Esperanto – Ryuichi Sakamoto (1985) – Review

Ryuichi Sakamoto’s Esperanto is one of those albums that feels carefully built, not thrown together. Every piece of it seems considered. Synths and traditional instruments share space, each with room to breathe. The balance is there – you can hear it in how the electronic tones settle in next to organic textures without clashing or competing.

From the first track, it’s clear that Sakamoto is working with more than just musical technique. He’s working with mood, geography, and memory. Some pieces feel rooted in specific places, while others drift freely, but they all feel connected by a quiet sense of curiosity. The global influences are present, but they aren’t showy. They’re woven in – thoughtful, respectful, and never heavy-handed.

The structure of the album avoids pop conventions. There aren’t hooks or build-ups in the usual sense. The songs unfold more like environments than narratives, each one evolving slowly over time. Sakamoto doesn’t seem concerned with where a song is “supposed” to go. He’s more interested in where the sound naturally leads.

What’s most striking is the emotional tone. Even in the more mechanical or electronic moments, there’s warmth. There’s a patience to it all. The acoustic and synthetic parts never feel at odds—they feel like they belong in the same room. That kind of unity is rare, and it gives the album a sense of peace that doesn’t come from minimalism or simplicity, but from careful design.

Esperanto asks you to listen closely. It rewards attention. It’s not passive music, but it’s not overwhelming either. It settles into its own pace and stays there. The album isn’t trying to impress. It’s trying to share something – an idea, a feeling, maybe even a question. Sakamoto’s touch is light, but the impact lingers.

There’s a strong sense of connection throughout the record—between cultures, between styles, between machines and people. Esperanto isn’t flashy or loud about what it does, but it stays with you long after it ends.