To abstractly organize the 12-tone equal temperament scale based on some theoretical foundation and construct a unique musical space—this can be a fascinating challenge for a certain type of composer. The title track, “City of Gravity,” was composed in 1999, inspired by the book “Blue Notes and Tonality” by bassist and theorist Motohiko Hamase. While I will leave the detailed theoretical background to the book, this piece utilizes the polytonality inherent in the blue note scale, creating a distinctive sense of tonality.
Within a leisurely tempo, multiple synth leads with different characters play melodic lines along the blue note scale. In response, harmonies flow as if to measure the tonal distance. And as if to prevent this polytonality from dissolving into pieces, the bass part continues to play a consistent scale.
At times, the piece moves into a section with a relatively clear sense of tonality, driven by an urgent rhythm, only to be pulled back into the world of polytonality. After repeating this several times, the rhythm section fades out like a receding tide, and an arpeggio with the sound of an augmented major 7th begins to play. Into this enters a synth solo based on a simple blue note scale.
Both the bitter, harsh sounds and the clear, transparent sounds that appear in this piece are of the same origin, rooted in the blue note scale. They are the result of tonal control that is conscious of polytonality.
Tonality possesses a force that could be called “tonal gravity.” It can form a solid foundation in the sonic space or, conversely, create a weightless feeling of “unsteadiness” when that gravity is diluted or nullified. In that sense, “City of Gravity” is a work that allows you to experience a wondrous world of sound that makes you conscious of the existence of tonal gravity, just as the title suggests.
The following track, “Jungle Tester” (composed in 2000), is, in contrast, a simple piece. A synth lead pulls the music forward over the instantly recognizable rhythm of the famous Amen break. After a section with little harmonic change that creates a sense of stagnation, the piece shows a different face around the one-minute mark, but it quickly returns to the original stagnant atmosphere.
As a subdued synth lead solo plays on, just before the two-minute mark when a hint of stagnation and boredom might be felt, a writhing, fast chord change suddenly appears. Just as you wonder what’s happening, the song enters a coda and ends. As the title “Jungle Tester” suggests, this might mean the listener has been toyed with by the composer’s experimental intentions.
Incidentally, if you listen closely, this final fast chord change is made of a carefully constructed sequence of sounds, which is precisely why it creates a unique musical “writhing.” In it, you can also feel a glimpse of the composer’s dedication to harmony.
The final track, “Standing Still at Dusk” (composed in 2007), is a work that can be described as a “palm-sized story” with its musical development compactly contained. It was composed in 2007. Within the mere 40-second duration of the piece, elements such as the register transitions of each part, the density and sparseness of the notes, and the flow of harmony are continuously manipulated in an undulating manner, showing that the entire piece is carefully constructed.
In the first 15 seconds, a cascade style (where instrumental parts are gradually added with staggered timing) introduces the rhythm, synth pad, piano, and trumpet in sequence, naturally presenting the elements to focus on and prompting the listener to listen carefully.
From there, the synth pad harmony rises in register, creating a slightly unsettling feeling while progressing towards a certain harmonious sound. Above it, the trumpet plays a hesitant, muttering phrase, taking a short walk to become part of the final harmony. The piano also gradually increases its number of notes, eventually matching the cooling down of the trumpet’s performance with a chromatic descending phrase, also seeking to join the final harmony.
And the synth pad that resonates at the very end of the piece brings a unique aftertaste—an ambiguous and open brightness that suggests both a sense of closure and the premonition of a new beginning. What began with a dimly lit, slightly unsettling harmony has, before you know it, arrived at this sound, even hinting at further sonic worlds in the realm of imagination.
Thus, this small, short story of about 40 seconds leaves a delicate, lingering resonance within the listener.
