WIRE Magazine

Tokyo guitarist Tetuzi Akiyama has spoken about provoking elements of «primitivism and realism» and deploying extremes of textures and dynamics to convert his body into an «electronic entity». Here he's performing with three Norwegian improvisors - Martin Taxt (tuba), Eivind Lønning (trumpet) and Espen Reinertsen (tenor saxophone, flute) - in a set that sculpts tactile sound objects out of the fundamental characteristics of their instruments. Opening track «Tverrsnitt Av Fuge» is a drone. At first Lønning's middle distance vibrato-less trumpet dominates, but careful listening reveals greather depth - Taxt's tuba shadows the trumpet, as Reinertsen's tenor piles on the partials in between. But guitars don't function well within drones and Akiyama's presence only makes itself felt in the next track. He digs back to the sound of Delta bluesman, skirting around riffs, as his fingers evoke a slide guitar. His gestures are vigorously articulated and broken up with busy silences. In answer, the wind trio ignore his implied stylistic reference, instead quarrying into the sonic DNA of Akiyama's twangy overtones to fire back caterwauling multiphonics and growls. 
The pointilistic mechanics of track three are as different again; track four is a trippy guitar solo, while the fifth piece hints at jazz figurations. The realisation dawns that Akiyama has designed each number as a distinctive character piece. And then a climatic bombshell - after track seven, the album flips back on itself, reiterating earlier material in shortened versions, building a palindrome that transforms content into form, as you twig about how catchy his material was in the first place.