Listening to Asa-Chang & Junray for the first time, I was immeditely and pleasantly reminded of the first time I heard Stereolab. This is not to say that the music is at all similar to Stereolab; but rather, their intuitive mix of disparate styles sounded wholly new and wonderful, as if a whole new genre was being created that held infinite possibilities. For a jaded listener, this is always a wonderful experience to have.
Asa-Chang & Junray embody the things that most adventurous music listeners are always looking for: something new, inspirational and eminently listenable. Their full-length album Song Chang, released last year, opens with "Hana," a musical statement of purpose if ever I've heard one. Beginning with a ravishing swell of orchestral strings, two electronically-treated voices are heard. Asa-Chang and Yoshimi P-We (from The Boredoms) recite Japanese phonetics "Ha...na...ha...na...da..." Suddenly, a deeply percussive tabla drum begins, with its round, thick beats beats fractured by clever laptop editing. The voices begin to be chopped and re-assembled, as they stutter and trip over the irregular beat. Shrill, supersonic sounds phase from left to right as the song plays like a brilliant collaboration between The Boredoms, Bill Laswell and Enoch Light. The experimental elements are balanced by the perfection and depth of the ethnic rhythms and the high-fidelity exotica-style production. It's playful ear candy, but with a cold, clean edge.
Asa Chang & Junray's music would be quite catchy if it were not so kaleidoscopically fractured and re-formed, like a brilliant work of Cubist art. In a similar respect to Cubism, it's never quite clear if all of the parts really fit perfectly together. However, the slightly "off" juxtapositions create a drama that illuminates portions of the music that would not normally be heard. The rest of the album continues with the formula set out by "Hana," with a set of sparer pieces each illuminating a different sound source. "Goo-Gung-Gung" is an insane two-minute bit that sounds like a traditional Japanese version of Musilmgauze's violent Middle East breaks. "Jippun" begins with traditional Japanese shakahuchi flute playing, which is quickly digitized and splattered all over the stereo channels, while an adrenalin-pumped tabla rhythm begins. It accelerates and eventually mutates into a something reminiscent of The Boredom's more recent tribal drum-circle sound. The album ends with "Kutsu," a simple short trumpet improvisation played over a randomly shaken taiko beat. Song Chang is a terrific first album by one the best new talents in Japanese experimental music.
One of the better 1990s music trends was when the remix truly evolved into an art form. Artists like Meat Beat Manifesto, The Orb, and Autechre were some of the first who not only transformed a song into something almost completely new, but left their mark with a distinguishable sound that made the new version identifiably their own.
 
While Richard D. James tended to follow more of the music trends than lead them (whether it was techno, ambient, drum and bass, breakcore or whatever terms hipsters, IDM listees, and record stores were coming up with that month) he excelled in the craft of transformation. A large percentage of Aphex Twin's popularity rose because of the remixes he did for then-popular worldwide acts like Nine Inch Nails, Jesus Jones, and Curve. (Another large percentage might arguably be chalked up to advertisement music, be on the lookout for 15 Ad Themes for Cash soon!) People bought 12" singles and CD singles in the early-mid 1990s because anything that had Aphex Twin printed on it was usually a sign of quality, and, no matter how little the original artist was liked, the remix would satisfy. 26 Mixes collects some of the more popular remixes along with some unreleased and scarely printed songs, arranged on two discs, with disc one containing more of the quiet stuff and disc two containing more of the beat-saturated loud stuff. It's an excellent document for those who aren't willing to pay high prices for things like the super-limited noodly Philip Glass/David Bowie track, are too embarassed to own a Jesus Jones record in their collection, or have absolutely no clue who Nav Katze, Mescalinum United, or Die Fantastischen Vier are and where to find them. It's not chronoligically arranged, but through the magic of programmable discs, the evolution can be charted, from the bashful, timid, faceless-era Richard D. James of 1990-92 through the "I have a bloody tank"-era Richard D. James of 2001. Fans will delight in the inclusion of two unreleased remixes: one from Selected Ambient Works 2 and a remix of Windowlicker (although shockingly not the one by V/Vm), but that Beck remix just didn't make cut. Maybe next time, Becky.