Some musicians charge into their success thrashing out on a guitar or smashing the skins off a drum set, utilising their singular instrumental talent to hash out their career, content to stick to one musical tool. Shugo Tokumaru is a Japanese musician who started with an electric guitar before deciding to move beyond the usual handful of instruments to develop his own uniquely sweet style of music making. Tokumaru can now play around 100 different instruments, including a mixture of traditional and non-traditional devices, and uses them to craft a gentle wonderland of indie pop.

Port Entropy is his fifth full length effort and showcases the wide range of talents that lie within Tokumaru, who concocts a complex construction that bobs along atop a musical sea that weaves labyrinthine instrumental layering and a world inhabited by an assortment of abstract cartoon characters. Shugo's work could easily transform into a beautifully realised soundtrack to a quaint animated feature on the nature of the heart and the head but, for now, we have an 11-track album that provides a light-hearted listen when all else fades away.

The lyrics are all Japanese, so a large section of the musical meaning could very well be lost in translation, thanks to my lack of lingual ability (however much I wish it were not so). Nonetheless, the sway and cadence is enough at times to push through the language barrier, both optimistic and enigmatic in equal measure.

Opening track 'Platform' showcases the flow and feel of the record from the get-go, entering in a muted and serene fashion before turning the volume up into a wondrous little riff of multiple instrumentation that sparkles with unexplainable warmth. 'Lahaha' is a an amalgam of indie folk and children's pop that bounds forth with a driving glee, sounding like the first charge of a bright and joyous summer's day. Port Entropy is a record that fizzles for the most part but unexpectedly drops into monotony on a handful of unfortunate moments. However, the emotive experience is at the heart of this work, with Tokumaru applying his instrumental range to evoke exact and insistent sentiments. From the muted melancholy in the low blues peeking into 'Laminate' to the reminiscent piano plinks of 'Linne' that uses an inspired touch of Theremin to ooze the regrets and hopes of a thousand memories.

While a few tracks don't have the consistency and punch of others, it's hard to dislike anything about this record (unless you are generally a gloomy gus, in which case you may be puking by track three) thanks to the honesty, heartfelt homeliness and warmth on display. All of this must come from Shugo Tokumaru's indomitable spirit that enabled him to record a bedroom record that sounds so rich, responsive and charming, pulling you into his effortlessly wistful world.

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