Four track magic

Once upon a time, there lived a wandering musician, the quiet type who found the corporate world uninteresting and even paradoxical. Having given up hope on all other musicians and most other people, Tony Bertaccini found camaraderie in his four-track recorder and nomadic lifestyle.

In another land, far, far away, there lived a young woman by the name of Bei Yan. Daughter and only child of two government workers, she dreamt away her days teetering her fingers back and forth on her piano.

One fateful day, Bertaccini was beckoned to the Blueridge Mountains in Virginia¬ where his friend was hosting and recording a five-piece alternative rock band from China. Carrying his aimlessness like bricks heavy on his shoulders, he quickly met the eyes of the young keyboardist, who was also shackled by her own unpromising conditions. Under the leadership of an autocratic band mate, Yan found the dynamics and underlying problems in her current band a bit tragic. In the meeting of such foreign and captivating eyes, a great love was born, strong enough to overcome conniving immigration laws, homicidal cities and shady employment opportunities.

Years passed before the couple realized that they should unite forces, both through marriage and through music. The result of such a union came like a newborn babe, kicking and gooey, but too intriguingly smooth to cast aside. They named it Wishyunu.

Like so many great musicians, Tony and Bei find momentary collisions of musical cohesion the most impressive and most rewarding. In those moments where the musicians understand each other’s ebb and flow intuitively is where Wishyunu truly prides itself. Tony regretfully notes how neither live shows nor studio recordings can ever capture those fleeting jams.

“It’s like a soccer game, you know?” Bertacinni said, “There’s rules you have to follow—like dribbling and passing…but in the end, the ball can go off anywhere.”

To salvage these moments, they set up to record a whole month’s worth of free jams, in order to condense and cut out the best, and compiled a cassette tape curiously doodled with Bertaccini’s artwork. This tape contains probably the most impressive Wishyunu sound where one can hear, literally, the communication of a definite mood or spirit between the two.

Their most recent release, Age of Revealing, came out two years ago and contains hits like “Against the Grain” and “Humming Box,” the former perfectly exhibiting the delicate voice of Yan above ethereal synth melodies and gentle rhythms. “Humming Box” is like an ambient soundtrack to some tragically beautiful slow-motion scene from the ’80s. When asked about the lyrics “the humming box that never stops, turn it on and turn yourself off,” Yan admitted that they were indeed about the modern abuses of television. After the lyrical break, there is a beautifully emotional piano solo that seems to speak louder than the words.

“We’re trying to make music that drives or compels people to stop their regular day-to-day thinking—to stop people from thinking about that constant chatter all the time,” Bertacinni said. “Sadly, it’s not always that way, but when it is and we’re high on that moment, great things can happen.”

Now living in the other half of the Wail, an artsy music hall in northeast Portland, Wishyunu is working on an EP to be released hopefully sometime this summer. Leaving their apartment door open to the frequent Wail visitors and musicians, Bertacinni and Yan are trucking along, keeping the creation and promotion of music their number one priority.