Mizugauekara is a livable record. It’s a rustic and tidy cabin, an architectural arrangement of neatly-stacked chamber-folk riffs that, from a distance, recall the pristine congruity of Philip Glass’ Glassworks but reveal their charming knots and splinters upon closer scrutiny.
Those acquainted with The National’s side project Clogs should find themselves in familiar territory stepping foot into the boundaries of maiwai’s debut EP. Furnished with earthy, picked arpeggios stacked like timber, Mizugauekara exists in its own enchanted realm untapped by outside influence, save for a nocturnal draft of clarinet or Casio whisper that seeps through a cracked window. Its introductory title tune dusts the roof with a patchy coconut-flake snowfall of steelpan tremors and wavering vocal harmonies. The individual elements of the track seem to work together instinctively, as if maiwai exerted no physical influence on its genesis, and had merely observed and reported the process. Buoyant beds of strings rise into the atmosphere and drop dreamy precipitation that melts on impact.
“KAGOME KAGOME” takes on a blusterous tone that charges forth against the vigilant trees surrounding the cabin, bending their thin, pliant trunks. Urgent, metallic tones advance in tight formation, launching high-frequency chirps and drones at their adversaries, but are thwarted at the song’s dissonant climax: a maelstrom of clashing textures that recede into a state of timbral restructuring. “kakera” and “ichinenn” chronicle this period of restoration, salvaging glimpses of beauty hidden in a desolate folkscape and forming them into a whimsical Rococo construction.
Mizugauekara is a futon to accidentally catch a cat nap in, an effortless work that leaves warm condensation on the soul like a cup of peppermint tea’s steamy emission.
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