Polaroid photographs embody the hauntological; cloaking captured memories in a similar kind of glowing haze as that which surrounds real ones. Akira Kosemura’s evocatively titled Polaroid Piano is equally shot in soft focus (the cover too, adorned in Kosemura’s gorgeous Polaroid snapshots, reminding us of their charms) and is arguably the humblest contribution to the growing field of piano and electronics recordings. The pianist/producer keeps the soft pedal depressed throughout, as though afraid of waking a sleeping baby, although his pithy chord runs and gauzy arpeggios could calm the fiercest insomniac. Add to that harp-like guitar figures and a faint field recording din, hovering like warm fog, and you have one of the cosiest ambient releases I’ve heard in years.
There’s nothing remarkable to Kosemura’s technique – basically a stripped-back, slowed-down version of Goldmund a la Corduroy Road. His short sketches are more like hymns than anything classical, simple left hand chords with slowly unfurled treble patterns. Were it not for the feathery flotsam – the chiming guitar, ethereal ambience, and clunky sound of dampened keys – this could be George Winston. For all the ragtag homespun charm there’s a real sense of completion to these pieces, each element wedded perfectly to its surroundings, each track contributing to a coherent whole. Kosemura has created a real understated gem here, thirty minutes of blissful revery tinged, like memories, with the sadness of time lost.
Joshua Meggitt
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