This journey out begins in a city. In the midst of human bustle. Public announcements, and a romantic rattle of trains on tracks – which to be honest, doesn’t really exist in the Tokyo of 2020. The shinkansen and chikatestu both run far too smooth. Via a cosmic samba of carnival whistles and gentle percussive percolations, tumbling timbales, the destination seems to be somewhere greener, off on the coast. Maybe Kamakura, or Izu, Shimoda perhaps? Sunshine, cool ocean breezes, a deafening cicada chorus. Flocks of birds taking flight as acoustic loops are finally unlocked and a 6-string melody hits full flow. A whole host of idiophone instruments, marimba movements, join ripples of rushing water, muted brass, cuica squeak, and a street band bass drum. Trippy vocals and sampled tides.
Patterns overlap in counterpoint. Bowls and gongs are struck. Highlife guitar figures mix with Middle-Eastern reeds in gamelan grooves. Forging a fusion for folks of all hues. Rhythms roll and tones intertwine. Strange strings and zithers imparting their glissando gifts. Taming tradition from north, south, east and west. Batteries residing somewhere between Brazil’s batucada and Japan’s kodo ceremonies. A reminder that this, our, dance began in Africa. Its backbone belongs to the Bantu.
Echoplex ecstasy erupts over forthright 4 / 4s – sizable / significant sub-bass drops. Frippertronics – like Eno`s Another Green World set to a room-shaking boom. Electric arcs singing like aquatic mammals deep in a TB-303 sea. Details spiraling through asymmetric jazz syncopation. High-five-ing handclapping, shouting, secular choirs. Encouraged by organ grind flashes. Memories Chitlin` Circuit funk. “Found”, field recorded, environmental sounds all the while drifting in and out of these jams – these musical mediations on history, decades of global dreaming, on the centuries of hope that we share.