Keiji Haino / Natsuki Tamura: What Happened There?

Unexpected one-off collaborations in creative music have often thrilled and captivated listeners, yielding results as unpredictable as they are unforgettable. Consider Embraced (Pablo Live, 1978) by Cecil Taylor and Mary Lou Williams, the genre-spanning brilliance of Duke Ellington & John Coltrane (Impulse!, 1963), or the boundary-pushing sonic landscapes of My Life in the Bush of Ghosts by Brian Eno and David Byrne. The avant-garde met turntablism in Guitar, Drums 'n' Bass (Avant, 1996), an experimental collision between Derek Bailey and DJ Ninj, while even the raw emotion of Johnny Cash and Joe Strummer covering Bob Marley's "Redemption Song" took fans by surprise. These seemingly unlikely pairings have, over time, become cherished musical encounters. To this illustrious list, one can now add the first-time meeting of two Japanese masters: trumpeter, Natsuki Tamura and guitarist Keiji Haino.

Tamura, an improviser of boundless versatility, navigates effortlessly between modern jazz and avant-rock. His collaborations with pianist and partner Satoko Fujii have spanned decades, encompassing intimate duos, the quartets Gato Libre and Kaze, and various expansive jazz big bands. Haino, an icon of psychedelic rock and experimental music, has forged a singular path through decades of boundary- shattering sound. His 1978 founding of the duo Fushitsusha with Tamio Shiraishi marked the start of an odyssey that has seen him collaborate with Peter Brötzmann, Bill Laswell, Otomo Yoshihide, Jim O'Rourke and the experimental bands Sumac and My Cat Is An Alien.

Although this meeting was a singular event rather than an ongoing duo, its closest historical parallel might be the incendiary performances of Peter Brötzmann and Han Bennink. Both duos share an affinity for the Fluxus-inspired experimental approach to music-making that emerged in the 1960s and '70s—embracing spontaneity, theatricality and sonic unpredictability. Tamura and Haino wield an arsenal of techniques and textures, blending the ferocious energy of jazz with softer abstractions, vocal exclamations (often in Japanese) and an unexpected array of sonic tools, including kitchen utensils and squeaky toys.

Captured live at Tokyo's legendary Shinjuku Pit Inn, their performance unfolds as a 36-minute continuous suite, divided into four distinct sections. The opening moments recall Pete Cosey's searing, wah-drenched guitar work, with Haino's riffs met by Tamura's ghostly, echo-laden trumpet—a spectral nod to Miles Davis. But rather than following an electric funk groove, Tamura abruptly shifts course, striking a metal kitchen wok before rejoining with feral trumpet growls. Haino counters with a guttural vocalization as Tamura's overblown trumpet takes on the buzzing quality of a vibrating kazoo.

The second section erupts into a maelstrom of sonic anarchy—a blistering trumpet barrage duels against Haino's frenetic guitar shredding, accompanied by boisterous percussion and primal, wordless vocalizations. This passage evolves into an almost theatrical performance, where both musicians summon every available tool in their avant-garde arsenal: squeaky toys, declamatory vocal outbursts (again, in Japanese), visceral howls, and erratic percussion stabs. The storm eventually subsides into a moment of hushed intensity, revealing a newfound intimacy within the chaos.

As the performance nears its climax, Haino's tortured growls and Tamura's muted trumpet eruptions coalesce into a raw, blues- inflected statement —an unexpected yet fitting resolution to their volatile interplay.

This meeting of two master improvisers was a collision of sound, spirit, and sheer unpredictability, leaving behind an unrepeatable moment in music history.

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