As minimalism and ambient music grew and developed from the subtle piano of Erik Satie to the more avant garde work of Terry Riley and John Cage, moving from the fringes to mainstream respectability or at least airport lounges, the best known names have been mostly male, and mainly from the west.
Midori Takada, a composer and percussionist in Japan who released a string of mindblowing records beginning in the 1980s, challenges that order. Many call her work minimalism; her interlocking patterns bring to mind Steve Reich, in particular. Her layers of rich textures and atmospheres are sometimes reminiscent of Brian Eno’s classic ambient work. Through it all, she created a sound that is uniquely her own.
Takada was part of the Mkwaju Ensemble, a short-lived Japanese group comprised of Takada and fellow Japanese musicians Joe Hisaishi, Yoji Sadanari, Junko Arase and Hideki Matsutake, which released two dynamite records, Mkwaju and Ki-Motion, on the Better Days label in Japan in 1981. Their hypnotic music feels inspired by Reich and Terry Riley, and by various forms of African drumming (the word “mkwaju” comes from Swahili). At times, their music sounds like early techno, possibly due to the involvement of Matsutake, better known for his work in Logic System and as a “secret member” of Yellow Magic Orchestra. (The first Mkwaju Ensemble album would not be out of place mixed into a DJ set today.)
What I wanted to compose was impossible to notate, and each sound was painted like on a sound canvas
Takada then broke out into a solo career. Her mesmerizing debut Through the Looking Glass, released in Japan in 1983, has become something of a holy grail for collectors – original pressings have fetched as much as $750 on Discogs. For years, her albums were exceedingly difficult to find. But Through the Looking Glass is now in print again thanks to a new reissue, released this month.
Through the Looking Glass was recorded in only two days, with Takada playing an enormous range of different instruments and found objects including marimbas, reed organs, gongs, ocarinas, bells and Coca-Cola bottles, using them to create her own “band” with layers of overdubs. “Through the Looking Glass is an album that could only be created in the studio, says Takada by email from Japan, via a translator. “What I wanted to compose was impossible to notate, and each sound was painted like on a sound canvas.”
Takada put a good deal of thought into selecting the various sounds on Through the Looking Glass; some of the sounds on the album hold deeper symbolic meaning in Japanese culture. “A reed organ is a small foot pedal organ that was a regulation instrument in pre-war Japanese elementary schools,” she explains. “The children would sing along with this instrument and learn new music. It continued to be used after the war for a while, but afterwards, it was changed to a piano, so I used it for nostalgia’s sake. Here we see a process where Japanese children’s ears adapted to western equal temperament.”
“The Coca-Cola bottle is something I played with like a flute when I was a child,” she continues. “I remember it being a perfect tool to make miniature breezes. Before the actual recording, I tried using large sake bottles, but they were too big and it made me feel dizzy. In the end, I put some water into the Coke bottle and made a pitch which when I blew into it, fit perfectly with the music that I was trying to create. I do not discriminate whether it is a sound coming from a musical instrument or noise.”
Her ideas on ambient music are intriguing; much of it, she says, is calming and soothing when it could be more reflective of nature and society. “As environmental music, it had a capacity and purpose to contribute positively to society,” she says. “I listened to Brian Eno’s Music For Airports. I remember thinking it to be a new sensibility that was being honed in an urban environment. And furthermore, a feeling of solitude as well.”
Takada is a deep thinker on sound, and some of her sonic explanations verge on the mystical. “Everything that exists on this earth has a sound,” she says. “Even if humans don’t call it an instrument, on this earth, there exists a significant vibrancy.”
