Chapter 2.4: Place of belonging / Going with the Flow - Passive -

Place of belonging

During my high school days, I had been captivated by the allure and enchantment of music. I started desiring more time for myself to contemplate music and my future. After calmly finishing the university entrance exams with a recommendation from my homeroom teacher and an interview, a divergence in timelines emerged between me and my friends. Nevertheless, I was deeply immersed in playing the guitar. Even in the freezing season when I layered myself with clothes under my blazer for my motorcycle commute, I became separated from my friends and classmates who were in bands.

I have absolutely no recollection of how we put an end to the music we were making back then. It naturally faded away, without any sorrowful memories. All I remember is the laughter inside warehouses and small studios.

When we were unaware of even fleeting moments, the flow of things was remarkably natural and vivid. We gathered to create the sounds we wanted, and the band members naturally changed from time to time, fading in and out. There was no lingering sadness as one song came to an end, but rather, we only thought about where we could go next.

In university, what I valued more than "what to study there" was "how to envision my future within the limited time." Of course, I had specific things I wanted to learn and clear reasons for the faculty I desired, but with a little leeway, I wanted to contemplate what I wanted to devote my life to in that student life.

Music lingered in the corner of my mind, but for the high school version of myself, it felt like just one of those "hobbies" that anyone could be deeply passionate about. Even my own true intentions seemed shrouded in smoke. As everyone naturally put away soccer balls, bats, and instruments as time went on, and moved forward without looking back, I felt that I appeared more indecisive than anyone else. I felt ungrounded, unnoticed by anyone, and somehow sensed that simply stacking my passion for what I loved onto the future seemed self-indulgent and escapist.

In truth, I had naturally severed the path towards a music-focused vocational school that I had researched (and admired). With the door to the music path closed, I started living alone in Saitama while attending university. It was like the first time I bought a guitar, embarking on my first house viewing. In my father's car, we took the Joban Expressway and the outer ring road, heading towards the property I had seen in a magazine. I immediately liked the newly built property located near a riverbank.

During my university days, I quickly quit the music circle that I had admired since before entering university. I saw that the drinking parties called "shinkan compa" were more fun than the practices, and it reaffirmed my strong desire to pursue music. At that time, the intersection between my future and music was not yet apparent. By distancing myself from the circle, which was supposed to be a suitable place, I once again moved away from the dream of being in a band.

Due to my personality, I have a tendency to pursue excellence in whatever I do. Although I'm not sure if I had a clear vision of the future, my campus life was driven towards music with the expectation that "I might find something I want to do." The answer I arrived at several years later may have been inevitable.

At the same time, I was trying to form a cover band. As I mentioned in Chapter 1, it ended up being an odd lineup with three female vocalists and me on guitar.

At that time, forming a cover band usually involved searching for missing parts or desired parts through acquaintances or studio bulletin boards. In the past, the studio's member recruitment corner often had common requirements such as "yankee x professional orientation," with contact information on tear-off strips at the bottom so that anyone could take them home. The diverse range of commitment levels we were seeking might have been similar to present-day dating apps.

Until I actually entered the studio, I didn't know what kind of sound these girls could produce, and honestly, as long as there was someone to make music with, that was enough for me. Although I could handle simple programming on my own, I wanted to play the guitar while being bathed in the sound of the cover songs. It wasn't about envisioning my future through the creation of original songs or anything like that.

We regularly gathered in places like Koshigaya and Kitaurawa to cover songs with female vocals. As I began to experience live performances by professional musicians at live houses, my imaginary guitar playing had been smoldering in my mind for a long time. Taking action to make music with people who weren't even my friends reflected my hunger for being in a band.

The first time in the studio, the joy of being able to make music with others outweighed the consideration of how each sound would blend. I bought a Fender Telecaster, which I didn't originally plan to buy, connected it to the standard guitar amp Roland JC-120 in the studio, and turned on the BRIGHT switch. I feel like I had been pursuing the style of producing a raw sound that the "single coil" pickup, which produces sharp tones, since that time. It was pure bliss to experiment with various effects in the studio. That hasn't changed to this day. By the way, the SCHECTER Telecaster I currently use has a very thick neck, which was influenced by a cheap Stratocaster that a friend who sang B'z cover songs had in high school. Just a little trivia.

Apart from band activities, I filled all my time with studying for credits and working part-time jobs. Although I didn't particularly enjoy studying, I was the type who could work hard when I had a goal in mind. Therefore, rather than actually learning something, my approach to studying was focused on efficiently completing tasks to earn credits.

In Saitama, I worked as a cashier at a supermarket because it was close to home. The people I worked with were all kind, and I had no complaints about any of my part-time jobs.

On a side note, I used to enjoy part-time jobs. Maybe I was just lucky, but I think I was always blessed with meeting great people at my job. I don't remember ever quitting a job because I disliked it. During my three years working at a gas station in high school, I would practice the guitar after closing hours or take a small trip to the exciting "Don Quixote ドン・キホーテ" in Tokyo with the store manager, who was a close friend to us at the time. If I had already been writing lyrics during my high school days, I sometimes wonder what words I would have put on that desolate view from the small break room above the spiral staircase next to the waiting area.

While juggling classes and part-time work, I was fulfilled by music alone. By the time our band had already added original songs to our repertoire, we were able to perform live shows consisting solely of our own music. It was during that time that new sparks of excitement were sprinkled throughout my busy life, such as debuting at live houses with the new band, participating in events, and auditioning.

In the band, which was not necessarily "professional-oriented," I found myself trying to reach beyond our limits. Even during live performances where most of the audience consisted of friends who came to see us casually rather than as fans, I began to feel the need for a change. I'm not sure what my motivation was, but we started to develop an awareness of what we could express to the audience from the stage, moving beyond simply playing what we had practiced.

One night after a live performance in Urawa, I received kind yet strict advice from the booking manager, saying, "First, you need to captivate the friends you invite." It seemed that we, who were solely focused on our own music, had been buried among other bands without even realizing it. Even in the audition at the instrument store that I applied to with the desire for some sort of step up, we didn't pass. It was just before that, that our band disbanded.

When a band disbands, I learned that it's not only due to differences in musical direction but also due to changes in the perception of time management and passion. Among the band members who naturally drifted apart, only 345 and I shared a vague feeling of "wanting to continue making music a little longer."

That gentle breeze toward our modest dreams was everything. It felt like we had realized something more certain within ourselves precisely because it wasn't a firm determination or anything like that.

When I reached my third year of university, I wanted to engage in music more seriously. It was around that time that I formed "Ling Tosite Sigure," as mentioned earlier.

"I found a new place of belonging for myself."

That's the feeling I had.

During this period, I also went to England to meet my sister. Various inspirations had accumulated within me, and there was this recurring sense of an intangible future that might become something interesting when released.

Fully immersed in my music activities, I wrote my thesis at the end of my fourth year on the theme that "in the future, streaming will become the standard over CDs." Subscription services like we have today didn't exist yet, but I sensed a decline in sales due to CD copying and illegal downloads. Although my thesis only focused on that aspect, I could clearly see the future of music with the spread of the Internet. Despite being in a place where I could learn about internationalization in various fields, I had become quite the audacious person trying to forcefully connect economics and music. It was unthinkable for me to choose a different field and abandon music.

Graduating from university and moving towards the "place where I belonged" which was already established, felt like a natural flow.