Hakobune – All My Regret For Nothing Remembered (Warm Drone Label, 2015)


Isn’t it peculiar how the mind can work? It does seem strange to me sometimes that we can feel strong emotions on events that have never happened, that we can feel so powerfully about things we’ve never experienced; Hakobune seems to not only be fantastic at naming his tracks and records but he also proves once again incredibly adept at filling those titles with stunning musical works that seem to pander much more closely to our psyche than anything else, such music that can only really be felt from within and only poorly reproduced in these words.

“Part 1” is the first of this two part, twenty minute release and it seems to me to be the side focused on the future and its prospects and possibilities, limitless in its scope and potential and willfully ignorant of the idea of failure. It loses itself in daydreams, floating along on luxuriously rich currents of ensconcing drone that drown the senses in a delicious lightness, supplemented by waves and eddies of turbulence below in shimmering fractals of briefer melodic constructions, gently rolling sounds that provide the little details to our fantasies and keep the dream alive and sustained, details added here and there, subtracted elsewhere as it proceeds quaintly along, always refining itself to craft the most perfect version of itself.

There’s a hint that all is not as it seems though, and a sense of reality begins to return dramatically in the second piece and strengthening the slightly off-kilter suspicions of the first, an edge that tints the glowing music and begins its surrender to the true way of things. “Part 2” opens its eyes to this emptiness, this vision lost and a future stolen, musing on the peculiarity of it; why do we mourn what we never had? It feels unsettled and out of place and time, its bright pleasantries and glowing happiness seem to be polluted and stifled by a subconscious menace, a dark and shapeless current that seems to make the track lethargic and slow, tired in its swathes of sound, and then there is nothing. A brief pause as the music falls away, a moment of clear and unstifled emptiness, and then it returns to life, billowing back to fullness with reinvigorating density; perhaps not as bright and as hopeful as before we began but certainly fresh and untempered, losing the thoughts of those nothings lost to the same nothingness from whence they were born.

Take these writings as you will, perhaps you’ll find something else within Hakobune’s poetic drones.