Makoto Kawabata & Richard Youngs
Richard Youngs & Kawabata Makoto

THE REVIEW

The record starts and you're already on a cloud. How can I talk about it without rambling a bit? Without lying my head on this soft mass that embraces me like the night? How can I claim to tell how this sonic river is making me travel?

I'm here with my eyes closed, hands trembling, creaking on the keyboard emitting gasps. I'm here and I jump, between one note and another, in this continuous and joyful mixing of arpeggios, sonic textures, and sounds that seem to seep elsewhere. The record travels, and I travel with it.
I don't quite know what it is. I don't understand its features: what I'm listening to is it folk or avant-garde? This union of two brilliant musicians is soaked in magnificent sensations, of a startling simplicity that surfaces in the pure turmoil of genius. 
Simple chases and embraces of arpeggios, scarcely modulated, that dive into sensations of nearly 60's melancholies, almost acid, almost love. 

Sensations that drag me away and make me drown in these pink, red, purple clouds. Indelible colors, also expressed in the titles of these indefinable gems ("Purple", "Red", "Yellowish Green", "Orange" and "Blue"). 

Five pieces, five colors, 40 minutes of music, visions, feelings, and anxieties. A record that feels old, yet manages to look at the future and spit in its face. So delicate, so firm in excelling in pure color, to repaint, like a fresco, an entire season.
Whether it's autumn, winter, spring, or summer, that's for you to decide. Or rather, your eardrums must decide, so numbed by the exhaustive strumming that even your eyes will deceive you.

You will be there, in your room. As I am, here, trembling.

You will physically be there, but your mind... who knows where it will be. 

With love, I paint the walls.