Atsushi Matsumoto – Études

Atsushi Matsumoto built Études around an old upright piano he discovered in his family home and a rescued double bass. Working alone in Osaka, he restored the instruments, tracked, mixed, mastered, and even designed the cassette art himself. The record plays like a private notebook, a four-year return to sound after silence, written in short scenes.

“Prelude” opens on rain and the scrape of a chair, small domestic noises that frame the piano when it arrives. The right hand moves in a fantasy lane while the harmony keeps circling open questions, with brief bright flashes that never quite let go of the underlying mood. “Acid Rain” starts from a low keyboard line and a slow, heavy atmosphere, then a clap pulls it into a loose head-nod groove. A bowed line in the background holds long tones while the piano suddenly shifts into blues-jazz runs, like a late-night improv that stayed in the final cut. “Rust” returns to softer chords and a nostalgic lead, then lets a dusty beat slide underneath so the piano can lean harder into blue notes and small rhythmic nudges. “Interlude” brings in birds and bare piano again, a short sketch built around a slightly crooked progression that feels like a quick thought captured before it disappears.

The remaining pieces stay inside that same world: compact studies that keep the focus on touch, room sound, and slow harmonic movement, so the EP plays like one continuous memory loop rather than a set of isolated tracks.

For sync, Études points straight at indie films, quiet anime moments, narrative games, and documentaries that need piano-led cues with a slightly off-center emotional edge. “Prelude” and “Interlude” suit openings, transitions, and reflective cutaways; “Acid Rain” and “Rust” fit city-night sequences, travel montage, and brand spots that want gentle grit mixed into warmth; “Fleeting”, “Fairyland”, and “Postlude” lean toward closing credits and end-of-episode breathers.