Mega Tip! Between her elaborately conceptual Drag City singer-songwriter albums and celebrated soundtracks for Ryusuke Hamaguchi, in recent years Eiko Ishibashi has quietly self-released a significant body of solo and collaborative work on her Bandcamp page. At times resembling her solo live performances in their organic interweaving of instrumental, electronic, and concrete sounds, each of these less feted online releases offers a snapshot of the experiments always underway at Atelier Eiko. Some Fine Legacy is pleased to announce a vinyl edition of one of the most intriguing of these works, Gasping_Sighing_Sobbing, made in collaboration with Hiroshi Minami and first released in 2021.

Active since the 1980s, Hiroshi Minami is a key figure in the Tokyo jazz scene, as well as a respected memoirist. Devoted to the great standards, which he explores with an Evans-ish delicacy of touch and Impressionist harmonic extensions, he is equally at home working up variations on tunes by Ryuichi Sakamoto and The Beatles or experimenting with ambient electronics. A single note from his piano is the first thing we hear on Gasping_Sighing_Sobbing, the space left by its decay unexpectedly filled by a synth arpeggio that quickly fades away as the piano returns with a balladic chord sequence.

Like her frequent collaborator Jim O'Rourke, Ishibashi possesses the virtue of patience, recognising the beauty of lingering at length in a single musical environment. Throughout its 40-minute duration, Gasping_Sighing_Sobbing remains lost in this maze of obstructed and fragmented piano balladry. The musical surface is in one respect placid, but close listening reveals dynamics and processes that are deeply strange: the resonance of a chord dying away is frozen, expanding to become a cloud that suddenly makes way for the piano's return; or the piano is looped into a ticking glitch or a time-stretched shudder, momentarily sinking under lapping waves, distant bells, and snatches of conversation. Ishibashi's subtle vocals and synths colour the piano passages like views through distorted glass. The metaphor of cinéma pour l'oreille is perhaps overused in discussions of the musique concrète tradition, but here the visual associations are almost unavoidable: especially when Daisuke Ijichi joins on upright bass, it's hard to shake the cinematic image of a smoky jazz bar, shown in a sequence, perhaps, that cuts repeatedly to the musicians' and audience's thoughts and dreams. Like much of Ishibashi's work, this collaboration with Hiroshi Minami is inconspicuously radical, shaped at the deepest level by electro-acoustic procedures even as it luxuriates in melancholic beauty.