- Gripping, emotional ambient music that emphasizes the passage of time and holding onto what you love.
- Tujiko Noriko's ambitious double album Crépuscule I & II begins modestly: glossy, futuristic synths and the recognizable patter of a door being shut. This confluence of the otherworldly and quotidian suits the title, capturing the subtle richness of day turning into night. Tujiko's entire career has been marked by evolution, effortlessly maneuvering between downtempo and glitch and art-pop with every album. Here, she's in the same moody headspace that defined her recent ambient soundtracks for the films Kuro and Surge, and it was recorded around the time she worked on the latter. "I couldn't help generating a bright and peaceful touch," she said of these tracks' origins in an email, contrasting them with those darker pieces. And while this album isn't necessarily chipper, there's a deep and comforting warmth found in surrendering to its entire 106 minutes.
These songs are among Tujiko's most potent, because they persist for as long as they need. Take the eight-minute "Fossil Words," which starts with reverberating keys and Tujiko's hushed voice. As field recordings fold into the mix, they arrive and dissipate like vapor. Their fleeting nature is the point: she sings of time passing and the wind blowing before plainly stating, "I remember your words." Like the patient films of Hiroshi Ishikawa, "Fossil Words" asks you to slow down and consider the everlasting impact that others have had in our short, impermanent lives. Appropriately, Tujiko dedicated this album to the late Peter Rehberg, the experimental composer and Editions Mego label head.
The briefer songs on Crépuscule I & II have plenty of beauty too. Synths glimmer like crystals throughout "Opening Night," while Tujiko's vocals ground the swelling, diaphanous atmosphere of "Cosmic Ray." Most striking is "Flutter," which is built on a series of miniature moments, including deep bass rumbles, quiet clatter and soft utterances of the title. Putting this track next to "A Meeting At The Space Station"—a wordless, 12-minute slab of ambient drift—showcases Tujiko's compositional range. Found sounds dot the soundscape like asteroids floating in the Milky Way, and a noticeably weightless passage seven minutes in feels like the resplendent encounter of the title.
Tujiko's mastery of long runtimes is showcased further on Crépuscule I & II's second half, which features three ambitious tracks ranging between 13 and 24 minutes. "Golden Dusk" has processed vocals that sound like an angelic choir, recordings of merry children and lyrics that long for second chances. It unravels into a semi-climax, with desire and nostalgia echoing in every facet of its sublime electronic rubble. While Tujiko is partly working in a lineage of musique concrète across Crépuscule I & II, her music has a sensitivity to it as well, all without sacrificing the playfulness and intrigue that defines the music of, say, Luc Ferrari.
These songs are at their most emotive when revealing the poignancy in the everyday. We hear a multitude of noises in "Roaming Over Land, Sea And Air"—whirlwinding drones and glitching electronics—but it's all scene-setting for simple lyrics: "In the car park playing by yourself / I laughed so hard I cried and fell / Could it be the ground was shaking?" The closer "Don't Worry, I'll Be There" is even more earth-shattering. If previous tracks coaxed listeners into a meditative state, the massive rumbles here feel like a sudden jolt. Eventually, sweet synth melodies are met with her assuring words, as if serving a final reminder: hold fast to the people and memories that bring you joy.
Tracklist01. Prayer
02. The Promenade Vanishes
03. Opening Night
04. Fossil Words
05. Cosmic Ray
06. Flutter
07. A Meeting At The Space Station
08. Bronze Shore
09. Rear View
10. Golden Dusk
11. Roaming Over Land, Sea And Air
12. Don't Worry, I'll Be Here