Yutori is the Japanese art of slowing down to create room for reflection. Literally translated as “room to breathe” or “spaciousness,” the approach emphasizes the creativity that can arise in moments of calm. The Japanese-Canadian artist Buildings and Food (Jen K. Wilson) has designed the album of the same name as an exercise in awareness and space-making, the track titles serving as prompts for meditation, or at the very least, suggestions for winding down.
The listening experience is incredibly peaceful, a gentle way to ease into the day or a short break to relieve mid-day or late-day stress. Now is the right time to notice flying geese, especially the Canadian geese, to which the first track is dedicated; this is the week in which their migration is said to be complete. One might meditate on their path and conclude that all good things come around again, or that if one loves something, one should be able to let it go; listen carefully and one will hear the actual geese in the second half of the track.
Wilson’s pentatonic scales honor kankyō ongaku, the “environmental music” popular in Japan in the 80s. While such music was meant to add to one’s appreciation of architecture, Buildings and Food – in deference to her moniker – uses modular synth to imitate the serenity of temple chimes, suggesting peaceful gardens rather than polished high-rises. This being said, Yutori harmonizes with any space in which it is played.
Avid readers will appreciate the presence of a track titled “Books.” Book reading is a time-tested way of slowing down, but of course one must first create the space – physical as well as temporal – in which reading may occur. Sadly, as many as half of those with access to books still manage to avoid finishing one over the course of an entire year. Wilson’s album creates a third dimension, that of a potential soundtrack for reading, doing her best to prompt the practice.
Other tracks focus on moments of mindfulness. “Bus Stop” suggests that while one waits at a bus stop – whether for one’s self or for a child – one might keep the cellphone in the pocket and instead notice one’s surroundings: the sound of the traffic (subtly embedded in the music), the wind in the trees, the sparkle of the sun or the patter of the rain: to be fully in the moment. “Bridge” suggests that a bridge is not just something that a person walks or drives over in order to avoid the water; a bridge may be a place of contemplation, in which the water might provide healing and grace.
Finally the album arrives at “Home.” The music disappears, but the feeling remains. If the album has worked, it has elongated time, or even better, made one lose track of time. One has forgotten appointments and agendas, and has taken a sonic bath in the spectacular now. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 