Super Virtuoso: A Timeless Slice of Japanese Classical Magic (1987)
Alright, buckle up, because we’re diving into Super Virtuoso, a gem from the late '80s that’s equal parts quirky and classy. Released by Fontec Records in Japan, this album is like that one friend who shows up uninvited but ends up being the life of the party. It’s got Ken-Ichiro Muto on saxophone and Kazuoki Fujii tickling the ivories so hard you’d think the piano owed him money. Add some slick art direction by Shizumune Matsuda and crystal-clear engineering by Takao Ohmura, and you’ve got yourself an auditory feast served on a silver platter.
Now, let’s talk tracks—or at least two of them, since listing all 13 would make me sound like I’m reading a phone book. First up, “La Ronde Des Lutins”—which roughly translates to “The Dance of the Goblins.” This piece grabs your attention faster than finding a spider in your shoe. Muto’s saxophone work here is playful yet razor-sharp, like he’s channeling the spirit of mischievous woodland creatures. Meanwhile, Fujii’s piano dances around it like a caffeinated squirrel. The interplay between these two instruments feels almost improvised, even though it’s tighter than your jeans after Thanksgiving dinner. If you need a pick-me-up or just want to annoy your cat with sudden bursts of music, this track has you covered.
Next, there’s “Après Un Rêve,” which sounds fancy until you realize it means “After a Dream.” This one slows things down and gets dreamy—literally. Imagine floating through clouds while someone whispers sweet nothings in French. Fujii’s piano takes center stage here, dripping with emotion like melted chocolate on a sundae. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about how simple yet profound this performance feels. You might find yourself staring out a window, pretending you’re in a black-and-white movie montage. No judgment here; we’ve all been there.
What makes Super Virtuoso stand out isn’t just its technical brilliance—it’s the way it balances fun and sophistication without taking itself too seriously. Sure, the credits list more names than a fantasy novel (“Photography By - Takuma Saiki”? Come on, man), but every detail adds to the charm. And hey, if nothing else, it proves that 1987 wasn’t just about big hair and neon leg warmers.
Final thoughts? Listening to this album feels like stumbling upon a hidden treasure chest filled with golden nuggets—and maybe a couple of weird rocks you can’t explain. In a world obsessed with flashy trends, Super Virtuoso reminds us that sometimes, the best magic happens when nobody’s looking. Or maybe when they are, but only if they’re holding a saxophone. Who knows?
