[acid-jazz] Album Review :: Otomo Yoshihide/Dreams: Neumu

From: Wesley (wesleyhongkong@earthlink.net)
Date: Fri Oct 18 2002 - 20:02:23 CEST

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    Album Review :: Otomo Yoshihide/Dreams: Neumu

    source: Neumu

    Artist: Otomo Yoshihide's New Jazz Ensemble
    Recording: Dreams
    Label: Tzadik
    Ratin: 8/10 [Image]

    Shinji Aoyama's "Eureka" is one of the most astonishing films of the
    last 10 years, a three-and-a-half-hour ode to the remarkable resilience
    of human beings, played out in the quietest of manners. But what to make
    of Jim O'Rourke's influence? As the film slowly comes to its conclusion
    (the "climax," in terms of action, occurs right at the beginning), the
    scenes at the sea play out to the sounds of O'Rourke's song "Eureka."
    All nine minutes of it. When the film finishes, the word "Eureka" is
    emblazoned in bold color across the screen. Whether the inspiration
    O'Rourke provided Aoyama was central to his film, or just transient, is
    not really that much of a burning question. Aoyama's work of art is so
    great that he doesn't owe anything to those people who may have inspired
    him (a short list could also include John Ford, Hou Hsiao-Hsien and
    Shohei Imamura).

    Similarly, Otomo Yoshihide's New Jazz Ensemble may be all about
    inspiration, but their collective artistic work, Dreams, transcends any
    influences that may have impelled its making. Of course, this New Jazz
    outfit — which falls somewhere in the Otomo spectrum between Novo Tono
    and Yoshihide's New Jazz Quintet — doesn't really play jazz, or anything
    close to any of its modern variations. They're not really particularly
    avant-gardist, either, which is another idea one could associate with
    the name. Rather, their conception of "jazz" is interpretation. Where,
    in the early days of the Quintet, that meant Eric Dolphy and Charles
    Mingus, this album filled with versions of compositions by
    contemporaries of Otomo, like Omoide Hatoba/Boredoms/Rovo guitarist
    Seiichi Yamamoto (who played with him in Novo Tono), modern
    compositional piano-deconstructionist Naoko Eto (who played on his
    Cathode album), mod-pop percussionist Asa-Chang, and, yes, the wandering
    American Jim O'Rourke. With two vocalists — the legendary Phew (who sang
    on the Novo Tono album) and the more obscure Jun Togawa — fronting the
    songs, the album is, to a considerable degree, a pop record. With Togawa
    and her childlike voice featured on the opening track, "Preach," this
    capricious mixture of high-art tonalism and songform sentimentalism
    immediately recalls the work of one of the most idiosyncratic and
    inspiring artists currently working in music, Japanese avant-diva Haco.
    And for much of the record that comparison serves well. At their best,
    though, the Ensemble are like some great out-rock band, gathering their
    Quintet of players on saxophones/percussion/guitar/contra-bass into
    contemplative, melancholy pieces, and, then, alternately, driving those
    same instruments into massive, wrung-out finales that find the gathered
    spiritualist conviction of psychedelia. Given that it's Otomo, it's no
    surprise that the album never even really settles into that notion, or
    the notion of it being a pop record, let alone a jazz one.

    As if to increase its genre alienation, onkyo icon Sachiko M, a longtime
    collaborateur, plays on most the record, lacing the more "tribal" thumps
    of acoustic instruments with her piercing sine-waves, recalling the
    first two albums of Haco's pan-Asian girl-group trio Hoahio, with
    Sachiko's almost a-musical output drawn into the framework of pop songs.
    And the whole album, perhaps best thought of as Otomo's out-rock paean
    to songform, revolves around an interpretation of a pop song: Jim
    O'Rourke's "Eureka." Dynamically drawn out to 16 profound minutes, the
    Ensemble's take on Jim O's tune dwarfs the quaint, quizzical,
    emotionally detached original, as it moves from melancholy lament — with
    Togawa's girlish voice pushed cutely to the fore — to a mad, manic
    ending whose vivid viciousness comes close to audio assault. In between
    its first movement and last, an extended interlude drifts along with
    nothing but the sounds of waves quietly rocking away, before eventually
    giving way to an extended tone from Sachiko that draws it into its
    frenetic final movement.

    Through this moment of downtime in the middle, this version of "Eureka"
    has more in common with the film than it does with O'Rourke's original.
    Totally evocative, the sounds bring back hazy recollections of the pic's
    silent heroine, 15 year-old Kazue (Aoi Miyazaki, playing opposite her
    brother), finding some realization of internal salvation by wandering,
    searching, fully clothed, through the waves. Being so struck by images
    from the film strikes me with the possibility that Otomo himself may
    have been inspired by experiencing O'Rourke's song as part of the film,
    and that, indeed, this interpretation could be an interpretation of the
    music as heard in the film — this reading of "Eureka" being O'Rourke's
    version viewed through the prism of the film. Making things even more
    convoluted is the fact that the "sea and wind sounds" Otomo uses are
    taken from another film, "Blue," by Hiroshi Ando, a director he's worked
    with in the past.

    All of these interwoven connections lead to a simple conclusion: that no
    art is made without inspiration. And that inspiration can come from a
    community of contemporaries, can come from the people and music that
    surround you now, not just from whatever it was you loved when you were
    16. And given that pop music, in a manner symbolic of society at large,
    is obsessed with nostalgia, this is a significant gesture. Here, Otomo
    celebrates his love of his music, and that of his friends, and in a
    sense a love of his friends, by celebrating his love of music itself, as
    it is at this very moment. He seeks not to perpetuate some concept of a
    golden age, either in his past or in pop culture's, but instead embraces
    all that surrounds him now. And, in that, this work of inspiration is
    itself profoundly inspiring.

    by Anthony Carew

    --
    ECLECTIC Japan
    [Sound :: Lounge] http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SoundLounge
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    <b>Album Review :: Otomo Yoshihide/Dreams: Neumu</b>
    <p>source: Neumu
    <p>Artist: <b>Otomo Yoshihide's New Jazz Ensemble</b>
    <br>Recording: Dreams
    <br>Label: Tzadik
    <br>Ratin: 8/10&nbsp;&nbsp;<img SRC="cid:part1.3DB04CAE.36F23C54@earthlink.net" height=6 width=91>
    <p>Shinji Aoyama's "Eureka" is one of the most astonishing films of the
    last 10 years, a three-and-a-half-hour ode to the remarkable resilience
    of human beings, played out in the quietest of manners. But what to make
    of Jim O'Rourke's influence? As the film slowly comes to its conclusion
    (the "climax," in terms of action, occurs right at the beginning), the
    scenes at the sea play out to the sounds of O'Rourke's song "Eureka." All
    nine minutes of it. When the film finishes, the word "Eureka" is emblazoned
    in bold color across the screen. Whether the inspiration O'Rourke provided
    Aoyama was central to his film, or just transient, is not really that much
    of a burning question. Aoyama's work of art is so great that he doesn't
    owe anything to those people who may have inspired him (a short list could
    also include John Ford, Hou Hsiao-Hsien and Shohei Imamura).
    <p>Similarly, Otomo Yoshihide's New Jazz Ensemble may be all about inspiration,
    but their collective artistic work, Dreams, transcends any influences that
    may have impelled its making. Of course, this New Jazz outfit — which falls
    somewhere in the Otomo spectrum between Novo Tono and Yoshihide's New Jazz
    Quintet — doesn't really play jazz, or anything close to any of its modern
    variations. They're not really particularly avant-gardist, either, which
    is another idea one could associate with the name. Rather, their conception
    of "jazz" is interpretation. Where, in the early days of the Quintet, that
    meant Eric Dolphy and Charles Mingus, this album filled with versions of
    compositions by contemporaries of Otomo, like Omoide Hatoba/Boredoms/Rovo
    guitarist Seiichi Yamamoto (who played with him in Novo Tono), modern compositional
    piano-deconstructionist Naoko Eto (who played on his Cathode album), mod-pop
    percussionist Asa-Chang, and, yes, the wandering American Jim O'Rourke.
    With two vocalists — the legendary Phew (who sang on the Novo Tono album)
    and the more obscure Jun Togawa — fronting the songs, the album is, to
    a considerable degree, a pop record. With Togawa and her childlike voice
    featured on the opening track, "Preach," this capricious mixture of high-art
    tonalism and songform sentimentalism immediately recalls the work of one
    of the most idiosyncratic and inspiring artists currently working in music,
    Japanese avant-diva Haco. And for much of the record that comparison serves
    well. At their best, though, the Ensemble are like some great out-rock
    band, gathering their Quintet of players on saxophones/percussion/guitar/contra-bass
    into contemplative, melancholy pieces, and, then, alternately, driving
    those same instruments into massive, wrung-out finales that find the gathered
    spiritualist conviction of psychedelia. Given that it's Otomo, it's no
    surprise that the album never even really settles into that notion, or
    the notion of it being a pop record, let alone a jazz one.
    <p>As if to increase its genre alienation, onkyo icon Sachiko M, a longtime
    collaborateur, plays on most the record, lacing the more "tribal" thumps
    of acoustic instruments with her piercing sine-waves, recalling the first
    two albums of Haco's pan-Asian girl-group trio Hoahio, with Sachiko's almost
    a-musical output drawn into the framework of pop songs. And the whole album,
    perhaps best thought of as Otomo's out-rock paean to songform, revolves
    around an interpretation of a pop song: Jim O'Rourke's "Eureka." Dynamically
    drawn out to 16 profound minutes, the Ensemble's take on Jim O's tune dwarfs
    the quaint, quizzical, emotionally detached original, as it moves from
    melancholy lament — with Togawa's girlish voice pushed cutely to the fore
    — to a mad, manic ending whose vivid viciousness comes close to audio assault.
    In between its first movement and last, an extended interlude drifts along
    with nothing but the sounds of waves quietly rocking away, before eventually
    giving way to an extended tone from Sachiko that draws it into its frenetic
    final movement.
    <p>Through this moment of downtime in the middle, this version of "Eureka"
    has more in common with the film than it does with O'Rourke's original.
    Totally evocative, the sounds bring back hazy recollections of the pic's
    silent heroine, 15 year-old Kazue (Aoi Miyazaki, playing opposite her brother),
    finding some realization of internal salvation by wandering, searching,
    fully clothed, through the waves. Being so struck by images from the film
    strikes me with the possibility that Otomo himself may have been inspired
    by experiencing O'Rourke's song as part of the film, and that, indeed,
    this interpretation could be an interpretation of the music as heard in
    the film — this reading of "Eureka" being O'Rourke's version viewed through
    the prism of the film. Making things even more convoluted is the fact that
    the "sea and wind sounds" Otomo uses are taken from another film, "Blue,"
    by Hiroshi Ando, a director he's worked with in the past.
    <p>All of these interwoven connections lead to a simple conclusion: that
    no art is made without inspiration. And that inspiration can come from
    a community of contemporaries, can come from the people and music that
    surround you now, not just from whatever it was you loved when you were
    16. And given that pop music, in a manner symbolic of society at large,
    is obsessed with nostalgia, this is a significant gesture. Here, Otomo
    celebrates his love of his music, and that of his friends, and in a sense
    a love of his friends, by celebrating his love of music itself, as it is
    at this very moment. He seeks not to perpetuate some concept of a golden
    age, either in his past or in pop culture's, but instead embraces all that
    surrounds him now. And, in that, this work of inspiration is itself profoundly
    inspiring.
    <p>by Anthony Carew
    <p>--
    <br>ECLECTIC Japan
    <br>[Sound :: Lounge] http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SoundLounge</html>
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