quête:harutaka mochizuki

An’archives presents the latest album by Japanese free saxophonist and vocalist Harutaka Mochizuki, Doppelgänger ga boku wo. Since the early 2000s, Harutaka has quietly, yet steadily, released a string of solo and collaborative releases that have allowed multiple perspectives on one of the most singular voices in modern music. In collaboration, he seems to prefer the duo format, and digging through his discography, you’ll find releases where he pairs with Tomoyuki Aoki (of Up-Tight), Michel Henritzi, and Hideaki Kondo. But Harutaka’s solo performances, with their lyricism and physicality, are where the magic truly happens.

If earlier albums, like Solo Document 2004 (Bishop, 2005) and Pas (no label, 2014), were raw documentations of solo alto saxophone performances, in recent years, Harutaka’s solo albums have become more complex, more mystifying. Most significantly, they’ve become more personal; there are few musicians extant whose albums feel quite so much like diaristic interventions, and Harutaka’s music now is deeply moving in its intimacy. Developing that thread of revelation, Doppelgänger ga boku wo offers a still richer exploration of many facets of Harutaka’s artistry.

The two double-tracked alto saxophone performances here feel consummate, with Harutaka shadowing himself, exploring the possibilities of the multiple self: Doppelgänger is me, indeed. The playing here is rich with affect, but still exploratory, voiced with rigour and intent. Two short pieces for keyboard and voice (about Giacometti and Genêt, respectively) are fragile miniatures, with clusters of chords, and passing phrases, wrapping around Harutaka’s untutored but lovely singing.

The ‘karaoke’ performance that closes the album, of “Woman ‘W no higeki’ yori”, speaks to the iterative aspects of Harutaka’s music. A cover of the Hiroki Yakushimaru song, the theme to Shinichirō Sawai’s 1984 film W’s Tragedy, he’s returned to this song several times, and here, his delivery perfectly captures the spirit of what Michel Henritzi, in his typically beautiful liner notes, evocatively details as “one of those sad love songs that accompany lonely sake drinkers in smoky night bars, sharing their spleen.”

Gorgeous, human, heartrending - Doppelgänger ga boku wo is Harutaka Mochizuki in element and in spirit.

An’archives is proud to present Hanabi, a compilation of material from legendary Japanese folk singer, actor and writer, Kazuki Tomokawa. Hanabi draws from Tomokawa’s three most recent albums, Vengeance Bourbon (2014), Gleaming Crayon (2016) and Going To Buy Squid (2024), all released in Japan only on the Modest Launch imprint. Pulling together highlights from these three extraordinary albums, Hanabi collects ten songs of shattering intensity, with Tomokawa performing at an ecstatic peak, a mere six decades into his musical career.

Tomokawa’s life story is one of change, risk and dedication. He appeared on the Japanese folk music circuit in the early 1970s, performing at such significant events as the legendary 1971 Folk Music Jamboree. Over the second half of the decade, he released five stunning albums that cemented his reputation as an expansive, lyrical singer-songwriter and performer whose music jack-knifed between pensive melancholy and righteous fury. His recorded output slowed in the 1980s as he became immersed in theatre, acting and painting, but his connection with the sainted Japanese label P.S.F. led to a prodigious burst of albums across the 1990s and 2000s.

Some of those albums had Tomokawa playing alongside free jazz musicians, such as his long-standing collaborator Toshiaki Ishizuka (Brain Police, Vajra, Cinorama), and late double-bass improviser Motoharu Yoshizawa. Some of that spirit can be found amidst the songs on Hanabi, leavened by a more romantic sensibility on a song like “Night Play”, where Tomokawa’s impassioned vocals and guitar swim and bob amongst a drifting string arrangement. The ferocity of “To The Dead Man” is reinforced by a guest appearance, on saxophone, by upcoming free jazz player Harutaka Mochizuki; the two spar with each other while Hiromichi Sakamoto’s cello and electronics swarm under the surface.

For those who’ve missed the three albums that Tomokawa has released across the past fifteen years – understandably so, given the relative impossibility of finding them outside of Japan – Hanabi is a welcome re-introduction to one of Japan’s most significant, poetic and quixotic folk singers and songwriters. As Michel Henritzi notes in his typically perceptive liner notes, capturing the oneiric and unique spirit of Tomokawa’s song, he is nothing less than “a poet who cries out, opening the darkness and shadows with his song, throwing handfuls of ashes from lives that have fled into the wind, to us, his fellow human beings.”