MIZU - Forest Scenes

A Closer Listen

Forest Scenes is an album of transitions: transitions between seasons, careers and identities.  MIZU‘s last album, Distant Intervals, was released under the name Issei Herr; before that, the Juilliard-trained cellist was part of a more conventional world.  While stretching boundaries of gender and genre, she has grown more experimental in sound and presentation.  Where does one description end and another begin?  Is there ever a day that is both winter and spring?  Where is the line between old and new?  Or are all descriptions arbitrary, and reality fluid?  The titles “The Way to Yonder” and “Realms of Possibility” sing of forward motion, even when “yonder” remains undefined.

“Enter” begins with a winding, creaking sound that suggests an ancient forest clock.  The journey is set in motion.  The cello – also made from wood – begins to play, first softly, then confidently, while a subtle pulse beats below.  By “Pump,” one no longer needs to imagine the forest, as footsteps are heard alongside birds and flowing water.  In fairy tales, the forest is a liminal, transformative area; those who venture there willingly reap the highest rewards.  MIZU weaves a magical atmosphere, with just a hint of voice mid-piece, like the words of a bedtime story, heard when half-asleep.  At the end of the piece, it’s unclear whether MIZU is walking out of the forest or treading further in; either way, the change has begun.

“Rinse” is a glade of darkness, drones spreading like shadows at dusk.  When the drone retracts, the night creatures, represented by piano and cello, enter and begin to forage.  “Rinse” folds into “Pavane” without a seam.  By the time the electronic beats enter, the creatures have grown bold, frolicking like Sendak beasts. The artist becomes part of the forest, not just a resident but a tree, a stream, a patch of moss.  A pavane is a slow, stately dance; MIZU turns even this definition on its head.  The track closes in a dark stomp and rush of wings.

The album’s back half is awash in beats, leaving the album in a very different place than where it started.  Concrete Husband contributes thick, abstract electronics to “prphtbrd,” while “The Way to Yonder” and “Realm of Possibility” adopt steady, throbbing beats.  The artist has become something else; the album has become something else; will the listener become something else as well?  From a different vantage point, this is still the same album, the same artist, the same listener.  The larger questions are, how much change are we willing to embrace in others, and are we bold enough to make such changes ourselves?  (Richard Allen)

Pitchfork

Read Madison Bloom’s review of the album.