The songs on Kowai Komorebi are pastorals that thicken into horror movies. In “White Daytime” the pastoral setting is underlined by the sound of water and birds, but usually it lies in the way the music is performed: in the untidy innocence of a wooden recorder being blown by an enthusiastic person who only knows one or two chords, or in Aritomo’s habit of playing the guitar as if he’s untangling the melody rather than forcing it out of the strings. Then the mood changes. The untangled tune begins to retangle itself, the recorder starts to buck angrily in the confines of its own limited repertoire, and the feeling of openness is replaced by a clamour. Nature is swelling up and closing in. Unchecked innocence leads to frustration and apparent joy can hide its opposite. Kowai Komorebi gives us nine variations on this theme, 10 if you count the bonus live track at the end.