Koto by Brett Larner and Seth Misterka: A Sonic Wrecking Ball from 1999
Let’s get one thing straight—Koto isn’t here to hold your hand. This album is a jagged, unpredictable beast that stomps all over jazz, electronic, and experimental genres like it owns the damn place. Released in ‘99 under Newsonic (because of course it was), this record feels less like music and more like someone hacked into your brain with free improvisation as their weapon of choice. And yeah, you’re gonna feel attacked—but in the best way possible.
Brett Larner brings the koto—a traditional Japanese string instrument—into the chaos, while Seth Misterka lays down saxophone, guitar, and enough post-production wizardry to make your head spin. The result? An abstract mess that somehow works. It’s raw, unpolished, and dripping with attitude. If musique concrète had a love child with free jazz, Koto would be its angsty teenage phase.
Tracks That Stuck Like Glue
First up, “Raw.” Holy hell, does this track slap or what? From the jump, it throws you into some kind of glitchy fever dream where the koto fights for space against distorted blips and bleeps. You can practically hear the tension between Larner and Misterka—it’s not harmony; it’s warfare. But weirdly enough, it sticks. Maybe it’s how the koto’s delicate plucks clash with the industrial noise backdrop, but there’s something about this track that makes you wanna rewind and let it punch you again.
Then there’s “Cutout Telephone,” which sounds exactly like its name implies—a busted-ass phone line having an existential crisis. Misterka’s sax squeals like a dying animal on this one, and honestly? It rules. There are moments when the track almost falls apart completely, only to snap back together like elastic rage. It’s chaotic, sure, but also hypnotic in a way that keeps you hooked even if you don’t fully understand why.
Why This Album Still Hits Hard
What makes Koto so unforgettable is how unapologetically itself it is. It doesn’t care if you “get” it or not. Every track feels like a dare—to listen closer, to lean into the discomfort, to embrace the mess. And credit where it’s due: Seth Misterka didn’t just play half the instruments; he edited, designed, and probably made coffee during breaks too. Meanwhile, Brett Larner held down the fort with his koto mastery and recording chops. Together, they created a monster.
But here’s the kicker: Koto isn’t really an album—it’s a question mark wrapped in sound. Is it jazz? Electronic? Experimental nonsense? Who cares. By the time you finish listening, you won’t have answers, but you’ll feel like you’ve been hit by a truck full of ideas.
So go ahead, throw this on late at night when no one’s around. Let it rattle your bones and scramble your thoughts. Just don’t expect it to play nice.
