Takahiro Kawaguchi - Three Glasses (immeasurable, 2021)
Takahiro Kawaguchi - Three Glasses (immeasurable, 2021)
It may seem inconsequential, but the first thing that stood
out to me about Takahiro Kawaguchi's latest CD was the packaging. The CD came
wrapped in a thin piece of plastic tubing, which one must physically unplug to
access the music within. Throughout Takahiro Kawaguchi's career in experimental
music, his relationship with his materials and tools has always been a defining
trait, such as the clocks and counters which comprised 2009's n and the
myriad DIY contraptions he's made since. So, it was clear that this tubing was
nothing arbitrary, but strangely the album's title addressed another material
entirely: three glasses.
Once the tube has been unplugged, the buyer can unfold the
paper packaging to reveal a two-foot-long image. At the top of the frame are three
transparent containers with orange lids, each filled with about 150mL of water,
although able to hold a bit over double that. Each is attached to a long
transparent tube, seemingly identical to the one which the buyer had just
unplugged, that stretches all the way down to the bottom of the frame where
they are attached to orange drippers which hang into three seemingly empty wine
glasses. In the middle of each tube is a small plastic valve which controls the
rate of the dripping.
If anyone, and I'd reckon this is something that many
experimental music fans have experienced, has ever washed a wine glass and
rubbed their finger along the wet rim of the glass, then they'll likely know
exactly how this album sounds. Perhaps they've seen it in a TV show or movie,
such as Federico Fellini's And the Ship Sails On. Perhaps they've even
tried adding more or less water to the glass and noticed how the pitch slightly
changed, if that's so then they should already understand the basic principles
behind these performances.
Using just these slowly dripping tubes and three glasses, Kawaguchi
has made two seemingly simple compositions which make his fascination with
these materials clear, proving the sonic complexity and beauty within. The
first is titled Stand by doing nothing. For ten minutes the performers
rub their glasses while 300mL of water drips into each one at the same rate.
The three glasses come together as a single elegant drone; a tone that only
slightly decreases as the glasses slowly fill. Next, they stand by and do
nothing for 10 minutes letting the listener hear the actual sounds of the
dripping water without being bothered by performers. I'll get back to that
later.
What's most remarkable here is the second composition, the
38-minute minimalist drone epic that is Far from doing nothing. It
starts just like the first track: the three glasses come together to make a single
drone, but this time they drip at different rates. What that means is that as
the track progresses, the glasses gradually begin to simultaneously
differentiate in both water level and tone. They never drift far enough apart to
appear as three separatable sound sources, but what is perceptible is the
slowly increasing modulation of the apparent drone which slowly drifts from
singularity to soft dissonance to mysterious harmony and back again as the
three glasses' water levels all reach their final point of 300mL at differing
moments.
What I find most fascinating here is this notion of slow
change, so slow and minute that it avoids clear human perception. On first
experience, the listener likely will not even notice that over the past 38
minutes the tone has drifted down from ~1000Hz to ~800Hz, from a B to an F# - around
a half-octave of unnoticed changed. Once it's understood, subsequent listens
become difficult. The listener may know what's happen, but they still struggle
to follow the unfollowable, to observe the unobservable. It may result in
confusion or upset, perhaps embarrassed with their failed concentration, but it
will be okay. I think it's best to just let it happen.
The listener's ears will most likely shift their focus
towards the most small and spontaneous traits, those sounds which stand out
most clearly, rather than just the steadily drifting drone and its rich, layered
overtones. I'm talking about the accidental sounds which arise from the
performers, their fingers which mistakenly slip along the glass and mark flaws
in the performance. This is actually Kawaguchi's third time recording a Three
Glasses piece – it was realized both in studio and in concert just last year.
In those recordings, these brief mess-ups are clearer and more frequent.
There's no denying that these performers have grown in their ability as
continuous glass-rubbers, but they still haven't perfected it. I wouldn't place
too much blame on the performers though, the fact is that the instrument is
tough. The fact is that the instrument isn't an instrument at all and is just a
wine glass full of water – sustained music was never the manufacturer's intent.
Just as the specifics of the materials govern the sound and the performances,
they also control the listener's attention and how those performances are
perceived.
Another subtlety of the soundscape is the constant sounds of
dripping water. Despite being such an essential part of the concept, it's
barely within earshot – the glasses are too loud. As previously mentioned
though, in the second half of Stand by doing nothing, this is exactly
what we get to hear. With the performers stood aside, the materials are
permitted to sound by themselves. As the water levels increase, the drips
become increasingly soft and sparse – even without performers, the slow change
stays audible.
I earlier called Kawaguchi's compositions simple, which they
are, but that might be underselling them. On Far from doing nothing, it
really is nothing more than having three performers start rubbing glasses and keep
doing it until there's no water left to drip. The most complex decision that
Kawaguchi has made is the dripping rates, which he has provided as 157, 135 and
144 drips/minute. What he's doing is extremely musical though. What may seem
like arbitrary technical guidelines are in fact recipes for the sound of each
instrument – just like any other musical score, he is transcribing the relative
pitch of the three instruments and defining how they will interact with each
other and be heard by the audience – but doing so while totally avoiding
traditional notation or instrumentation, operating solely within the specifics
of his non-musical materials.
It's been just a few months since Three Glasses has
been released, and while I was preparing this review, Kawaguchi has already
released another great album (titled Recorded Xenoglossy) with two new
otherworldly pieces using tubes and valves. This time, on one end of the tube
is an air compressor, and on the other end a horn. The result is similar but
different, and we continue to see how Kawaguchi remains indebted to his
materials – on the track Horns, his home-made instruments are even
acting autonomously – not at all unlike the second half of Stand by doing
nothing.
One could argue that Kawaguchi isn't entirely unlike any
other instrumentalist. Like a cellist is indebted to their cello, relying on
its physical traits to make their music possible, causing them to form an
intimate relationship with that instrument, Kawaguchi relies on his dripping
tubes and wine glasses. The difference is in the performer's lack of power and
possibilities. While the cellist has four separate pitched strings to choose
from, the glass-rubber's only options are to stand by and do nothing or to keep
on rubbing. And as a listener, our only option is to listen and perceive what
we can.
Three Glasses can be purchased digitally or on CD through the label's Bandcamp:
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