The vernal equinox has shepherded us into an air of newness and return. This was clear on March 20, as fans of all ages waited in a line that wrapped around National Sawdust. They were eager to witness Japanese composer, saxophonist, and electronic musician Yasuaki Shimizu, back in the United States for the first time since the 80s. Shimizu’s career is boundless. He has scored and produced music for film and television; performed with his beloved “new wave-inspired art-pop” band Mariah; and collaborated with renowned artists ranging from Björk and Ryuichi Sakamoto, to John Coltrane’s drummer Elvin Ray Jones.
National Sawdust has always existed as an “in-between” venue – they offer a mix of seated and standing-room shows, and a wide breadth of artists and genres. But sometimes the execution of staging doesn’t accurately match the style or “vibe” of the programming. This rang true for the opening performance by electronic musician Motion Graphics (aka Joe Williams).
With a press of a button, the show began in a drone-y soundscape made from textural field recordings, twinkling pianos, and vocal samples (some by recognizable artists). Although we were standing, the height of the stage prevented ground floor attendees from understanding what instruments were being used. The hesitant audience finally felt compelled to applaud after the highlight of Williams’ set – a piece with sweeping orchestral arpeggiations and upbeat rhythmic patterns.
Motion Graphics — Photo by Ryan Muir, courtesy of AdHoc
Overall, there was a disconnection between this performance and the space. While it seemed to be a hybrid ambient DJ set, the entire mix wasn’t loud enough in the room, and Williams faded out each track rather than create blends. This failed to establish a “contract” between artist and audience. His final track ended with a spoken “thank you,” and he looked up to thank us too, which was the only direct connection made.
When the stage reset between acts, so did the mood. I found myself highly interested in the Ableton session in view from Shimizu’s collaborator’s station – it was meticulously organized with about 50 track lanes, all with their own effect racks. The lights dimmed and Ray Kunimoto walked on stage and picked up a shō. The set began ceremoniously – beating clusters were drawn out of silences like melting icicles. After several cycles of chords, Shimizu walked across the stage with his saxophone in the dark. The pair made eye contact, Kunimoto froze his final breath, and Shimizu’s saxophone exploded into the room.
Throughout his performance, Shimizu juxtaposed rich melodies with urgent vocalizations, clipped squonks, and electronic textures. He and Kunimoto seamlessly married the instrumental performance with digital elements – octave displacers, glitchy gated delays, and spidery grains coalesced to enhance the vibrancy of his saxophone and electronic wind instrument (EWI). With just a single nod or look, Kunimoto knew when to make swift transitions or sharp cut-offs. The connection shared between the two was mesmerizing.
Ray Kunimoto and Yasuaki Shimizu — Photo by Ryan Muir, courtesy of AdHoc
The duo traversed jazzier terrains with Shimizu taking masterfully developed solos; minimal and sentimental through-composed works for saxophone and piano; and dancier tracks comprising layers upon layers of live looping and percussion. There was always an experimental edge – once a pattern was established, he’d interject with shrieks or growls; bursts of improvisation; snippets of ASMR and ambient samples; and rhythmic hemiolas atop the grooves.
At 70, Shimizu emits so much vitality through his music. His performance was equally reverent, powerful, and playful. At one point, he screamed and abruptly stopped playing, then looked up at us smiling. He thanked and addressed us after each piece, connecting with us despite the physical elevation.
The most unforgettable point of the evening was when he put down the horn and performed a song for us at the mic. We were conducted to clap in time together – miraculously we kept steady the entire six minutes. He sang in Japanese, reading lyrics off of postcard-sized papers. When he finished each stanza, he’d toss the paper into the crowd – several times they’d backspin and hit him on the way down, but he’d pick them up and try again.
Yasuaki Shimizu — Photo by Ryan Muir, courtesy of AdHoc
Though it did feel long, Shimizu kept us engaged for the entire performance. He told us “I love you guys” before a mindblowing virtuosic finale in which he pulled out all the stops. An unending stream of applause brought him back out for an encore – he dazzled us with one of his acclaimed Bach cello suite arrangements on saxophone with piano accompaniment.
The theme of “cycles” was present on this first day of spring. It felt monumental for Shimizu to present solo work in the US for the first time – in three sold-out nights – after several reissues between 2015-2022 garnered new, international attention. This show was not a “rediscovery” or reinvention, but a reintroduction and well-earned recognition of the exceptional artistry that Shimizu has exhibited for over four decades.
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