Like a glimpse into the city, OA (standing for “old address”) provides a micro-glimpse into the
Upper East Side, etc., Manhattan where Shuta Hasunuma used to live. What did he
do at apartment “454”? What was the importance of the Queensboro Bridge that
was visible from is room? What molecules of “LEX,” aka the Lexington Avenue
subway station, gave way to open up the strict pianographic relevance and undue
appreciation of the missing corners and fragments there? And pinpointed dates?
You might as well be handing off your bank account
information, there, buddy.
Because OA is
personal. It’s a diary, an account of a lived experience amid a bustling and
alive population, baffling in its movement. It’s a candle flame flitting from
room to room before donning a coat and hat and heading out into the sleeting
streets, battening itself against the elements and extinction. Shuta Hasunuma
has not gone extinct, has not lost the thread. Shuta Hasunuma takes each moment
of his life and assigns it a nanosecond of sound. That’s how he gets to OA. Unbelievable!
--Ryan
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