In the space of a year or two I’ve grown to appreciate the sound of instrumentalists Mono, mainly because I’ve been a long-standing fan of experimental guitar-driven soundscapes. My initial reaction to their Gone compilation – the first time I’d listened to them properly – was a fanboyish exclamation of “Holy shit, a J-rock Mogwai!”, although in retrospect I was selling them short. It’s easy to lump bands together when something as obvious as the lack of lyrics is one thing they have in common, after all.

Their latest studio effort at the time of writing, Hymn to the Immortal Wind, is my favourite so far because of its cinematic, orchestral grandeur but Gone is a neat way of experiencing a cross-section of their sound’s evolution since the tracks are set out in chronological order. Over time the arrangements have become more structured and purposeful; tunefulness is a subjective thing but alongside similar bands Mono lean towards the more sentimental as well as being one that uses the power of volume to get the listener’s attention.

Finlandia drifts in with some ambient chiming noise and a repeated riff performed on one then both guitars as the percussion and bass follow their unhurried lead; a few harmonics and Goto’s signature tremolo picking provide variations on the theme before the inevitable distorted wall of sound carries it but overall it’s the same cyclic melodic figure throughout. What amazes me about this tune is just that: it has one common thread but the use of dynamic changes prevents it feeling too repetitive when serving as an opening track. The fact that a number of bands employ the quiet-loud-quiet pattern to provide an emotional handle for the listener to hold onto is beside the point: the devil is in the details, so when it’s done as beautifully as it is here I couldn’t care less.

Rather than consciously being different from other acts or trying to stand up next to those who inspired them, Mono let their work be guided by the mood or idea at the time…the end result is a journey of sorts I guess. Black Woods is, as its title suggests, atmospheric and significantly darker with brooding arpeggios and quavering chords; the Loud Bit takes a little longer to build momentum and it doesn’t have the firm sense of direction of their later material. The extended coda – quite challenging listening by their standards – is in keeping with their early noise-rock roots though: shrieks of disorientating distortion pan from speaker to speaker, not unlike My Bloody Valentine’s notorious live renditions of You Made Me Realise actually.

Yearning makes very effective use of Goto’s and Yoda’s parallel guitar parts working together to reach a crescendo more gradually; it feels as though their formula is maturing a little because it’s taking on an extra dimension and complexity. It’s one track where Tamaki’s bass cuts through the mix quite clearly – the only criticism I have for their recordings is the way her playing often gets buried in the onslaught of guitars and drums (I suspect their live show is a different story).

Memorie Dal Futuro is a more restful and tender piece that features an aspect that has taken on greater and greater significance in their studio recordings: that of a strings section to add colour and variation to the electric guitar-driven setup. They aren’t the first to use the sweet-and-sour contrast but it’s rarely in this context: the violins, violas and cellos feel integral to the arrangement rather than an addition or alternate version.

As a B-side to the preceding track, Due Foglie, Una Candela : il Soffio Del Vento is both a companion and a contrast by being slightly darker in tone. It’s shorter too, but highlights the manner in which the guitar lines are layered in an orchestral fashion: Yoda’s clear arppeggios drift through Goto’s delay-drenched trem picking to round off that section of the album.

Since I’ve Been Waiting For You combines the guitar and cello very effectively in my opinion, to give a feeling of restfulness and contemplation. What I love about soundscape-y music such as this is the way in which it conveys emotion that is powerful yet somewhat vague; there’s a lot of strong feeling in there but it’s up to the listener to channel it in their own way and find their own meaning in it.

Gone sounds a little Italian in flavour in the intro thanks to the rapid trem picked chords (hinting at their Morricone influences perhaps?) but the background strings soon lift it up, pause for breath for a few seconds, then the wash of cymbals brings in the trademark crescendo which is uplifting yet melancholic, and somewhat overwhelming, before falling into the abyss with a whine of feedback to segue into the next track, Black Rain.

This one starts of quite peacefully but there are dark undercurrents that soon make their appearance; looking at the titles of the rest of the album, originally released as the Phoenix Tree EP, it’s clear as to where the inspiration came from (and if not, The Phoenix Tree‘s cover art certainly will be). Interestingly it has some spoken vocal samples too; in Italian and performed by Uzeda’s Giovanna Cacciola.

Rainbow is a short intermission piece performed by a string quartet; there isn’t much I can say about it apart from the fact that it’s really pretty and hardly sounds like it was written by members of a contemporary guitar band at all. Little Boy (1945 – Future) finishes the compilation in grandiose and intense style: plinking glockenspiel gives way to gentle volume swells, pounding bass, cymbal crashes and ominous feedback that feel like the calm before the storm. Sure enough, the drum beat picks up the pace and the final devastating, eardrum-shredding torrent of fuzz guitar and menacing feedback sees it home.

For what it’s worth I don’t judge music purely from a technical standpoint; that is to say, I value the emotional impact of a piece over the virtuosity involved in the performance. Being able to move your hands faster than other people doesn’t make you a better musician; it doesn’t mean much to non-musician listeners either. This is why I rate Dave Gilmour and Kevin Shields over Slash and Eddie Van Halen, and why I believe Mono’s music is so raw and pure.

Their visceral and painfully loud approach to music isn’t showing off and posturing; it’s getting back to the concepts of melody as used in orchestral/classical while ignoring the contemporary rules of verse-chorus-verse chord structures that have to finish in less than five minutes. It’s all about nailing a powerful sensation with vague sounds, and saying one hell of a lot without singing a word.