Keiji Haino / Shuta Hasunuma: U TA

"The key is in isolating the listener: His music can sound apocalyptically desolate, or like being thrown into a whirlwinding cyclone, or like you're staring at an empty sky while taking a long drag of a cigarette. This album feels very different: It's inviting and personal. Especially stirring is "Number," where Haino patiently sings, stretching each phrase across an expanse of glossy, electronic sputters."

"The following two tracks magnify each member's role: "Pause" is a ruminative ambient piece ornamented with birdsong, while "Drops of overflowing smiles are falling" is a sound poetry exercise recalling Henri Chopin and Niikuni Seiichi. On the latter track, Haino repeatedly utters variations of the titular phrase, his voice layered until it congeals into pure texture. Interestingly, Haino largely avoids extended vocal techniques (something that characterized his a capella album Un autre chemin vers l'Ultime) throughout U TA, ensuring that these pieces stay in the realm of songs instead of formal exercises."

"It's why the LP is most successful when the two musicians keep things light and remain in total lockstep, like on the Harold Budd-esque "People," where Haino even says, "I want to bring our powers together." Beautifully, his breath and Hasunuma's crystalline piano chords periodically fade out in dreamy fashion. Hasunuma hasn't released an album like U TA either. While he's collaborated with numerous artists-from Foodman to Jeff Parker to Arto Lindsay -his music is usually cartoonish and cute, if not insufferably saccharine."

Haino's decades-long career produced albums tapping primal emotions through isolation and apocalyptic desolation. U TA diverges with an inviting, personal tone that conveys warm vulnerability. “Number” features patient singing stretched across glossy electronic sputters, recalling Ryuichi Sakamoto with Alva Noto and Nuno Canavarro. “Pause” is a ruminative ambient piece ornamented with birdsong. “Drops of overflowing smiles are falling” functions as sound poetry, with repeated titular phrases layered into pure texture. Haino largely avoids extended vocal techniques here, keeping pieces as songs rather than formal exercises. Hasunuma's usually cartoonish piano gains prickliness from Haino, and their interplay often fades out dreamily.

Read at Pitchfork