Makoto Kawashima - Zoe (Black Editions, 2024)

 

By William Rossi

If I were to sum up this entire record in a single word it would be undeniable.

It's a controlled demolition, always on the verge of unraveling but somehow managing to stay afloat just a bit more than you'd expect. It's a lonely album; a lonely alto sax (sometimes a harmonica) screaming into the listener's ear, the notes from the instrument accompanied only by the sound of Kawashima's growling distorting them.

In a wonderful article I read recently, powerhouse guitarist and hero musician of mine Marc Ribot was musing on the importance of distortion and volume in music, pointing out how it's emotionally resonant for the audience to feel as if a musician or instrument is powering through pain and struggle to deliver their message to us, and I'd add that the pleasure we derive from it is two-fold: it's the empathetic feeling that what the music is conveying to us is so important, so emotionally resonant that the only way to convey it is through broken, emotionally shattered voices and it's the triumphant and uplifting sensation one can get from hearing the sound persevere through the pain and come out the other side as a piece of art.

I think Zoe as an album is emblematic of this process: it's a difficult but rewarding listen in which Kawashima explores the limits and extremes of his instrument, whispered mellow long tones give reprieve from the howling and frantic screams that make up a lot of the material on this release; sometimes a melody bubbles forth and rises above the noise and throat-rending growls only to be inevitably subsumed by them. Although improvised and probably recorded in one take the album has a great flow to it, with steady builds towards deafening emotional peaks and moments of quiet in which you can hear Kawashima catching his breath or sliding his fingertips off the keys. The idea of interpolating a few minutes of harmonica playing in the middle of the session was also great as it provided the album with fresh textures and modes of playing at exactly the right time, avoiding the risk of some people finding the music too monotone or samey.

A fantastic album made even more impressive by the fact that playing a solo monophonic instrument is always a daunting task; to Marc Ribot's delight (and mine), struggle and pain abound on this release, from the strained altissimo notes to the grinding lows, everything hurts and everything feels vital, urgentand so emotionally resonant as to be undeniable, as are Kawashima's talent and musicality.

Words don't do this music justice, so go listen to it! Available digitally and on vinyl from Black Editions.