Composing with Place, Not Just Instruments

For me, composing has always started with listening. Not just to melodies or structure, but to texture, space, and environment. That mindset became a practice when I started returning to Lake Towada in Northern Japan - a remote, reflective place that’s quietly transformed how I think about sound.

Over several years, I began recording the lake through its seasons. Not just bird calls or water, but the emotional tone of the place - how the light shifts, how silence thickens in winter, how cicadas create their own rhythmic structure in summer. Those moments became the raw material for what I now call the Towadako Series.

It’s a five-part body of ambient work - Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, and Rain - composed entirely from field recordings and environmental textures captured at the lake. I wasn’t trying to make music about nature, I was trying to make music with it.

Sometimes that meant hooking up biosensors to trees and translating their electrical impulses into tone. Sometimes it meant standing still for hours with a field recorder, waiting for the right breeze or wave pattern to shift the mood. It was less about writing and more about witnessing. I also experimented with instruments shaped by the landscape itself. For my winter track, I created a marimba made from ice and played it at the side of the lake.

This way of working has reshaped how I approach my projects across film, brand, and live experience. Whether I’m creating music for a luxury spa or scoring a scene for a streaming series, I try to bring that same sensitivity - letting the environment or emotion drive the sound, rather than forcing a formula.

I’ve worked in a lot of different ways throughout my career. In London, I started out inside the walls of Marcus Studio, learning structure and production craft. Since moving to Tokyo in the late ‘80s and co-founding Syn with Simon and Yasmin Le Bon, I’ve leaned more into the organic and intuitive side of sound.

That balance - technical precision and emotional instinct - is where my best work tends to happen. I’ve composed for over 2,000 commercials, soundtracked films including 13 Kaidan and RAILWAYS 2, and collaborated with brands like Apple, Shiseido, and Fiat. But the Towadako Series has changed what inspires my work now - I’ve learned to listen to the world around me.

When I’m not actively composing, I’m still collecting sound. I’ve got folders full of unlabelled recordings - footsteps, temple bells, fridge hums. I don’t always know what I’ll do with them. But I trust that they’re worth saving. That’s how most of Towadako started.

The truth is, music is everywhere. The real work is being open to it. For me, thinking in sound means staying curious and letting sound lead the way, even if it doesn’t make sense right away.

It also means choosing presence over perfection. I’m not interested in chasing trends or building sonic logos that check a box. I’m interested in making sound that feels lived-in—something that holds space for memory, emotion, and imagination.

That’s the path I’m on. And Lake Towada is still calling.