Before we get stuck into this album, take a look at the photo at the bottom of this blog post.
Shinichi Atobe's new album arrived at Demdike Stare's Manchester headquarters on a CD-R, sent from Japan, accompanied by the track listing and this photograph. That's it. Nothing else.
He remains an international man of mystery. The music is easier to figure out: simplistic house tracks, ripples of rhythm, playfully basic melodies, structures that are stillwater-smooth, repetition that verges on mind control. Easy.
If I delivered these blog posts like Atobe delivers his albums, I'd be in trouble. "Fat Roland's shoving crayon-scrawled toilet roll through the letterbox again, and why's he included a photograph of his only nipple?"
But then, these blog posts are scrappy, first-drafty. Yes, however, is perfection. Every moment seems carefully tended, unhurried, unconcerned with trends, just pure harmonic hypnotism, pure Shinichi.
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