It’s not often I revisit works from artists I’ve already written about, but when I do, it’s because these other works shed light on a new dimension of their creativity. In today’s case, few artists reveal as many fantastic—and drastic—sides as Naoko Kawai through her work as The Gentle Wind.
If you have a good memory, you might recall that nearly four years ago, I wrote about Naoko Kawai’s little-known kankyō ongaku (environmental music) side project. To make a long story short—though you can revisit the full story here—Naoko’s journey charts a young idol singer’s conscious transformation into a full-fledged singer-songwriter and composer.
In the late ’80s, Naoko teamed up with Mickie Yoshino, the Godiego founder and keyboardist from Yokohama, to explore ambient and New Age music. Together, as The Gentle Wind, they released their debut album in 1989.
On Tears of Nature (ティアズ・オブ・ネイチュア), they were joined by a cadre of talented J-Jazz session musicians—figures like Tsuneo Matsumoto, Ken Watanabe, Yas-Kaz, Daisaku Kume, and Akio Suzuki. These artists straddled the worlds of fusion, prog, and experimental music, building a soundscape that blended ECM-inspired modal ambient jazz with heartstring-pulling, impressionistic neoclassical compositions reminiscent of “furniture music” composers like Satie and Debussy.
For a debut, The Gentle Wind’s first effort is engrossing, a sublime hidden gem treasured by those lucky enough to find it. Originally intended as a gift to Naoko’s most dedicated fans, it left many wondering what they might have created next.
Now, I’m delighted to share what came next: 1990’s Gentle Voice (ジェントル・ヴォイス), a breathtaking reimagining of The Gentle Wind’s ideas that carves out its own special niche. Clocking in at just under 40 minutes, this album offers an intimate and deeply resonant experience.
From what little I could find—or recall—Gentle Voice was conceived as part of a sound installation for an exhibition commemorating the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Sparse in exposition, its stark album cover and the song titles—recording dates in Yokohama—provided few clues about the music itself. What emerged was an album that foregrounded vocal samples and organic-sounding electronic instruments, using intricate panning effects to recreate the enveloping sound of the original installation.
This version of The Gentle Wind was a more intimate unit. It featured future J-Ambient composer Shuichi Ikebuchi (of Ambient7) and reintroduced guitarist Tsuneo Matsumoto, allowing Naoko and Mickie to explore a “less is more” approach.
The album is divided into two sections that resonate with each other. The first section begins with “Aug. 12, ’90,” introduced by the sympathetic hum of a singing bowl or hand bell. What follows is a playful, Laurie Anderson-like use of vocal samples and Latin-tinged electro-Tropicalia. Later, on “Aug. 20, ’90,” folk motifs emerge, evoking an esoteric, Enya-like neofolk sound. Naoko’s sparse, almost incidental vocal phrases—“Where the circles go?”—blend seamlessly into the music’s ethereal texture.
The section ends with the Harold Budd-like “Aug. 25, ’90,” a mournful, piano-driven piece where Naoko’s wordless, melismatic vocals envelop the track like sonic wallpaper, leading us into the second section.
For me, it’s the second section that lingers most in memory. “Aug. 11, ’90,” the first track recorded for the album, begins with the resonances of the opening bell but unfolds into something transformative. Naoko’s haunting melismas give way to a warbly electric piano melody, creating a reverential atmosphere reminiscent of Cluster’s Sowiesoso (a totem in my personal ambient music canon).
Continuing with “Aug. 29, ’90,” the music revisits the electro-Tropicalia of the first section but with a more furtive, muscular energy. Naoko’s sampled and resampled vocals dissolve into the fusion stew, emerging on the other side as something utterly unclassifiable.
The album concludes with “Aug. 30, ’90,” where pastoral folk motifs and octave-jumping electronics weave together into a seamless tapestry. What felt fragmented earlier coalesces here, revealing the full scope of The Gentle Wind’s vision.
While the album marks its progress with dates, it ultimately leaves us with a sense of mystery—wondering where these ideas might have gone next. As we’re reintroduced to Naoko through this work, perhaps it’s time to admit we have a new vision of her artistry.
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