Anyone familiar with the work of Japanese experimental pop musician Tujiko Noriko will be able to tell you that her music refuses to stand still for even a moment. Right from the get-go, with records like her 2001 international debut Shojo Toshi, or the follow-up Make Me Hard, Tujiko has been infusing the pop song with an ever-advancing and churning sea of electronics, acoustic instruments, and ethereal vocals. So, entering into Crépuscule I & II, her first stand-alone studio record in eight years, one might be taken aback by the distinctly abstracted angle this album seems to take. It can be more closely identified with her recent ambient works for film such as Kuro (2019) than the more structured work of albums prior.
As it unfolds across its hour and 46 minutes Crépuscule I & II (“crépuscule” meaning “twilight” in French) reveals itself to possess that same restless spirit which beckons listeners to engage with the ambiance, and induces a film in the mind that’s in no doubt aided by those evocative track titles like “Bronze Shore” and “The Promenade Vanishes.” In other words, this record lays out a soundtrack for your evening hours, and whether you choose to meet it with some nighttime reading or your own homespun fantasies, it expertly traverses the line between a captivating liveliness, and that hypnotic haziness.
As the album’s Bandcamp page points out, Crépuscule I (tracks 1-9) is composed of broadly shorter pieces with more singular ambitions, whereas Crépuscule II (tracks 10, 11, and 12) allows Tujiko’s work to stretch out into three extended sonic scenes. The former’s style is first exemplified by the opener “Prayer,” which sees a tranquil set of melodies enter, shine, and then fade into the night just as they begin to latch on. Following this, “The Promenade Vanishes” is led by Tujiko’s gorgeous vocals, which first appear so close and intimate, though at times meld seamlessly into the instrumentation. It’s tracks like these which may be inspired by the work of other ambient vocal artists like Grouper and Julianna Barwick although the Crépuscules set themselves apart by remaining constantly mercurial — eluding boundaries through abstraction and detailed changes.
The fourth track, “Fossil Words,” is perhaps the most unabashedly pretty track in the collection, manifesting initially as an oceanic lullaby with elements that mimic the sounds of wind, water, and whales. Before long, the track opens up into vistas of heartbreaking high notes delivered by Tujiko herself. The quasi centrepiece of Disc 1, “A Meeting at the Space Station,” takes you on an equally enthralling journey, as the initially ominous facade of the track enters that familiar breathtaking beauty (without sacrificing any of its alien qualities) as Tujiko’s human presence is almost totally absent. I’d also love to mention the nearly subterranean “Bronze Shore,” which features lovely sections of mellotron, as well as this reverberant metallic sound that threatens fading to silence. Each of these pieces (including ones which I have not mentioned) weave together near-untraceable patterns, and as each piece of ephemera passes by it’s clear that the ambient nature of the album belies a complex interior.
Crépuscule II greets listeners with a distinctly human environment, as “Golden Dusk” features constant interjections from the voices of children running, babbling, etc. Amidst some off-kilter soundtracking, the listener is immediately aware that they are no longer in the same environment as Disc 1. This is most clearly illustrated by the album’s longest track “Roaming Over Land, Sea and Air,” which wanders the aural landscape for 23 minutes, coloured with a remarkably diverse palette of electroacoustic instrumentation, including euphonium and saxophone. At its most tranquil, it features Tujiko phrasing mystical words over an array of programmed synths, but the final moments of the piece offer up a bewildering and swirling arrangement which remains among Tujiko’s best. I particularly love this almost fan-like fluttering noise which peeks in and out of audibility at the most intense swells of sound.
While its length and style may seem daunting, Crepuscule I & II yields a wealth of sound treasures that deserve serious inspection, and equally so some relaxed meditation. If you’re curious about what truly active ambient music might sound like, this is a glowing example. Living up to her strong catalogue, Tujiko Noriko guides listeners across an eclectic system of transformations, but here her approach is on such a sweeping scale, it’s hard not to get lost in her world.
