8Sided Blog

the scene celebrates itself

3+1: Ordos Mk.0

by // Leave a Comment

The 3+1 paradigm is simple: the subject receives over a dozen questions. These queries are mostly ‘stock,’ but I specifically target a few at the artist’s work. And then, the subject is asked to name something loved but has yet to be widely known. That’s the ‘+1.’ I expect a paragraph or two, three at most, with the 3+1 pieces serving as a quick look into an artist and their worldview. 

Ordos Mk.0 has other ideas, and I’m thankful for that. Avoiding the stock questions, Ordos Mk.0 honed in on the ones that directly addressed his craft and intentions. The resulting responses are lengthy and thoughtful. I could post each answer as a stand-alone post if I wanted to. I admit surprise, but I should have known Ordos Mk.0 would deliver with such depth. That’s because the launching point for this piece is the ambitious and sprawling three-part album(s), Sisyphean Audio Therapy. 

Ordos Mk.0 (I only know the artist by the alias) leans into the therapy aspect, presenting the three installments as a healing process for both the musician and the listener. ‘Music as therapy’ is a familiar trope, but in answering these questions, Ordos Mk.0 brings a unique and interesting take. In the press write-up, the artist explains:

[The albums] are intended to serve as tools for relief from stress and anxiety as well as being inspired by and about the music and other media we turn to escape from it. It was due to this cyclical nature of being music to relax and escape while also being about media to relax and escape to, combined with the unending need to do so, which feels impossible to fulfill, that it is described as “Sisyphean.” 

And the music approaches the idea distinctively, too. The albums’ tracks — admittedly and audibly influenced by the likes of Biosphere, Alessandro Cortini, Suzanne Ciani, and Trent Reznor’s work with Atticus Ross — favor song-like lengths as opposed to extended ambient drone exercises. There are nods across the electronic music spectrum and references to its history. Field recordings flutter in and out, triggering imagined possibilities and sonic contextualizing. Melody is also an essential element; there are plenty of compelling synth lines and motifs to grab us. These tracks are like snatches from misremembered dreams.

Ordos Mk.0 states that he intended his latest album, Sisyphean Audio Therapy 3, to have balanced doses of hope and despair. I hear an unequal division — there’s a bit more hope when I listen, but I tend to be a glass-half-full kind of guy. Perhaps part of the therapy for the listener is how Ordos Mk. 0’s music is open to emotional interpretation, a sort of Bandcampian Rorschach test. These cuts slice through hard times and take us — creator and listener — along with them. And it’s important when listening to remember that Camus considered Sisyphus a happy but absurd hero, “one who does not have false hope but also does not sink into despair.“

Enjoy this extended bit of 3+1 with Ordos Mk.0 — there’s a lot to sink your teeth into. Also — the artist provided the original photography on which this post’s graphics are based.

[Read more…]

Elijah Knutsen: Inhabiting Faraway Places

by // 1 Comment

I’ve already spoken with Elijah Knutsen a few times, most memorably about his obsession with the Kankyō Ongaku sub-genre of Japanese instrumental music. I found his 2020 album Blue Sun Daydream refreshing and warm amidst an onslaught of darker ambient efforts and have followed his output since. There’s a simplicity to Elijah’s music, but his attention to space and defined spaces, as well as a narrative-like temporal motion, set his compositions apart. He mostly improvises his productions in the moment, but a longing for new surroundings inspires intentionality. Elijah’s need to inhabit distant locations is satisfied by approximating how visiting those places might make him feel, interpreted to you and me through music.

Elijah’s latest album is Maybe Someday, a pronounced step forward. Japan’s northernmost islands are the imagined destination, coupled with the background hum of loneliness. The guitar, which played a prominent role in Elijah’s pre-ambient music-making, returns to his production arsenal to add an audible Victorialand-like flavor to the album. Atmospheric recordings culled from Japan’s natural surroundings, rural towns, and everyday routines bubble in and out of the shimmering mist created by heavily processed synths and guitars. The effect is beguiling — playing Maybe Someday now takes the ‘home’ out of my home office. I feel like I’m writing this someplace else, someplace ideal.

In my last interview with Elijah, I primarily asked him about his influences and fascination with the artists of Kankyō Ongaku. Maybe Someday inspired a follow-up conversation focused on his music. So I get into it with Elijah about sonic world-building, the fun of imagining a mental space for music, how Google Maps comes into play, and even some guitar pedal talk. Below is a transcript of the first several minutes of our conversation, and you can hear the full 23 minutes via the handy audio player. 

(One quick note: at the end of my chat with Elijah, I enthusiastically recommend the writing, photography, and email newsletters of Craig Mod. You should check out Craig, too.)

❋-❋-❋-❋-❋-❋-❋-❋

MD: I’m really into this concept of world-building through music — this idea that you can create spaces and imagine where it’s taking place, whether that place is a real place or it’s imaginary. It’s like the music has an environment around it or an implied environment around it. I’m fascinated with how you do something like that with field recordings. Do you think about that intentionally, about creating a transportive space?

EK: Yes, definitely. When I started my record label, it started with an art project. I took a bunch of field recordings, and I made this space with them, like a sound design project. I made this “room” where you’re in one part where in the recording, there’s like a fan to your right and a computer modem in front of you. I panned everything like that. I called it a Memory Room, and I would set its place and a date. The first one I did, I think, was set in Japan in the year 2003. I had a song from The Cure from their 2000 album playing on a little tinny boombox to the right. I was trying to build an environment where you could close your eyes and listen and imagine that you’re there. 

MD: Another thing that’s interesting is a lot of these places that you’re imagining — or at least recently on this album and in what you just mentioned — are in Japan. I think we talked about this, that you haven’t been to Japan.

EK: No. 

MD: So, it’s like a specific place you’re evoking, but you’re transporting yourself as well as the listener.

EK: I’ve just been fascinated with Japan for a while. The music that comes from there is different from what I’ve heard in terms of like ambient music or experimental music. The culture there is different, too. It seems more introspective compared to what we have in the U.S. And I think that’s something that inspires me.

MD: Your music is obviously very introspective. And the spaces that you create, your instrumentation’s sparse. But at the same time, it’s like there’s a lot going on with all the layers and the way the music flows. In your press release, you use the D-word — you say “drone” —but to me, it’s not really that at all. 

EK: No. I agree. 

MD: I’m not criticizing that you’re using that word, but your music seems to have movements. Rather, a lot of drone music is about staying still and suspending a moment. On this album, it feels like a moment is happening. It’s not suspended. Like it feels like there’s movement in the time that your songs are taking place in.

EK: On the album track “Lonely Aomori,” I started with field recordings. I wanted a day and night cycle like you’re in the town and walking through the streets. As you’re walking, the sun starts to rise. It starts at nighttime with the sound of crickets, and then it slowly starts to turn to day. You hear frogs or other daytime creatures.

MD: I noticed that when I was listening, how the field recordings changed in the song. They faded away and then became something else. So, how important is it to you that the field recording you’re using is taking place in the environment that you imagine for the song? I don’t think you used any sounds on this album that weren’t sourced in Japan. Would you have substituted a different origin if it had fit, or is that really important to you that the sounds are from the actual place?

EK: It’s pretty important to me. But there’s a limited amount of sounds that you can get from a small town in Japan. I have to use ones that I feel would fit without the geographical context, but I do spend a lot of time researching the sounds. It’s important that they’re from the areas that I’m trying to evoke.

MD: You’re in Portland or thereabouts. There are obviously a lot of opportunities for field recording where you are. Are you just fascinated by these places you haven’t been to, or could you see yourself doing an Oregon-set album? Or does that just not interest you at all?

EK: Well, there’s a rose garden in Portland up near Forest Park. It’s a protected park with huge trees and hiking trails. I did an album based on the rose garden with a lot of field recordings from there. But I’ve lived here for about 16 years. I feel like maybe I’ve gotten everything that Portland has to offer, as far as field recordings go, in terms of the areas that I’m interested in. The faraway places really do interest me more.

MD: It’s almost like you’re free to fill in the blanks. It seems to me that if you know a place, if you’re familiar with a place, it may not be as inspiring as imagining what a place is like.

EK: Definitely. If I visited San Francisco, I would be inspired by everything there. But I’m sure someone who’s lived in San Francisco for a long time wouldn’t have the same feeling.

→ Elijah Knutsen’s album Maybe Someday is available on Bandcamp and the streaming spots. Since this interview, Elijah also released an excellent EP called Dry Flower on Osaka’s OMODARU label.

Memory Color and Kankyō Ongaku’s New Age

by // 6 Comments

Memory Color's Blue Sun Daydream

Blue Sun Daydream‘s opening track, “Night at Sotokanda,” instantly evokes a scene. A playful melody chimes in layers of background noise before getting washed in reverb tails and floating tones. It seems we’re lost in the Sotokanda district of Tokyo. The sounds continue, echoing grinds and bells, the occasional voice. I’m imagining a railway depot — Akihabara Station, perhaps? — and by the end, we’ve walked on and into the gentle songs of birds. The bells have become meditation bells. These eight minutes are quite the journey.

Portland-based experimental producer Elijah Knutsen has crafted five expressions of Japan on Blue Sun Daydream, released through the new imprint Memory Color. Knutsen pays homage and updates the micro-genre of Kankyō Ongaku, a style of ambient recently popularized by Light In The Attic on the compilation Kankyō Ongaku: Japanese Ambient, Environmental & New Age Music 1980​-​1990. The music is known for calming atmospheres, sparse but memorable melodies, and environmental sounds. It’s music for head-traveling, a concept I’m eager to embrace in lockdown times. 

I’m fascinated by this album and the origins of Kankyō Ongaku, so I requested a Q&A with Elijah Knutsen. His generous responses detail his intentions with this project, the history of this musical aesthetic, why a compact disc release of Blue Sun Daydream is essential, and so much more. And Knutsen opens up many rabbit holes to explore. His recommendations alone are worth several deep dives. (I slightly edited this interview for clarity and concision.)

8Sided: What draws you to Japanese ambient music? What makes it different from other electronic ambient music of different eras?

Elijah Knutsen: The unique sound palette that stems from field recordings and environmental sound is unlike many things I’ve heard before. A lot of Japanese ambient albums are awash with sounds of flowing water, birds singing, rain, and thunder. It takes the music into another dimension of immersion, bringing you to a place you can feel and experience. It adds depth to the idea of music and sound as an art form. 

Second, the unique presentation of these albums is interesting to me. Two of the most well known Japanese artists, Takashi Kokubo and Hiroshi Yoshimura, made their groundbreaking records in collaboration with skincare and air conditioning companies, included free with orders and accompanying sales installations. The idea of creating an entire album based around an inanimate object is intriguing and shows how creative and talented these artists were.

Something I find notable about this genre (and ambient music as a whole) is how it completely shifts your idea of what music could be. Rather than focusing on a melody or chord progression, this music encourages a different way of listening. Things as simple as distant train horns, wind chimes, or muffled conversations are now music. You can go outside and experience that music whenever you want to. 

8S: What is ‘Kankyō Ongaku’? How would you explain it (and its history) to someone new to the genre?

EK: Kankyō Ongaku started in Japan in the 1980s as an offshoot of more contemporary ambient music and became a distinctive form of art. It focuses on ‘background noises,’ including the natural sound of life, with bits of melody blended between the long stretches of environmental sounds. Synthesizers are typical yet used carefully. The patches and sounds used are soft and simple, much like the compositions. The melodies are simple yet evolving — and sometimes not even there.

8S: The Light In The Attic compilation only covers the years 1980-1990. But how did Kankyō Ongaku evolve into the ’90s and to the present?

EK: I feel that the art of Kankyō Ongaku was significantly overlooked, and only now is it becoming apparent how special it is, especially to western audiences. The artists of the ’80s continued making their music, and many went on to work in the film and video game industry (Joe Hisaishi – Studio Ghibli). However, the specific type of Kankyō Ongaku explored by Light In The Attic is mostly from ’80s artists. But Hiroshi Yoshimura’s final album before his passing in 2003, Four Post Cards, sounds directly taken from one of his earlier works.

The sound of Japanese ambient in the 1990s was defined by the artist Tetsu Inoue. Tetsu worked with Pete Namlook and his pioneering FAX label, releasing groundbreaking albums like World Receiver and Ambiant Otaku. These albums defined the genre differently. Instead of programmed synth arpeggios and babbling creeks, Tetsu’s music clouds the listener with dense textures of sound set upon ever-changing noise sheets. Tetsu, unfortunately, dropped off the radar in 2007 and hasn’t been heard from since. 

8S: Are there any notable artists missing from that compilation?

EK: Artists like Hiroshi Yoshimura and Takashi Kokubo are probably the most well known in this genre. Yet, there are other talented artists not included in the compilation. Right now, my favorites are Yutaka Hirose, Tetsu Inoue, Kensuke Mitome, Takao Naoi, and Kazuo Uehara. 

8S: Who are some current artists carrying on the Kankyō Ongaku tradition that you’d recommend?

EK: There may not be another artist exactly like Hiroshi, but there are tons who can fit the idea of Kankyō Ongaku. One of the more experimental artists I’m listening to is Tamako Katsufuji, a sound artist from Osaka, Japan. Her albums are incredibly eclectic pieces of sound art, using field recordings, cat sounds, and singing bowls, all arranged in a strangely calming fashion. Although Tamako’s music is different than Four Post Cards or Tetsu Inoue, her work is as ‘Kankyō Ongaku’ as the giants of the ’80s. The best part about this genre is how encompassing it can be.

The main reason I started Memory Color was to explore the sound of Kankyō Ongaku and experiment with it. I’m also hoping to find others doing the same thing. There are many amazing artists out there who are entirely unnoticed. 

8S: Why is it important to you that your releases are on compact disc or physical formats?

EK: It’s important because, when creating an album, everything from the song titles to the cover design should be meticulously crafted. These things are as equally important as the music. Why should the album have to be stripped down to its bare parts for a streaming website? Many people overlook how special it is to hold something in one’s hands, especially after engaging services like Spotify. Like with a book, the cover and the packaging is as essential to the experience as the content inside.

8S: Do you think there’s a difference in how fans see physical formats now — CDs, vinyl, cassettes — or are they mostly ‘totems’ to represent affinity to the music? That said, should people listen to music on physical formats? Why or why not?

EK: I do believe that many people buy physical releases for the sentimental value. But there are still arguments that formats such as tape or vinyl are the optimal way of listening. I do believe that we can grow tired of the stale sound presented by streaming platforms. One of my favorite bands, Mercury Rev, recorded their groundbreaking album Deserters Songs on physical tape. The frontman claims that the tape captured the music’s emotions in a way digital formats can not.

Going back to what I said earlier, the packaging and artwork are crucial to the album as the music itself. I’ve purchased many releases on CD after listening to them purely on digital, and the artwork and design not shown on Spotify add another dimension to the overall experience.

Elijah Knutsen

8S: You, and the label, are out of Portland. But the label’s website has a .jp address, and song titles have Japanese translations. Are you specifically targeting Japanese listeners?

EK: One of the main reasons I chose to market my label to Japan is its still-thriving physical market. A big goal is to get our releases into actual music stores, so why not try with one of the only places still buying physical releases? I also felt it was important to make the music we’re releasing accessible to Japan, especially if we’re taking such a large amount of inspiration from that country’s sound. 

8S: The press release notes that “the album explores the idea of yearning for another time and place, even if one has never been there.” Is Japan one of those places?

EK: Definitely. I often have vivid dreams about living in another country or place, and then wake up wondering what I’m missing. This feeling also ties into the music on the album. I base many of my albums on places and the feelings and memories they bring about. I like to capture the entire essence of a moment and relive it through the music.

For Blue Sun Daydream, I went on Google Earth’s street view and wandered around in small Japanese towns, noting the names of areas I thought were evocative. I wondered what it would be like to live there. The song titles you see on the album are all real places, more or less. 

8S: The album features evocative sound design. It really is transportive. I assume this is the contribution of Kato Eiji, mentioned in the press release. Can you tell me about this collaboration and how his recordings and input influenced the album?

EK: Yes, I met Kato through an ambient music forum. He posted a link to his Freesound page — that’s a site where I get many field recordings and samples for music. Most of his recordings were done in Southern Tokyo, ranging from train station ambiance to street sounds and rainfall. I used some of his recordings on Blue Sun Daydream, as well as sounds I recorded. His recordings added the extra level of atmosphere that I was looking for. They set the scene for the album. 

8S: What is a ‘memory color’? What does that mean to you, and how does the concept inspire the label’s output?

EK: A “memory color” is, scientifically, a color typically associated with an object through memory, such as a banana being yellow or a leaf being green. It’s the relationship colors have with our memories. Some colors will remind you of the specific things you’ve seen and experienced throughout your life.

However, the label name ‘Memory Color’ is inspired by the feeling of wanting to record moments and emotions somehow and revisit them whenever you want to. It’s a reference to that feeling related to the nostalgia that many people feel when listening to music.

It’s also very much inspired by the sensation of dreaming, and how that plays into memory. In a dream, you can witness an incredibly vivid place or moment. Yet as soon as you wake up, it quickly dissipates, and you can only remember a particular color, sound, or emotion. I believe that the music of Kankyō Ongaku is as close as one can get to capturing those dreams.

——————

Blue Sun Daydream is available now from Bandcamp and a limited edition handcrafted compact disc from the Memory Color website.