Masabumi Kikuchi • Hanamichi
On the first cut, after the open-chorded, busy intro, the dulcet strains of the 1920s movie theme “Ramona” rise from the keyboard and set the mood immediately. It’s pensive, intimate and introspective music, and Kikuchi’s reading is amazing. Succumbing to the slow-to–the-point-of-stasis tempo, the listener soon becomes one with the piano. If Bill Evans had ever been recorded while under the influence of sleeping pills, he might have sounded like this. Indeed, the sound raises the question as to what is the real star of this event -- the pianist or the magnificently recorded Steinway piano. Regardless of the answer, the music is captivating and demonstrates Kikuchi’s technical and emotional control of the piano and its pedals. Next comes “Summertime,” which Kikuchi, in between snippets of the melody, deconstructs beyond recognition. Throughout the music’s flow, his occasional vocalizations reminded me of another equally ruminative pianist, Keith Jarrett. After an extended, intimate journey into Kikuchi’s musical thoughts, the theme returns and the song ends as quietly as it began. The familiar notes of “My Favorite Things” introduce the first side’s closer. “My Favorite Things l” starts out okay, but get ready for a free-flowing meditation on the theme. The soloist’s fingers seem busy searching for direction before diving into a dramatic Cecil Taylor-like free-for-all, ultimately culminating in a relatively serene ending. In “My Favorite Things ll,” which opens side two, Kikuchi gives us more of the same introspective, freestyle improvisation that's definitely not for the faint-hearted or those with limited patience. Stick with it though and you will be rewarded with some of the most emotional, animated music you’ll ever hear. The familiar “My Favorite Things” theme becomes just a memory as the track ends. Up next, Kikuchi’s original composition, “Improvisation,” is angry-sounding and percussive -- chaotic music seeking resolution, which, unfortunately, doesn’t come. Instead, the listener is left with a bunch of jangled notes etched into auditory memory, a barrage of notes that cannot be unheard. This music is not for everyone but is compelling nonetheless. Another original, “Little Abi” (written for Kikuchi’s daughter), comes closest to accessible jazz. It is an absolutely lovely song and is given a riveting performance. You wait for each note to fall as if on cotton candy. Melody, harmony and silence complement each other, creating a memorable experience. Kikuchi’s absorption of jazz’s history is on display everywhere here. Throughout both sides of the album, the sound of the piano is extraordinary. Even though a digital or analog source is not identified, every nuance of the piano’s personality has been captured by the fine engineering of Rick Kwan, with an outstanding transfer to vinyl assured by the equally fine mastering of Alex Bonney. Although no pressing plant is identified, the dead-quiet surfaces of the weighty LP enable the listener to bask in the overwhelming sonorities created by Kikuchi’s lithe keyboard touch and pedal work. Finally, complementing the quality of the vinyl, the beautifully realized jacket, protective inner sleeve, informative notes and testimonials complete a very special presentation. Hanamichi is the debut release from Red Hook
Records, a newly formed label by former ECM producer Sun Chung and affectionately named
after the Red Hook section of Brooklyn where Chung lived while attending New York’s
New School. Prior to the outbreak of COVID-19, guitarist and composer Chung planned to
release three or four albums a year, the aim being to “dissolve musical boundaries
through the interweaving of musical genres and the explorations of intercultural
collaborations.” Here’s hoping he’s successful in that quest. |
ecorded in 2013, Hanamichi
("way of the flowers") is the final studio album of jazz pianist Masabumi
Kikuchi before his death in 2015. An alum of the Berklee College of Music, Kikuchi, or
“Poo” as he was called by friends, worked with a multitude of renowned
musicians, including Miles Davis, Sonny Rollins, Gary Peacock, Gil Evans and, more
recently, drummer Paul Motian. Discogs cites 48 releases from him, including over a dozen
solo-piano performances. This album was one of those solo efforts, an ink-wash painting of
sound. It took me to musical places I haven’t visited in some time.