29 March 2002 · Fukugan+, Osaka, Japan · solo and duo with Aube

Photo by Takuya Sakaguchi

Review

Recent years have seen Akifumi Nakajima's Aube project take several strides forward in terms of concept and execution. He has broadened his palette of unorthodox source materials for composition, and expanded his performance resume to include more site-specific broadcasts (namely a gargantuan, disused silo near Montreal, and a Spanish cathedral). Nakajima has also recently taken the more predictable (albeit more practical for travel) route of laptopbased performances, so it was a refreshing experience seeing Aube within the clandestine confines of a tiny gallery space, powered only by a pair of small keyboard amplifiers.
The atmosphere of the unfurnished Fukugan (literally 'compound eyes') gallery that evening was provided purely by rain pelting the low roof, Other than that it was left entirely to Nakajima to electrify and add substance to the space. Those familiar with Nakajima's more elemental style (drawing from the sounds of water or flames) may have been surprised by the deliberately synthesized tones of this performance. For the first 23 minutes he chiselled away a set of seemingly benign high frequency signals into a more intense, over-modulated shape, taking occasional dives into restrained feedback. His talent, at present, lies in his ability to intensify the simplest sound without the protective barricade of effects often relied on in the newest wave of Japan's free noise movement. His live sound has a unique curvature to it. At this performance it was made more interesting by his current predilection for adding tonality when the noise reached its maximum density.
The following performance by Jonathan Coleclough, a Reading native who has a history of collaborations with Nakajima and occasional Nurse With Wound fixer Colin Potter, thankfully avoided direct references to Aube's fine set. He opted instead for a Gaussian-blurred pastoral landscape of sorts. In another laptop-driven performance, the two extended pieces delivered by Coleclough were assembled from arcing midrange drones and punctuated with odd, synthetic murmurs and hiccups. There was nothing groundbreaking in terms of composition, but the pieces were sophisticated in their seamlessness and control of the ethereal. After a bizarre, comical interlude (in which a guest speaker lectured on his CD-ROM of Japanese ghosts, though the subject had no obvious relevance to the performance), Coleclough and Nakajima joined for a duet that explored a completely different sound space than those they'd mapped out earlier. Although the individual sets might have been stronger in comparison, the duo finale was a quality addition to the decentralised, 21st century folk art that is computer music.
Thom K Bailey, The Wire issue 220, June 2002

Flyer design by Aube