It is my hope that more than a few of you out there can truly appreciate the brilliance of pianist Yuriko Nakamura’s debut: Wind And Reflections. Frankly, I expect that something that sounds this painfully out of time requires one to have a certain palette to understand it but if you have it here’s hoping that if you get it, you’ll really get it.
Completely in its own space, this album is a “neoclassical” masterclass on how that dreaded (or misunderstood) middle third in such a word — class — can do wonders to take you on some kind of journey. Much like Toshifumi Hinata’s work, this one is similarly steeped in that kind of nocturnal nostalgia, embodying an era (or more precisely places) that can still yield quite impressionable impressionistic ideas when sussed out of truly technically (and creatively) gifted hands.
However, before we get to the storied land of Wind And Reflections, let’s take a step back and really try to understand where Yuriko is coming from. Before she became a well-known composer for various VGM, anime, CMs, and film and video, but more known as the accomplished performer of classical works, Yuriko was the precocious girl born in Yokohama in 1958, who began playing the piano at the age of three.
In the beginning it was the sound of nature and picture books that inspired her to pick the toy piano. By the age of 13, Yuriko had turned that preternatural talent to understand the piano, and actually perform with it, to guide herself to compose for it. When she attended the Ferris Girls’ Junior College Music Department, her next step was to be placed in America at the Berklee College of Music on a full scholarship. Unfortunately for Yuriko, she had to rescind that invitation and stayed home, dedicating herself to finishing her studies in Japan. By the end of the ‘70s, Yuriko had shifted into the world of professional music, working as a studio or live musician backing others like Hiromi Ōta.
The 80’s would be the period where Yuriko’s true talent was allowed to flourish. Ever since she was a child she was more interested in composing her own music than interpreting others. Early professional work composing music for popular commercials presented her with new opportunities. One spell that would be quite fruitful would be helming the music of famed Tokyo coffee shop “Ginparis”. It was at this hotbed of French-influenced chanson and cool jazz in Japan, that Yuriko could explore her deep love of music inspired by the likes of Satie, Debussy, Francis Lai, Michel Legrand, Jobim and Bacharach, all nouveau-romantic composers with a soft touch at the piano.
— Only viewable on YouTube (due to copyright restrictions…) —
Wind And Reflections presents a furthering of those sensitive, perhaps maturing ideas that the Satie-craze brought 1980s Japan. New Age, by the time of its creation had evolved (or devolved for some) to expand beyond its more ambient leanings into the realm of healing music and to, yes, include music that was more soothing than engaging. Yuriko understood that her music wanted to be more of the middle, to both be pleasant and soothing, but also engaging and unique.
— Only viewable on YouTube (due to copyright restrictions…) —
In Yuriko’s mind, what she was creating was landscape music. Working with Hajime Mizoguchi, a musician who instantly conjures similar great taste, Yuriko composed music that seemingly played toward the dusks and dawns of everyday life. Songs like “プレリュード (Prelude)” had the air of melancholic panoramas and deep closeup scenes. Others like “ファンタジア (Fantasia)” floored you through poetic dalliances of unplaceable nostalgia. Arranged with either a string ensemble and/or with very light electronic accompaniment, one senses Hajime’s oeuvre making its mark on how some of these tracks are adorned and Yuriko questing through this atmosphere.
— Only viewable on YouTube (due to copyright restrictions…) —
Creating out of the aether meditative impressionistic sound cycles, Yuriko took the language of European impressionism and made it entirely hers, on songs like “私の騎士 (Mon Chevalier)” and “哀しみのラプソディー (I’ll Play Rhapsodies)”, elegiac, panoramic songs, where her piano playing is rich but not too rich or not rich enough. Saying more with less, but not with grander ideas.
Tracks that ring truest to me are songs like “ナイチンゲール (Nightingale)” and “モンスーン (Monsoon)”, jazzy, modal things that seemingly tell a story without words, that are (once again) bittersweet, pointed themes couched in truly accessible tonal choices — all the better to floor you with their listenability. As with all albums that quiet your environment, the proof in Yuriko’s pudding isn’t in a count of the notes she plays or what snazzy bit of electronic adornment she uses, it’s in that undeniable quality of “quality.”
No matter your age or stage in life, the ultimate proof of this fine vintage will ultimately qualify itself with age. How so? Hear the music, look out the window, and try to resist Yuriko’s moving picture.