Cerca:yoichi kamimura

Water can retain or wash away memory; flowing or freezing. It gives life and shapes earth, while frozen imprints of an ancient past are waiting to melt – back into sound or fluid motion, or simply to dissipate and disappear. For their split release, Yoichi Kamimura and Olli Aarni offer two distinct reinterpretations of a performance recorded live at the Temppeliaukio Kirkko – a church in Helsinki built directly into solid rock and bathed in natural light – meditating on glacial landscapes and water cycles, using shared field recordings that bifurcate into two sonic visions of “ice journey”.

Yoichi Kamimura’s extensive recordings formed the bedrock of the original performance, notably from time spent on Suomenlinna Island just outside Helsinki in 2021, aiming to capture the remnants of the glacial movements that formed the area’s geology. Elsewhere, the voices of ringed seals, underground waterways of Kyoto, and icy rivers in Lapland from Kamimura’s library float in as well. “The small, charming, and gentle islands floating in the Baltic Sea—some with little cottages and restaurants—reminded me of the drifting ice in the Sea of Okhotsk between Japan and Russia,” describes Kamimura. Fragments of a Christmas choir creep in too, recorded at the church on Suomenlinna Island. Titled Kōri no ryokō , Kaimimura’s reinterpretation of the performance emphasises a shared future across all icy sea regions of the world: thawing ancient memories and the threat of disappearing entirely.

On Jäämatkailu, Olli Aarni presents his own expansive reworking of the same source material, heavily processed alongside his own field recordings from Vantaanjoki river and Suontee lake in Finland. “I was thinking about the processes of erosion, water carving rock, the prehistoric glaciers over the landscape in my own environment,” explains Aarni. The soundscape hums with both intimate details and macrocosmic flow, and a submersible bass rumble hinting at an iceberg far below the tip, morphing at time scales beyond human comprehension.

Side A is composed by Yoichi Kamimura using field recordings of drift ice (Shiretoko, Hokkaido, 2019–2022), the Lake Biwa Canal (Kyoto, 2020), the Therme Vals baths (Vals, 2017), spring water (a fountain next to Saint Benedict Chapel, 2017), a Christmas choir (Suomenlinna Church, Helsinki, 2021), ice in the Juutuanjoki River (Inari, 2021), and recordings from Yoichi’s and Olli’s concert (Temppeliaukion kirkko, Helsinki, 2021), KORG iPolysix, and KORG minilogue xd.

Side B is composed by Olli Aarni using the aforementioned sounds + field recordings of the river Vantaanjoki and the lake Suontee, sampled sounds, and a computer.

There is a pivotal scene in “August in the Water” (dir. Sōgo Ishii, 1995) where the surface of a pool turns into a stone wall. The water that gave the protagonist's life its meaning becomes a threat. As you fall through this stone wall, you appear in a set of underwater coral-reef corridors, and one of the most beautiful musical themes begins to play: Aquatic Ambience, composed by David Wise for Donkey Kong Country (1994). It's a theme that represents the weightless vibe of your new deep-sea life, where you go about your mundane errands, collecting bananas while driving on a swordfish, or, as HerzMayhem put it: "Poor monkey... always swimming, never going anywhere..."

Synthetic Water Music is the second of three compilations, following Synthetic Bird Music and timed to mappa's 10th anniversary. As with the birds, it gathers friends of the label, artists who have released with mappa or played our shows. Most of the music is new, made to measure for this compilation, much of it from Central and Eastern European hands. Birds and water mix well, so please feel invited to play them together, creating your own environments.

Where the birds were in one flock, water is dispersed across four chapters. You live your life as a droppity drop: vapour in the heavens, condensing in clouds, falling into a swamp, trickling into the deepest sea.

Tlālōcān (Cassette 1, Side A)
A place of eternal spring, of aquatic energy that nourishes everything and allows all things to bloom. Bubbly and splishy-sploshy, it is full of dripping sounds and moist caverns (“Emerald Pool” by Pauline Anna Strom), a landscape filled with living fountains (“Oh, to be a Fountain” by Eva Sajanová) and winding streams that flow through the area, forming part of its organic architecture. It is also a paradise reserved for those whose deaths were water-related, where the aquatic and terrestrial beings live in symbiosis and perspectives shift rapidly, from observing a single droplet (Shakali, Lau Nau) to dew (Feronia Wennborg & Lucy Duncombe) and on to flowing currents (Visible Cloaks) that gradually transform into river music (Ursula K. Le Guin & Todd Barton).

Nephelora (Cassette 1, Side B)
A celestial anti-gravity sound world made of evaporation, steam and the formation of clouds, as if looking at “The Sky At The Bottom of the Well” (by Natalia Beylis) or at “The Cloud That Never Rains” (by Henrique Vaz).

If a cloud never rains,
it is not a cloud at all, but a veil that parches the earth with its gaze.
It generates only its own shadow —
a looming mass of suspended longing,
a sky that hoards but never yields,
a reservoir that swallows every river and returns nothing but echoes.

The water in this world is often invisible but sometimes all the more present, as Bint Mbareh describes it: “Recently been obsessed with invisible waters because I come from a place where you have to imagine the water is there even though you cannot see a river, a sea, usually no rain, so water is in the air, the voice and the imaginal realm, drought is imagined to be negotiable.”

Žaboglach Zha-bo-glahch (Cassette 2, Side A)
A fusion of Scottish lochs and Slovak ponds: a misty, foul-smelling, swampy realm, the kind of place that swallowed Artax from The NeverEnding Story. Stagnant waters full of decay become a blooming habitat for sirens (“thereby losing the weightless delight of being swept along with it” by Adam Badí Donoval) and beings straddling the line between fauna and flora, inventing their own communication systems (“Water-lily phase” by Action Pyramid).

R'lyeh (Cassette 2, Side B)
A brooding sunken city at the bottom of the ocean. It’s a journey to get there. Let this chapter guide you, from the shore down to the depths, to the gates of an unexplored world that is inherently dark, unfathomable, and beyond the limits of human perception: starting with seasickness ("Seasick" by Nikolaienko), passing through a classic Poe-esque maelstrom ("Flurry at the Whirl-pull" by Atte Elias Kantonen), a gateway into the darkness and emptiness of the ocean floor, and finally traversing the city itself (“last waves of 2025” by Jules Reidy).
But what is pulling you to a place like this that only a few explore and even fewer leave? Maybe “the darkness that water can contain, the expanse of things we don't know and that can trigger fear instincts even as we try to rationalise them and think we are in control of the rest of nature” (“supercritical fluids” by Diane Barbé).

Dive in and surface wherever you like. Always swimming, never going anywhere. Just don’t forget to take water breaks.

P.S. Birds, then water, can you guess what comes next? Synthetic Soil Music, an elegy for insects and worms? Synthetic Glaciers, or maybe Pollinators? Which sounds would you miss the most if they disappeared? Or what if the third one never comes at all, and somebody, or something, makes Synthetic mappa Music instead. Don't you worry, with the right training data, it can all be replicated, better than the real thing.