Think back to the video of the bag in American Beauty; I'll wait. Okay, so is a plastic bag fluttering around in front of a camera truly a "tiny miracle in daily life"? The bag does seem, almost inexplicably, to have freed itself from the bonds of gravity, possibly with the aid of something called 'wind', but I'm pretty sure that doesn't count as a miracle. Regardless, the pot dealer in American Beauty really got choked up on this stuff (and eventually scored with whatshername because of it, so what do I know?), and video documentarian Takagi Masakatsu digs on these little wonders, too. One's fictional, of course, but no doubt most of you are more familiar with his work than with Masakatsu's real-life video collage, Opus Pia.

The fifteen minutes of vignettes from around the world contained in Opus Pia showcase Masakatsu's passion to capture the simple beauty of the everyday. It all smells faintly of patchouli and old Birkenstocks, and you may question whether shots of Asian children laughing in the rain or trees racing past a car window really constitute the splendor of nature (at least, I did). Masakatsu, however, doesn't question it for a second, and his thoughtful confidence in the understated glory of Opus Pia's whirlwind is thoroughly convincing. His original score for Opus Pia only enhances the effect by creating a lighthearted but contemplative atmosphere in which to more fully appreciate the film. If only it held up so well on its own.

Believe it or not, this isn't a video review-- unfortunately, what's at stake is merely the Opus Pia companion CD, and I'm here to tell you that you probably shouldn't waste your money or time. Naturally, as Opus Pia's original soundtrack, "Opus Pia" is the central feature here. Masakatsu's score is a delicate lattice of piano and other tonal percussion, digitally processed until it nearly sounds like synthesized tones, though it never fully loses sight of its organic roots. The composition is truly amorphous, fitting brilliantly with Opus Pia's haze of imagery by offering a sense of narrative and connection between scenes, and the electronic air to the score lends a clever point of comparison with the predominantly natural scenes upon which Masakatsu focuses. When the imagery is removed, though, the once complimentary composition is reduced to barely more than a formless mire of sound with no underlying cohesion. It's pretty, though, in a vapid sort of way, and appealing enough to briefly overlook its free-floating lack of depth. In fact, the original soundtrack by itself isn't so bad. The real problem is everything else.

The next two tracks to pad out the disc are a pair of remixes that are laughably redundant. The idea of 'remixing' something that is essentially without form or any sort of developmental impulse is like trying to juggle water (it's a stupid analogy, but then, that's sort of the point). "Re Pia 2" demonstrates this by sounding almost exactly like "Re Pia 1"-- which in turns sounds almost exactly like "Opus Pia". These are nothing but filler in the most blatant way imaginable. They do maintain the pleasantly pixilated fog of the original, and that's more than can be said for the drippy "Everything Came From Here", which sounds a little like something Yanni once played at the Acropolis. The digital editing used to sublimate the new-age-y sap of the score into breezy beeps is wholly absent on this track, leaving only heavy-handed faux-emotional piano.

And then there's "Harmony". "Harmony" is simultaneously the best and worst of this CD, and as such, it's hard to come to grips with. Masakatsu's travels have obviously provided him with a wealth of sonic baggage from the locales he's frequented, and he's finally gotten around to unpacking his suitcases. These fragments of indigenous noise, the backdrop of everyday life, are assembled into a 28-minute travelogue of just background: cars, wind, passing conversations, etc. It's as good as any of the truly ambient noise work out there, and slightly ingenious with regard to Masakatsu's vision. It certainly does bring prominence to the constant hum of everyday life that so many of us take for granted. But... it's 28 minutes of unspectacular noise, and more than any other track present, it takes a great deal of work to appreciate, for better or worse.

So much work, in fact, that you might not have the strength to wade through to the final (and only marginally impressive) track, "And Then..." Not that you'd be missing anything you didn't already hear on "Everything Came From Here". In all, this is mainly an album of ideas, not music. 'Harmony' is more impressive to consider than actually listen to, and similarly, the soundtrack is wonderful-- as long as it's heard in conjunction with the film.

-Eric Carr, September 10th, 2002