Ryuichi Sakamoto – 12

It would be easy to approach legendary Japanese composer and performer Ryuichi Sakamoto’s musical “diary” with the feeling that it was crafted out of a moribund sense of duty. Recorded during rounds of treatment for cancer, his second such diagnosis within the span of a decade, its release was preceded by a livestreamed concert Sakamoto described as perhaps his last. But 12 is more concerned with the present it sought to document. Convalescing after major surgery, Sakamoto took to his instruments, recording as and when he could. The collection instead deals in the turbulent and unpredictable period that comes before the unknown.

The first seven tracks place Sakamoto at the peak of a mountain, sometimes in calm and in others in a great gale. We hear what could be assisting medical apparatus, and rhythmic breathing, amidst other natural background noise. The first “day” contains cavernous synths – there's a desolate quality to these, bassy notes bottoming out as the composition progresses, and devoid of Sakamoto’s distinctive piano playing. It seems that it’s not until months later that those familiar keys are allowed to enter. On this front half though, they are easily displaced – 20220202 lacks them, dark Badalamenti-esque drones winning over. Sakamoto’s last album async – which was recorded after a previous cancer treatment – is seismic and intricately thematically mapped, using samples and a colourful palette of techniques and equipment. The diaristic, stripped back process it was necessary to use to assemble 12 makes it a much looser, more instinctive listen.

On 20220207, there is feedback sounding not dissimilar to a flatlining ECG machine. From here, the album begins to change. Minor key synths, which draw out across up to nine-minute stretches, make way for shorter, more delicate pieces. The achingly beautiful 20220302 is the only track denoting its style: “sarabande”. It’s a dance – here, for no one in particular. Strangely, the chronology of the tracklist is broken only in the brief final moments. We step a month into the past, left only with chimes and the wind that plays them, perhaps signalling a grasping back.

We cannot be certain of Sakamoto’s physical ableness, or his depth of emotion, on each of the days documented, as much as the timbre of the music urges us to. What we are left with is a record of endurance, struggle and the lingering ability to create something new. 12 shows a path can be made, even into that unknown.

Listen to: 20220302 - sarabande