Tokyo's DJ Krush has been working on a combination woodsy/urban samurai groove for almost 20 years now. He's Japan's most famous hiphop star, and plays Neumos Sunday, Jan. 31 with SunTzu Sound and Foscil.

On one hand, listening to Krush is an embarrassingly '90s bore, like, "How much of this Japanese flute/faraway trumpet/organic drums stuff can I take?" It's underground hiphop with a New Age twist, Sade for Mos Def fans, mostly without lyrics but sometimes with verses from "Stuff White People Like" rappers. By themselves, Krush's instrumentals seem tailored for ignoring, like sushi bar ambience.

On the other hand, Krush is unbeatable listening if one's in the mood to feel like a mellower, more profound version of oneself.

What Krush did with the shakuhachi — Japanese flute — and hiphop around the turn of the millennium laid a foundation for future pan-Asian hiphop hybrids as well as helped nail a signature sad 'n' sturdy vibe. Historically, every vocal/instrumental Krush collaborator has been motivated by that vibe to turn in a more soul-searching performance than usual for their cameo, from greats like rugged New York rapper Tragedy and jazz trumpeter Toshinori Kondo, to hacks like entry-level trip-hop vocalist Esthero, to annoying/innovative outre rappers like California's anticon. clique (lowercase letter and period theirs).

Looking back, it's weird that there was once a time (1994-1998) when master scratch-DJs like Krush underwent a zen shift, and instead of more-is-more exhibitions of turntablism skill, focused on minimalist arrangements of bell tones and echo-chamber pianos (and in Krush's case, the shakuhachi). But that time did indeed exist, and looking back, it was pretty cool, a pure movement toward slow-moving stuff one might float away to or glean strength from, lifestyle music perfect for headphone-listening while riding on a train, sitting still and moving at the same time, thinking about love and death. It was repetitive and barely nuanced, but beautifully so, carefully carved, totemic in its constantly flickering metaphysical engagement.

On the third hand, "woodsy/urban samurai groove" music is not all Krush makes, just the most famous and prolific mode he works in. Some of his beats are staticky and ominous-sounding. His forays into the dance-music splinter genre "jungle" are seemingly frantic but actually smooth. At a Krush concert — which looks like a guy, some turntables and a computer — one can expect to hear everything from barely-there woodwinds to leagues-deep bass hits and enormous beats that go all speeds.

But the loner groove remains his calling card, as do his scratches, which sound slippery, like no one else's.