Otomo Yoshihide has been releasing music for more than four decades now and even the most devoted follower could be forgiven for losing track of the multiple and diverse manifestations of his musical personality. From the incendiary noise rock of Ground-Zero to the various jazz aspects of ONJQ and similar bands, to the rawer electronics of the Anode and Cathode series to shockingly pretty soundtracks like Blue, and much more besides, Otomo casts an extremely wide net.

Here, we have two longish works from an October, 2023 set at Ftarri, each simply titled with the instrumentation employed. When encountering Otomo's turntable approach, one is well advised not to (necessarily) expect much to do with vinyl; indeed, if there's vinyl being scratched herein, this listener can't verify it. On the other hand, he has presumably, over the years, devised hundreds of unorthodox ways of extracting sound from this particular machine, many of them incorporating the rotating platter, imparting a repetitive aspect but many others involving inputs and outputs and who knows what else. "Turntable Solo", the second track on this release, begins with irregular staticky sounds, some pops and thuds, gradually thickening to a roar. One can hear Otomo thrashing away at it (the arm, inputs, who knows?) in a manner that's not too far from guitar shredding, albeit entirely in the extreme noise realm. The piece maintains this unrelenting attack for most of its length, only subsiding over the last few minutes into a softly grinding, metallically groaning sequence that sounds appropriately exhausted.

By adding the harmonium in "Turntable and Harmonium Solo", Otomo adds a welcome, drone-oriented element though, to be sure, it's not like he approaches the new instrument any less radically than he does the turntable. Still, it provides a grounding hum behind the light scrabbling that begins the piece, the latter sounding like plastic balls vibrating and bouncing on the rotating platter. It's a more layered and subtle work, the shifting drone of the harmonium (sounding almost justly-tuned) gradually filling the space, almost obscuring the taps and rattles from, one assumes, the turntable. That drone ebbs about midway through the piece, augmented by harsh squeals. This harshness is the dominant feature for a while, a passage that will test the mettle of even the hardiest noise fan though it eventually acquires depth of its own, a space between the shrieks and an agitated, hollow rattling buried beneath that comes to the fore at the work's conclusion, resulting in, retrospectively, a fine, if harrowing, arc.

Not for the faint of heart, but another bracing, uncompromising release from Yoshihide.