MINAMO
beautiful CD, apestaartje
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| Trying to combine nature and
technology is an almost incomprehensible task but the four artists of
Minamo, free-improvisers from Tokyo, go at it astonishingly successful and
unbelievably rewarding. Instead of searching for the right sounds during
recording they rather sit back and let the natural sounds of their
instruments, the humming of amplifiers, the quibble of the audience, the
feedback and static rustling of computers, make the music. Only at the
best moment conceivable do they use their instruments, and even if they do
it silently and softly, it is always to maximum effort. Musically,
“beautiful” reaches as far back into music as it does into the future. |
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Just read the title of this record and it’ll suffice. It has to be
something well japanese to use a name for a record that describes the music
on it so well and nothing else. Moreover, it is almost unconceivable that
this record is made up of a compilation of live improvisations, because the
six track on here sound so unified, so well-thought out, so perfectly
well-done. But I guess there is Asian philosophy playing a role in there as
well, with artists searching for perfection in design and aesthetics that
are almost unbearable for Western minds. On the other hand, this four piece
from Tokyo is labelmates to Anderegg,
who has produced a likewise beautiful album as an urban eremite in the most
western city there is, New York. Well, Tokyo is no further down the list,
maybe only downranked due to its exotic status, but really none behind any
city in the world, and therefore a perfect place for any kind of fanaticism
and almost insanely neurotic behaviour. I’d like to point out my opinion, that producing music like this in
live improvisations takes a lot of hard work on banging your own mind into
the right setting, to be able to attune yourself completely to some delicate
almost inaudible electronic noises. To wait through a series of clicks and
tape-destruction noises to start up again a most fragile and tranquil music
that at times flows with the beating of the human heart and at other times
imitates the rise and ebb of the tides. Once again the travel leads us into
a territory where the main question seems to be not “what is music?” but
a step further “what makes music?” or rather “what makes me music?”.
This is not an unnatural scheme and rather aloof of the pragmatic and plain
theories of early industrial music. For instance, the static noises at the
beginning of “conceal” are a beautiful imitation of raindrops banging
against your window, while the guitar plucks chords and single notes to
accompany such a melancholic moment. There is no separation between the
natural and the synthetical. In the same track high frequencies, very much
like scraping glass over a roughly cemented floor and unnerving to the ears
of some, I am sure, take the listener out of any self-induces slumber,
finally resolving the track in air-light guitars, noises receding into the
back and flowing into the foreground again, a wave of sound building up, but
without danger or immanence, but rather a foreboding of taking you into its
corpus of sound once you your mind is ready. |
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07/2003