A thirteen-string koto you can play, with a machine player that listens to the room: when someone whisks, pours or speaks, it yields, then answers in the gap, and while the kettle sings it plays low and soft beneath it. Beneath the instrument sits a history of what koto music told its listeners across twelve centuries. Together they argue that a robotic koto belongs in a tea room as one more sound of the room, the way the kettle and the water basin already are.