They started out playing stuff that was fairly rough around the edges. It's not that the players were unfocused or naïve, but that they made a point not to do something which had already been done-- chiefly, to turn out ready-made product with the glossy veneer that had hooked the pro-pop junkies only ten years their senior. They played their boisterous clamor for a few years, and moved on.

Next up was a more sophisticated brand of noise, though no less communicative for the change. First, they dropped the youthful bravado in favor of hip wisdom beyond their years. It's as if some weird muse had informed them that aiming for the intellect and modern mind could be cool, and unprecedented for bands like them. Their friends followed their lead, and before you knew it, the arena that had once introduced them was now subject to their whims, at the service of their transitions.

Of course, this didn't last long, either. Pretty soon, they were into all manner of trial media-- be it musical, cultural, or chemical-- and all of it managed to alter the music they played. In fact, some would argue that these people met a crossroads during this time, as their public perception would forever be altered, due not only to their newly acquired avant-garde curiosity, but also to their completely comfortable way of passing through uncharted waters. The only way out of this labyrinth was to step out of the game entirely, which, following suit and their like-minded brethren, they did.

The next phase was to attempt to recapture some of the green enthusiasm of their first days, albeit filtered through the inevitable change in their makeup from all the days of sophisticated, odd evolution. Their music from this time was arguably the best they ever made, in spite of the fact that the actual players were probably growing a bit tired of the journey with one another, and that it would seem humans can only take so much change in so little a time. But, for better or for worse, their friends went through the same things, and the trend was to always be at the forefront of the trip, so they persevered.

In fact, the players were on the verge of implosion. They had reached a point where change no longer seemed relevant, and they decided to part ways rather than collectively grope for the next square. And that was it.

This is the story of evolution and trends. Most people think of evolution (beyond the religious implication of the term) as an inevitable phenomenon, like ice melting and then turning to gas vapor. But when the concept of a trend comes up, particularly in art, it's viewed as a negative thing. "They're just following the trend," or, "This will never last, it's just a trend." Well, sure, that's life, right?

And then there's the above story. I read it, and thought "The Beatles." Of course, it also applies to Can, Led Zeppelin, the Who, even Abba. And if you take out the part about breaking up, it seems oddly close to the story of U2, R.E.M., Boredoms-- and let's stop here. All this allegory gets a little weighty after a bit.

With Boredoms, you can actually see the evolution and trend from album to album. Most bands are like this. But within the scene from which Boredoms are extrapolated, you can see this stuff spread throughout. Rovo (unjustly pegged as a Boredoms side project, when in fact they are more the project of non-Bore violinist Katsui Yuji) have been around since 1998, and have generally played a kind of heavy-trance post-rock, like Tortoise with energy replacing atmosphere. Funny, though, if you took the exact same band members, and had them release a record in, say, 1991, it would almost certainly not sound like that.

Back then, Yuji was just starting out with Bondage Fruit playing avant-prog; guitarist Seiichi Yamamoto was making serious racket with the early, noisy Boredoms; drummer Yoshigaki Yasuhiro was playing free-jazz and industrial noise with very early Ground Zero; bassist Jin Harada was playing avant punk-prog with Bazooka Joe. It was a noisy time. Five years ago, the same players would have been playing something a tad more sophisticated, though always keeping an eye to improvisation and experimentation. And today, they play beat-laden improv-trance. They aren't alone, because in Tokyo, Montreal and Chicago (and other places, too), this is the trend. And if you think of trends and evolution as symbiotic occurrences, then bands like Rovo not only make sense; they sound absolutely wonderful.

Sai is Rovo's fourth release, though their only record to be released in America was 1999's Imago. For fans of the previous record, the sound remains essentially the same, with lengthy, repetitive jams featuring intricate percussion (courtesy of Yasuhiro and Okabe Yoichi's dual drum attack), profuse electronic manipulation (from Nakanishi Koji and co-producer Masuko Tatsuki), all colored by nylon and other strings (Yuji, Yamamoto and Harada). This record isn't quite as influenced by IDM as Imago was, and transfers much of the percussive drive to more straightforwardly rock rhythm tracks.

The album begins with a track in Japanese, whose title I believe translates as "Aurora Borealis." It begins with light, water-bounce synth effects, and gradually introduces the cymbals and hi-hat (major players on this album), rolling and swishing away. This gives way to an actual beat, though it's closer to hard bop than gloomy post-rock. Throughout, Yuji's violin wails in the distance, like a disembodied vocal (or more likely, an Eno-esque ambient cry). But as underground Japanese musicians are wont to do, they play furiously where Western post-rockers would slide in unnoticed. This is where the trend gives way to inherent, indigenous qualities. There seems to be something restless in the air there, and despite all evidence of trance and hypnotic calm in the new style, they still play like free spirits.

"Vida" is the next track, leading off with an expository hi-hat duet (one drummer on the left side, the other on the right). There's a sine-wave mediator to keep things colorful. This slight diversion lasts better than three minutes (all four of the tracks here are over ten minutes long) before the band kicks in with a relatively straight, if rapid Krautrock groove-- drummers fighting in synch all the while. Again, Yuji's violin colors the track, paired with various synth noises and textures, and Yamamoto's restrained strumming figures.

"Rano" begins with a bouncy keyboard figure similar to the first track, though this time accompanied by what sounds like a constant stream of water, spraying at its fancy in the background. There are few radar blips before the rest of the players come in with Sai's calmest tune. An ostinato synth line, with equal parts wah-wah and analog pad resonance, fires away and the song crescendos to a double time trance-rock jam. The best part of this album is that you could listen to it while tripping, letting it serve as support system for various epiphanies, or you could peer in to the detail, and be treated to incredible musicianship and a more compact sound than seven people would be expected to make.

The last tune is "Seer," which again features the hi-hat duet, though here it's ridiculously precise where the earlier one was exploratory. Drummers should get a kick out of this album, if no one else, though this stuff should work as well for laypeople-- and don't worry, there is a little guitar to fluff it up a bit! Of course, Yamamoto seems to be playing with a velvet touch these days, a far cry from his Stooges-cum-Melvins skronk of the early part of the last decade. I won't fault him for calming down any more than I fault Tortoise for not playing grunge. First of all, it's not appropriate: this isn't 1991 anymore, and music, people and trends change. Secondly, it isn't fair: why would I expect any musicians to exist in the narrow reality for which I have created for them? Thirdly, it's simply not smart: Rovo plays Rovo's music, not Boredoms', not Tortoise's, and no one else's. Whatever the evolution of their scene, this is what they're doing now, and I think it sounds great.

-Dominique Leone, March 1st, 2002