Kazuya Nagawa - Lumina

A Closer Listen

Lumina is a gorgeous reflection on family, time, and the afterlife of souls.  After losing his mother at the age of 94, Kazuya Nagawa began to reflect upon her life.  She was born in a mountain village built around a stream, where she met her husband.  The couple followed the water downstream and settled beside the Nagaya River.  Sadly, he passed away at the age of 36, and was returned to the mountain village, where he was laid to rest.  Now the son imagines his parents reunited, their souls flowing alongside the river they loved.  We recommend that readers visit the album’s Bandcamp page to read the poignant story in full.

Lumina is many things at once: an album of remembrance, an album of processing, an album of gratitude, an album of flow.  Water and light are each integral to its essence.  As one listens, one hears deep grief alongside great devotion.  The opener “Ondine” begins with two piano notes, like the two lovers, the echo of the first note touching the beginning of the second.  And then the sweet serenade of strings begins, as peaceful as a placid stream.  In mythology, Ondine was a water nymph.  As “Ariadne” continues the mythological sub-theme, one senses a grand design to the couple’s relationship, which has passed from history to myth; the addition of cantor and choir only adds to the mystical sense, as does the organ in the subsequent piece.  “Sea and Eternity” is simultaneously intimate and operatic.

“Numen” (the divine power resting over a place) is a reverent piece, incorporating light choir and individual taps on a temple gong or handpan, like a service of remembrance, while koto, solo voice and spectral choir add sweetness to the divine “Ascenden.”  “Lux” is an outlier, a gothic-sounding piece for organ and spoken word.  “I have a hole in my memory,” the narrator intones.  A sense of anxiety deepens as the piece grows in stringed density.  This is where the grief is felt the deepest, before the light finally breaks through.

Swans fly and honk throughout the track of the same title.  In Japanese culture, the swan is a symbol of monogamy, devotion and lifelong love.  To see them flying, paired with each other, is a reminder of souls paired in the afterlife.  Bittersweet hopefulness blossoms in “Skyward,” as the son imagines his parents’ souls soaring into the heavens, higher than the swans, reunited at last. One cannot imagine a more loving tribute or a more encouraging final image.  The son is left behind, but not really; he will always have the memories and the river.  (Richard Allen)

Release date: 1 July