First live performance
When I entered high school in Ibaraki, I was completely captivated by the allure of music. Without joining the soccer club despite being invited by friends multiple times, the loft room on the second floor of my house became my special place for guitar practice. I never imagined that my interest in instruments would last this long.
During that time, my interest shifted from acoustic guitar to electric guitar. In my free time, I would open music magazines and daydream relentlessly about the kind of guitar I would eventually own. From inexpensive guitars costing around 20,000 yen to high-end models like artist editions, Fender and Gibson, which were completely out of reach, they were all lined up on advertisement pages so thin that you could feel the warmth of your palm.
There were few students at my high school involved in music, and hardly anyone in my class I could discuss guitars with. However, as someone who constantly had his music antenna up, information started to gather gradually about "who in which class plays the guitar" or "who is known for their singing skills."
It was probably during the summer of my first year of high school when I, who had become accustomed to the acoustic guitar strings commonly known as "bronze strings," noticed that the strings on electric guitars were silver. Filled with an immense sense of curiosity, I wondered, "What are those silver strings?" However, it wasn't the era where you could simply search everything on a mobile phone, and there wasn't a music store nearby either. Besides, I didn't have the courage to go to a music store alone. I've always had a tendency to become withdrawn in proportion to my interest. Even now, I want to visit a music store, but I'm not good at it.
Since my father had only played folk music, he knew nothing about electric guitars. I couldn't resist the urge to seek out the person I had heard was playing the guitar and went to listen to their story through friends.
"Do you get electric shocks from playing electric guitars?"
The person I asked such a ridiculous question to, was in the adjacent class, appeared to me at that time with a demeanor similar to Yngwie Malmsteen, but in reality, that probably wasn't the case. He had a puzzled expression on his face in response to my incredibly ignorant question.
One's perspective on something they have never touched disappears somewhere the moment they touch it. I could never have imagined how the electric strings, which appeared much thinner than acoustic strings, would dig into my fingers. Everything was unknown and explosive in that moment, and even now, I want to remember it.
In the scorching heat of that summer, I sat comfortably in my father's air-conditioned car as we drove from Ibaraki to Ochanomizu in Tokyo. At that time, the image of "If you want to buy instruments, go to Ochanomizu" was even stronger than it is now, so I chose the destination without hesitation.
I entered the music store called "BIGBOSS” which was operated by a manufacturer called ESP. And for the first time, I touched INORAN's signature model from LUNA SEA. The body, painted with a black-to-red gradient from the edges to the center, was beautiful, and the sound of the strings without going through an amp was more delicate than an acoustic guitar. It was a storm of sensations I had never experienced before.
I wonder what my father was feeling as he watched me at that moment, looking back on it now. Perhaps he was happy to have a shared hobby connecting him to his sensitive son during that impressionable period. Now, at a small music store on Meidai-dori that has since moved, I wonder how much I hesitated in front of almost predetermined choices. I had obtained something that would become the core of my life.
As I switched from acoustic guitar to electric guitar, my time spent facing the instrument increased even more. The sound I heard from that CD and from those CDs was always electric.
With a beginner's FERNANDES amp and a shield cable as thin as a TV or video cable, the slight electrical signals emitted from the electric guitar and the small desires within me were amplified to fill the room through the guitar amp's circuit. Lost in playing the universe in my mind, I often got scolded by my mother for being "noisy”.
One day, a classmate brought an "effect pedal" to the school's music presentation. I don't remember clearly what the purpose of that music class was, but his performance of "Pretty Fly (For A White Guy)" by The Offspring left a strong impact on me. The moment he stepped on that small piece of metal, I was hit by a shockwave as if being blown away by an explosion. I wonder how many students in the music room were deeply affected by it. The BOSS Turbo Distortion, known as the DS-2, undoubtedly blew my mind away.
I wanted to get an effect pedal next. Since there was no music store in my hometown, I immediately went to a neighboring town's music store. I visited Ochanomizu again.
However, being lacking in knowledge, I had no idea which one was good. I couldn't afford to spend much money either. Being shy, I couldn't ask the store clerks myself. The obvious questions like "What do you want?" or "What kind of sound are you looking for?" made no sense to me, and I couldn't explain the desired sound I wanted. Without knowing what I wanted, I still wanted to change something.
Perhaps it was around this time that I realized I couldn't articulate my ideals well.
As I was looking at the display window, a store clerk approached and spoke to me. For a while, I could only stare at the window from a distance.
Feeling helpless, I decided to borrow from a friend. I repeatedly bowed my head and borrowed something that was like a god-like "toy" with the promise of being cheap and capable of producing any sound. It was an effect pedal that was popular at the time.
With the long-awaited effect pedal in my hands, I hurried home and immediately connected it to my guitar. However, the strings I strummed with anticipation only produced disappointing sounds. My preferences in sound had remained consistent since then. The core essence had surprisingly not changed much.
For the first time, even as a child, I clearly understood that it was a sound I didn't like. The Turbo Distortion I imagined was not there; instead, it was a child's deception of distortion that sounded like a mixture of a cat's meow and a TV's static. It would have been fine if I were a naive child who could be deceived, but I had a clearer ideal in my mind. At that time, the ideal sound I couldn't explain at the music store was already well-defined in my heart.
Afterward, through various trials, I obtained the BOSS ME-30. It had good usability and was considered a high-value multi-effects processor for a beginner like me.
With an effect pedal that produced the sound I liked, I discovered the joy of creating music. I started making presets for songs by GLAY, LUNA SEA, B'z and others where the guitar sound stood out.
I spent my days searching for sounds and chord progressions that approached the authenticity of the original recordings. Just like enjoying a game by buying strategy guides, I bought magazines and sheet music such as "BAND Yarouze" and "GiGS," and my objective became how closely I could recreate the chords. Even if I played according to the sheet music, I would modify the sound to match my own perception, which already had a strong sense of eliminating dissonance.
Regarding sheet music, unofficial versions of new songs would appear on store shelves much faster than official ones. A guitar enthusiast who wanted to get their hands on the new chord progressions as soon as possible would obtain them regardless of whether they were official or not. However, most of those sheet music versions differed from the actual play. In a way, it became a good training to sharpen my ear and sense. While looking at sheet music that I wasn't sure was correct, I would imagine the differences and similarities and continue playing.
Given such an environment, I became interested in finding my own way of playing. Instead of playing faithfully to the original recordings, I derived enjoyment from pursuing the sounds and playing styles I liked. I would think, "If it were me, I would play it like this," and embark on that path.
When I entered my second year of high school, I started playing cover songs of my favorite band with a friend who was rumored to have a great singing voice and was in the same class as me. Somehow, other people started gathering around us, and that's how I formed my first band.
The music studio I visited for practice was a peculiar place with ivy wrapped around the iron-grated door. It had the expected image of a smoky and shady studio, and the staff looked just like Zack Wild, giving off an indifferent vibe towards us beginners. I wasn't fond of that studio located on the outskirts of town, so around the same time, we started using the second floor of the drummer's house, which served as our practice space.
We would gather by bikes at a prefab-like place next to a large house standing alone in a field. Our daily routine involved practicing Luna Sea's "True Blue" and "Rosier" relentlessly, without any specific goal in mind. Everyone focused only on their own playing. I was no exception, concentrating only on whether I could perform what I had practiced there. Amidst the seemingly disjointed music, there was an unparalleled joy and excitement bursting forth.
The way we spent time without any goals or destinations gradually diminished as we grew older. People call that time, which held more meaning than anything else despite the uncertainty, "youth." After practice, we would get excited talking about motorcycles, and sometimes we would all ride our bikes into the field, just for the fun of it. Racing against curfew, we would ride Yamaha's YB-1 on the dimly lit one-lane road through the fields, carrying our guitars on our backs. It was challenging to return home without letting my worried mother know I had fallen in the field. Being well aware of what would make her angry, I paid close attention not to associate any negative elements with music, which was farthest from her taste.
One day, we were given the opportunity to perform our first live show at a small event held in the town's community center. It was strange to remember that the band members changed at various points, but this time, the teacher who had become friends with the vocalist participated as a drummer. The teacher was very shy and funny, always saying things like, "I'm Doshima Kohei's friend."
Regardless of who the members were, the joy of playing together remained the same. In an environment where there were very few musicians, just having someone look in the same direction to play together felt like something special.
By this time, we had already started composing original songs. I was constantly thinking about how to embellish simple chords with guitar solos using various melodies. I had composed a few songs on the piano in the past, but it was the first time I had created guitar phrases, chords, and melodies on my own and reached a substantial completion.
I wasn't particularly fond of being in front of people, so I wasn't enthusiastic about invitations to perform live. However, driven by a curiosity to showcase what we had created, I found myself putting effort into practicing for that occasion without realizing it. At that time, we couldn't use the drummer's warehouse, as he had left the band due to exams, so we had to go to that tobacco-smelling studio surrounded by ivy. Still, I felt that I had become somewhat accustomed to that intimidating place, as my playing had improved compared to before. We would perform once, and then try to fix any flaws that came to light on the second or third attempt. The habit of repeating things over and over has stayed with me from that time until now. It must have been tough on those around me.
On the day of the live performance, my father came to watch. My mother never comes to these kinds of events. It must have been only once or twice in my life that someone came to see my live performance. It seems that she doesn't want to see her son fail. If I had experienced a major failure before, I could understand her feelings, but I haven't had many experiences like that...
My outfit was a red flannel shirt and shorts. And I was using my beloved Greco Les Paul at the time. The gas station manager where I worked part-time, who was oddly knowledgeable about hair products, taught me how to style my hair with gel, letting the ends playfully stand up.
In the audience, there were people who were likely the families of the performers. Whom was I showing myself to? Whom did they come to see? That ambiguous and unique atmosphere dominated the stage and the audience.
I wasn't as nervous as I thought I would be — actually, that's all I remember. Even though it was my first stage in life. Ah, after the live performance, my father said to me, "You were looking down the whole time" "You were looking at your guitar too much." That memory remains faintly. I guess I didn't have the sense of showing off my guitar to someone yet. My consciousness was focused only on the frets and phrases. It was exactly as my father had said.
The first live performance of my life ended without leaving any marks, both in the venue and in my heart. It was such a modest event.
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