Kazushige Kinoshita-Segments

Japanese violinist, Kazushige Kinoshita, was nailed to his instrument from the age of four, giving him quite the stretch of time to understand his instrument of choice and to develop his own style. His first solo effort, Segments, off Taku Sugimoto's Slub Label, underscores this assumption. Kinoshita shows his affinity for detailed playing here. Pizzicato runs abound, and any bowed notes are so incredibly clear in the context of these flurried but incredibly quiet segments that they add depth to the music. As well, he's able to reach an infinite amount of tones and microtones by playing the violin on his lap, not on his shoulder. The amount of different bowing angles he can use on his instrument makes a variety of pops and clusters of frenzy. However, to call Segments a loud, typical set of improvisations is a complete lie.

Most of the three tracks are not doused in these violin pops and plucks; Kinoshita plays in fragments seperated by large, large chunks of silence. The first track is so incredibly silly in its approach to silence, because one note is played throughout its entirety. The second track is by far my favorite, with these segments acting as quiet bursts of frenetic activity. The pianississimo dynamic stays stagnant throughout this track, which represents a complimentary contradiction. The next track has less variety, this time consisting of atonal scratches and a few stray notes; it's less quiet and spacious, and is still completely useless overall. But that is its charm. It's all so impenetrable that it becomes so enthralling to listen to. The whole thing's individuality is engrossing, and begs for you to get sucked into it.

Naoaki Miyamoto-Me No Tawamure

Graced with a black and white photograph of a countryside backroad, Naoaki Miyamoto's Me No Tawamure matches the eloquence and simplicity of the cover's aesthetic. Everything sounds light and delicate, certainly resplendent, which is rather odd considering the forty-two minute album is composed of thin strands of high-pitched feedback and silence. The result is almost akin to a more elegant redefinition of ambient music, only here, the result is more minimal and improvised. All these physical characteristics force the listener into seeking out one of two methods of listening: the first being the more analytical and typical "onkyo" technique and then the other allowing the loose, seemingly decomposing music to slip in and out of the background and the ears. Expectedly, the two different modes of listening garner completely different results, but the unexpected aspect of suggesting either/or is that both are equally rewarding but in entirely different ways.

By choosing the more clinical way of listening to this guitar feedback solo, the musical gestures are amplified and one notices a more unraveling structure, as though Miyamoto intended for the piece to gradually lose momentum in segments, which is a very effective strategy to calm the listener. However this raises a contradiction, because the feedback itself is rather complicated in terms of texture. Close listening brings to light slight granulations and clicks beneath the surface of elongated tones. As you're being calmed you're intrigued by the always changing state of these otherwise static gestures. The result is really quite beautiful. The latter method of listening suggest a more loose, dreamy atmosphere, like fragments of a dream slipping through your ears. The tones sound rather ambient on their own, so by allowing the timbres to take control of your ears rather than the other way around, you're transported to forests and other scenes akin to the one plopped on this cardstock cover. Again, very splendid and strangely fascinating. For fans of those familiar with the genre who have been intrigued by the idea of onkyo redefining ambience, regardless of having been less than impressed with the results or not.