously ascending piano chords and deep vocal bass percussions set the scene before we smash cut into a smooth coastal fusion jam, as tambourines and toms pound beneath radiant piano strokes and synthetic steel drum dances while four four house kicks and luscious sub-basslines move the body. Angels bring touches of pure euphoria as they rain down from the sky, and elsewhere, fretless bass solos wiggle above the island rhythm dreamscape…the Motohiko Hamase-style note clusters and liquiform slides trailing under subtle ping-pong delays while colorful hand drum accents evoke slow-motion dancing on some fantasy beach. There’s a brief moment where everything washes away, leaving lush piano chords and sparkling steel pans adrift in solitude, and later, after returning to the seaside house rhythms and melodic textures of jazz fusion fantasy, we are treated again to a crazed fretless bass solo, one that grows ever more frantic and chaotic before finally dispersing. Though beloved producer Susumu Yokota is no longer with us, his memory lives on via his profound influence and his intrepid bridgings of academic ambient and techno body pressure, not to mention archival projects such as the Jon Tye-assisted Cloud Hidden from 2019. “Uchu Taniyo” is taken from Yokota’s 1999 album Sakura and begins with a voice pushing through clouds of reverb as ritualistic percussion builds from the depths. Hand drums and wooden clacks lock into a ceremonial dance kissed by cosmic fx and growling ambient forms swirl into the stereo field…these morphing tremolo gurgles imbued with atmospheres of melancholy. Voices continue babbling as a violin enters the scene, letting loose folksy melodies and post-classical whispers that barely break through the layers of rhythmic repetition. And as the track comes to an end, the exotica drum webs fade out as frogsong electronics decay into the void.

The vibe continues to spread out towards horizontal ambiance in “Time and Space,” a track exclusive to this compilation from the duo of Isao Kumano and Kenichi Takagi, who are often found working with Alex from Tokyo in Tokyo Black Star, but who here appear in their “secretive” Chillax guise. Crystallized sequences, smoldering static waveforms, and hazes of ocean either intertwine as chiming melodies ascend on unseen currents towards a sun soaked sea surface, and I can’t help but think of the underwater kosmische of Iury Lech and Miguel Noya, as well as the seafloor ambient excursions of Shelter on Profondeur 4000 and Private Agenda on Île de Rêve. Soft focus chord bursts breath ambient house ether into the mix while tick-tocking arps build slowly in the background, eventually growing in strength and taking over the mix as the vibe flows from deep sea drifting to Berlin school melodrama, wherein searing filter motions surround the spirit and vocoder cyborgs chant amidst subsuming chord decays. I’ve said much about Takashi Kokubo across this blog, though thus far everything has been focused around his hugely influential Get at the Wave. And given how well mined that album is by now, I’m quite thankful that Ken, Max, and Dr. Rob have opted instead for “Quiet Inlet,” a track appearing on Kokubo’s Eternity from 2006. Waves lap gently against the shore of some hidden island scene...a place of peace and picturesque beauty known only to the fish, reptiles, and birds. A calming piano lullaby enters the scene, marrying Satie-like ambiance and Riley-ian minimalism while digital colorations and e-piano bubble clouds flit all around. A choir of angelic sirens bathe the mix in vocal radiance while bell trees mimic sunlight refractions on the ocean’s surface and after a false ending, the dreamscape ivory cascades, pointillist e-piano melodies, and heavenly choirs return, with everything shrouded by pearlescent pad layers and gaseous blankets of reverb. Windchimes blow on a sea breeze and periodic swells of mermaid magnificence work into the mix and as the sampled waves continue their motions, they lull the mind towards daydream visages of the titular seaside paraiso.

(images from my personal copy)

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https://soundcloud.com/the-dream-chimney/dc-promo-tracks-103-karel-arbus-eiji-takamatsu-tanbo-twilight

[thesunlounge]

Reviews 117: Max Essa

Max Essa is no stranger to the elusive balearic sound, having mastered it at least as early as 2009 with “Lamma Island, 5 a.m.” (off Continental Drift). But with few exceptions (the stellar Themes from the Hood, the Cad, & the Lovely and Han Zon Roc EPs on Hell Yeah Recordings), even his most seaside leaning jams typically possess an infectious rhythmic energy…a floating effervescence like soaring over a vast expanse of shimmering blue water carried by tropical disco vibrations. So it’s a thing of true beauty to see him spread out fully into his new age and ambient tendencies with the Lanterns LP on Music for Dreams. Here, afforded the luxurious space of a full length album, Max dazzles with enigmatic compositions of beauty and wonder...like diving underwater and finding yourself surrounded by shimmering sunlight filtering through the surface and immersed within a mesmerizing coral reef, the hyperreal colors and unfamiliar geometries overwhelming the mind with calming psychedelia.

Max Essa - Lanterns (Music for Dreams, 2018) The music of “Lights Painted for a Road Trip to Spain” is every bit as evocative as the title and its introduction sees placid guitar intonations built from swells and loose chords washed over by layers of reverb and delay. The effect is like dew drops on a spider web, light refracting through the spherical beads of liquid, joined by prismatic rainbows in the form of floating pianos. Then we move into the second movement, beginning with huge washes of synthesizer, the sounds of water, and woodwind melodies hovering alongside a loose piano and guitar haze. It’s like Popol Vuh at their most pastoral (think Hosianna Mantra), until dramatic synth pulsations and cymbal taps generate a rhythm whose power is amplified by massive tom fills and near overwhelming waves of swelling synthesizer ambiance that lift the body and soul into realms of pure light. “Beautiful Western River” follows, awash in deeper than deep hues of dark blue and forest green, while ominous voices flow like mist. A methodical percussive march of hand drums, cymbals, and metallic accents emerges, while guitars swell like fog rolling into a serene valley…perhaps the location of the titular Western River, seen here snaking and curling towards a dark horizon. There are also arcing cosmic fx that move ear to ear, only to fade into an infinite vapor, while howling ghosts from some extraterrestrial jungle call out over the shadowy atmospherics.

We leave the river behind to walk the “Orange Trail,” guided by waves of huge insterstellar synth warmth swirling like some universal vortex. But this is only the introduction and we soon find ourselves awash in soft-focused pads smothered in sensual reverb, while romantic pianos traverse landscapes of lustrous silver sand and incandescent clouds of bright nacreous color swirls. Max then adds meditative acoustic guitar, like sitting on a porch staring out at an eternal sunset, with aching piano melodies harmonizing softly and synths blowing like a gentle summer breeze. Then come the aquatic kosmische cascades that begin “I Love You Today Too,” the music floating both far below the ocean’s surface and within the depths of outerspace. Cellos and mediterranean reeds intertwine with mournful pianos and their flowing jazz chords, while a downtempo rhythm fades in built from 808 toms, shakers, rimshots, and cowbells. And within the galactic ether, bass heavy pianos are set adrift alongside fantastically programmed synth leads…the tone both sizzling and awash in watery beauty. “Orbs Sensualium” features further expanses of cold yet divine synth interplay, like wandering around the Zone of Tarkovsky’s Stalker. Lysergic bass arps and echoing vibraphone loops swim on the swelling currents and electronic woodwinds fade in from the distance, coming into focus only to quietly disappear.

The title track drapes amorphous orchestras in white noise, with aquatic bass movements joining the euphoric ambiance. A sunshine shuffle emerges with live clapping by Karel Arbus, Eiji Takamatsu, and Coco Kawabe-Bruce, resulting in some gliding and gaseous chill out. There are new age pianos flowing against the gentle forces of string synths and filtered electronic streaks, while exotic bass notes walk peacefully below a picturesque rhythm stream. Then, a brief passage of cinematic western guitar and heavenly piano leads to a pause, after which synthesizers and electronics flow together, their ambiance setting up a return to the masterful balearic dreamscape…adrift at sea and lulled into reverie by the enveloping currents of sound. For “Breakfast in Yutenji”, slow synth bass ambulations sit alongside a plodding beat with snare under heavy reverb and 808 drum accents dotting the landscape. Max’s synthesizers sound like some mysterious cosmic ocean, with waves of polychromatic ice and particles of glowing gas washing and breaking against the vacuum itself. And at the center of this galactic sea sits a majestic choir, their celestial hymns merging with the cosmic microwave background for a spellbinding sonic tapestry. The final piece is “Fanfare for Shadows,” seeing pianos covered in dust and nostalgia sent through strange fractal delays. The simple chord progressions are overlaid by disjointed voices and industrial sound flares moving in the background, the vibe haunted and strange, though occasionally pulled towards the light by mermaids singing wordless fantasias of hope and love.

(images from my personal copy)