In the history of contemporary music, collaboration has always been an important way to push the boundaries of sound, and music fans always hold great expectations for cross-genre combinations, fantasizing that masters from different fields will create amazing sparks when they meet. However, in 2007, the album "Cendre," jointly released by Ryuichi Sakamoto and Austrian guitarist and sound artist Fennesz, did not present a splendid flame, but rather the ashes left after burning: low-key, ambiguous, sometimes cold, yet faintly glowing.
At that time, Ryuichi Sakamoto was already synonymous with cross-genre music. From the electronic pop of YMO, to his collaborations with David Sylvian, to the digital minimalism series with Alva Noto in the late nineties, he constantly grafted classical and electronic vocabularies together. Fennesz, on the other hand, was known for his walls of sound, granulated textures, and atmospheric layering, making him an iconic figure in the fields of experimental electronic and ambient music. The two had already shown a kind of detached chemistry in their first collaboration on "Sala Santa Cecilia."
"Cendre" continued this connection. Between 2004 and 2006, Sakamoto lived in New York, while Fennesz was in Vienna. The two did not spend long periods in the studio together but completed the work by exchanging files: Sakamoto would record piano parts and send them to Vienna, where Fennesz would add guitar and laptop processing, and vice versa. Although there were occasional live performances and actual collaboration during post-production mixing, the overall production model was remote and decentralized rather than face-to-face, giving the work a conversational quality.
This working method should have resulted in a collage-like fragmentation, but surprisingly, the album as a whole maintains a high degree of unity. This unity comes not from traditional structures of melody or rhythm, but from a continuity at the atmospheric level: the eleven tracks are connected from beginning to end, sounding almost like a single long piece. The flow of atmosphere and timbre is more crucial than any distinct theme, earning it praise as a "third world where intelligence and beauty coexist."
Many reviews compare "Cendre" to a film score. Indeed, the listening experience of the album is completely different from traditional songs. It lacks distinct melodies and structures but creates a strong sense of imagery, like an empty shot of a city at night, or ruins in the first light of dawn. The warmth of the piano and the coldness of the electronics constantly alternate, like a camera switching between different scenes. Unlike sound effects that often compete for attention, the two are juxtaposed in a subtle way on this album, not interfering with each other yet being difficult to separate, like a calm but turbulent dual narrative.
The atmosphere of the work shows a kind of restraint from the very beginning with "Oto." Sakamoto's piano always leaves white space; he is not in a hurry to fill it with melody, but instead uses intermittent, suspended chords and short phrases to sketch out a sense of space, sometimes shimmering like Debussy, sometimes with a Satie-like coolness. These notes don't sound like complete musical phrases, but more like fragments or sketches, as if he were just lightly touching his fingertips to the keyboard, leaving a few traces.
Accompanying this is Fennesz's constantly floating, shimmering sound. In "Trace," the guitar, processed by computer, turns into grains of sound, clouds of mist, and current-like vibrations, sometimes pushing forward like waves, sometimes drifting like static electricity in the night sky. His sound provides both a foundation and an interference, sometimes highlighting the piano's fragility, and at other times submerging it in haze.
In the flow of the album, one can hear several particularly moving encounters. In certain passages, Sakamoto's melody suddenly becomes focused and lyrical, like the momentary clear spring water of "Haru," while Fennesz gently surrounds it with a velvety smooth soundscape, creating moments of absolute harmony. Such moments are often fleeting, soon to be lost again in a fuzzy mist of noise and uncertainty.
There are also some particularly noteworthy details in the album. In the title track "Cendre," Fennesz's sound almost becomes silent air, leaving only a faint tremor, making the piano seem isolated and helpless. On the other hand, when the electronic wall of sound attacks in full force, the piano is compressed into a blurry reverberation. This ebb-and-flow relationship maintains tension throughout the album, revealing the respect and probing between the two artists, and even bringing an ineffable beauty.
The conclusion of the album's final track, "Abyss," is particularly thought-provoking. After ten tracks of ambiguous exploration, the piano and electronic sounds in the finale finally seem to find a balance. Although the melody is still simple, the atmosphere is more cohesive. The electronic sounds are no longer a gauze-like covering but form a true intertextuality with the piano. This belated harmony brings the album to a close with a sense of reconciliation, as if a final ray of light finally flickers from the ashes.
"Cendre" is neither as lyrically deep as Eno and Harold Budd's "The Pearl," nor as minimalist and precise as Sakamoto's collaborations with Alva Noto. Instead, it asks the listener to enter a microscopic, blurry world of sound, to feel how two artists find their meeting point in their differences. It may not be the most dazzling work, but it is an extremely valuable record, showing us that collaboration is not just about perfect fusion, but can also be a continuous process of exploration and understanding. It is precisely in these seemingly incomplete moments that music reveals another kind of truth.
