An instantly endearing release from violinist Midori Komachi, Chashitsu: Auditory Tea Room translates the principles of the Japanese tea ceremony into silence and sound. Each piece shines a light on the facet of the experience, while field recordings from MSCTY’s Nick Luscombe ground the set in the here and now. Inspired by Chashitsu (Japanese Tea Room) and Chado (The Way of Tea), the album begs to be accompanied by a tea journey of the listener’s own; it would be a crime not to brew and serve tea during play, and virtually impossible to resist doing so afterward.
But like the ceremony itself, the album is not solely about tea. The experience is also about awareness of one’s senses and surroundings, about silence and space, about nature, wholeness and harmony. The way of tea is to slow down, even to stop; to pause on the precipice of activity and to simply be.
The video for opening track “Roji” says it all: slowness has meaning. Even though the video is only a portion of the track, and the visuals a portion of the experience, the message is clear. Each action is deliberate, separate from the one before. One is meant to savor the tactile sensations: the touch, the sound, the scent. The tea is not yet ready to drink. There is no rush. Neither is there any rush to Komachi’s playing, slow and sincere, appreciative of each elongated tone.
“Toni-ishi,” referring to the table at which the tea will rest, is comprised of several layers of violin, overlapping and intertwining like the subtle flavors of the tea. The tempo picks up, but only subtly. “Chumon” (“Order”) clarifies that the experience is only just beginning, the birds chirping quietly in the background, local motors like a friendly purr. Where does the attention settle: on the table or the traffic, the room or the window? Komachi’s response to the birds is simply to enjoy their song, playing solo violin in the garden. She even allows the birds to have their space.
Flowing water introduces “Tsukubai,” referring to the basin in which one washes one’s hands, as seen above. Yes, we know that one could have microwaved a tea bag and some water and already be done by now, but that is not the point. There is even a track about the doorway through which samurais humble themselves, the “Nijiri-guchi.” The title track arrives more than halfway through the album, multiple violin lines producing a flurry of anticipation. One remembers that the tea room is an interactive experience; Komachi serves the music as a brewer might serve the tea.
“Ro,” whose name means “a musical note or rhythm” but also connotes “bath,” is like raindrops falling on metallic chimes. “Cha No Yu” is enhanced by the sounds of preparation and pouring as a patient melody unfurls. “Chawan” is an ode to the cup itself, the diametrical opposite of a to-go cup from a fast food restaurant. In such a place, one might have a meltdown if it took half an hour for the tea to arrive. While listening to Chashitsu, one gets the impression that half an hour might be too short, the ephemeral experience worth extending, the intimacy of human interaction coupled with an intense mindfulness, blissfully unaware of calendars and clocks. (Richard Allen)