Natsuki Tamura / Satoko Fujii: Ki

The sound of Ki is deeply steeped in deliberation, dignity and old-world stateliness. This, coming from the long-term team of trumpeter Natsuki Tamura and pianist Satoko Fujii, might surprise those who have followed the duo's trajectory over its quarter-century-plus existence. Fujii and Tamura stir up musical pots and pans in a startling array of styles. Most of the dishes they cook up are avant-garde—Fujii's boisterous big band stews, Tamura's truculent treks spiced with electricity and/or extended trumpet technique tom foolery that fits—weird as it is—into any place he puts it.

Spare is the word that comes to mind with Ki's opening track, "Keyaki." The sound seems a combination of Tamura's European folk-flavored Gato Libre outings, Fujii's Paul Bley influence (Bley was an early Fujii meteor, though he is rumored, in his mentoring, not to talk too deeply about music) and the succinct musings of pianist Masabumi Kikuchi. And there is a sometimes somber quality, like the requiem for a bullfight gone wrong.

Seven of the eight tunes are Tamura originals. He keeps things in a steady, understated mood. Time is suspended. The trumpet lines are clean and pure. Fujii fits into an accompanist mode more than in any of the couple's other due outings—Ki is their 10th Tamura/Fujii CD release and it is the most sedate and introspective of these outings, the most purely beautiful. On a blind listen it would not be tagged as avant-garde music. Call it a soundtrack to a journey into a sad man's mind as he steps into a stark desert landscape at the beginning of a winter cold snap.

Intimacy of the performances is palpable. Tamura and Fujii record together often, in various ensembles, most under Fujii's leadership, with more than a few—and counting—under Tamura's name. Their musical connection is strong, with Tamura leading Fujii out of her improvisational (often wildly improvisational) comfort zone into an enchanting world of slow tempos and reflection.

The set closes with an examination of a shore-side music room via Fujii's only compositional contribution to Ki, "Dan's Oceanside Listening Post." The sound unfolds in the manner of Tamura's tunes, with a dignified deliberation. It is twilight. The western sky is taking on a lavender hue that will soon deepen toward purple. The tide is out, leaving the wet, hard-packed shore sand gleaming, reflecting, just after the Pacific has swallowed the sun, a scattering of dark cumulus clouds that have faded from bright colors to soft pastels as Fuji's piano notes sit in for the footfalls of the shore birds searching for sandcrabs, while Tamura blows a clear, clean note into the coming night.