Unless I somehow learn how to read Japanese, I'm a long way from understanding the Susumu Yokota story. My introduction came via a compilation track called "Azukiio No Kaori," a delicate slice of drifting ambient beauty striking enough to convince me to buy last year's Sakura. No regrets, believe me; it wound up being one of my favorite records of the year. Poking around online, I discovered that Yokota had been making music since at least 1992, and his releases numbered in the dozens. Most of his productions were house and techno variations geared toward the dancefloor, and most were only available as imports.
I've since purchased a double LP of his called 1999 (found it in a cut-out bin, oddly enough), and I could tell from the cheap, garish cover it was one of his dance releases. It's fascinating to me to think that the same person responsible for Sakura also created this. The music, at first pass (and there have not been many since), seemed stiff, without personality, and silly without the attendant humor. It's obvious that 1999 is a DJ tool and not an album, as the tracks are beyond repetitive, with no real end or beginning. This utility only served to put more distance between me and the music.
More than anything, Yokota's 1999 made me realize that I have a lot to learn about dance music, and my living room is probably not the best classroom. But it didn't affect the strong affinity I feel for Yokota's home listening material, a connection only strengthened upon hearing Grinning Cat. Where Sakura found Yokota exploring the sonic properties of the reverberating guitar, Grinning Cat focuses heavily on piano. The acoustic keyboard treatments vary from looped lullaby fragments, fuzzy with white noise on "Sleepy Eye," to the more traditional "Tears of a Poet," which seems like incidental film music from the 40's. Some of the piano parts are definitely sampled, with the loops cut in an intentionally jarring and disorienting manner. Others featuring winding melodies stretching across several bars which are surely played by Yokota.
The thematic unity of the piano aside, this record finds Yokota moving in ten different directions at once. It's almost as if these pieces were composed as singles, such is the varied feel. "Imagine" is a minimal affair, haunting and sad, with a floral melodic pattern set against samples and looped vocals. And then "King Dragonfly" comes right back with flanged drum programming, tribal clapping music and buoyant piano flourishes. "Card Nation" could be using a sampled Chopin Nocturne as its centerpiece, but it surrounds the tight keyboard loop with deep electronic percussion and distended Popol Vuh-style choir.
Grinning Cat runs the rhythmic gamut as well. "Cherry Blossom" chugs along on a 4/4 bass thump, dripping almost unbearably poignant shards of stained piano tone on top. "Love Bird" uses only handclaps and a shaker to set the tempo for the simplest melody on the record, Windham Hill as imagined by a computer. "So Red" takes a stab at laptop jazz, with tightly programmed snare rolls and a double bass ostinato. The beautiful thing about this many-headed beast of a record is the possibilities for future directions. Yokota has a deep well of inspiration to draw from, and is extremely comfortable with a staggering array of styles.
