At that passionate time
We formed Ling tosite sigure in 2002 and were active as an indie band until our major debut with Sony in 2008.
During the mid-2000s indie scene, I don't think major and indie were as closely connected as they are now. If we go back a little, bands like Hi-STANDARD, ELLEGARDEN and BRAHMAN were rising to prominence even on indie labels, surpassing the popularity of some major acts. They were seen as "staying true to their music as indies". The concept of "indie" that emerged vaguely, without a clear understanding of the reality, had an edgy quality to it and there was a perception that "being on a major label means obeying the whims of adults" which existed to some extent within us as well. However, as time passed, emotional rock bands like 9mm Parabellum Bullet and THE BACK HORN also gained popularity in the mainstream, gradually breaking down those boundaries.
Nowadays, I think there's less conscious distinction between who is major and who is indie, but at that time, music fans tended to associate major debuts with being "uncool" or having a sense that the band would "drift away". To some extent, I believe this trend still exists. When I found myself in the midst of it, the desire to "try being on a major label" didn't readily come to mind. As we stepped up our game in the indie scene, centered around live houses, we didn't harbor the illusion that "we'll become popular if we go major" but we looked forward to the chemical reaction that comes with interacting with more people. There's always something undiscovered in things that don't seem to fit. When that something suddenly turns its attention towards us, we carefully observe it and contemplate whether to dive in or not.
Before our debut, like other bands, our main activity was playing live shows and selling CDs directly. We were focused on how soon we could eliminate the need for selling tickets as a requirement (once we started receiving offers from live houses, the requirement disappeared), whether we could fill Shinjuku LOFT with fans, whether we could perform at Club Quattro, and whether we could sustain ourselves financially with music alone without having to work part-time jobs. These were the immediate goals in front of many bands and naturally, we also gazed at them from a distance with vague aspirations.
There was a local live show where not a single person made a reservation. When we arrived at the venue at the scheduled time, the doors were still locked. After contacting the staff, they informed us that they were on their way, and we had no choice but to wait on the spot. After waiting for several tens of minutes, we were finally allowed inside, only to find the remnants of the previous night's show and its aftermath. The dead cockroach lying on the floor seemed to carry a sense of desolation as if it had been there for years.
In the end, no audience showed up for the mysterious two-man live show, and the floor was filled only with members of the supporting bands. Nevertheless, the energy released on stage remained the same. Looking back now, I was happy that they actually watched us perform.
At that live house near the foot of Mount Fuji, our music reverberated off the exposed floor without being absorbed by anyone's clothes and the live show came to an end.
During our tours in different regions, we encountered various accommodation troubles. Since we primarily traveled by car, we often ended up sleeping in the car.
In the world of bands, unbelievably cheap hotel information was shared. Although I didn't have friends who possessed such information, Nakano-san, who had been on several tours even before joining us, was well-versed in various tour hacks.
When we booked a cheap hotel for around 2,000 yen per night, we were told unilaterally upon arrival after the live show "Since there was no communication and the check-in was late, we canceled your reservation" and they were already fully booked. After some negotiation, they offered us a spacious room, saying, "It's a conference room." Exhausted from consecutive days of touring, we enjoyed the situation to the fullest, sleeping while utilizing both the top and bottom of the conference room table. The next morning, we woke up with neck and shoulder pain to the loud noise and voices. On the other side of the partition, a hotel and some company were conducting a conference. It made me realize the harshness of the world, thinking, "They were even planning to have a conference in the conference room!" But even that could be laughed at. Tours had a magical power to transcend the limits of physical endurance.
Having only cold water come out of the shower was common. I spent a night in a manga cafe reclining seat that wouldn't recline and remained at a right angle, and I also stayed at Nakano-san's friend's house. There was a time when I slept in a haunted inn, trembling with fear.
I spent a considerable amount of time working part-time jobs because we had to earn money for our activities. The only job I quit midway was at a supermarket because the studio where we practiced started recruiting.
Being able to work at a studio was like a dream come true for me. My heart leaped with joy at the thought of spending all my time in the music world, thinking, "How rockstar-like of a band member".
My main responsibilities were managing the studio's schedule and cleaning. I didn't mind a little messiness, but I made sure to clean the water facilities thoroughly to show respect to the people who came to use the studio.
I believe that the environment for creating and playing music is crucial. It's not just about cleanliness; it's about being able to produce and imagine different sounds in that space. Although that studio is no longer there, the music studio mysteriously set up in the back corridor of a family-oriented commercial facility was on a completely different level from the other studios we used at the time. It was spacious and clean.
Despite not fitting the typical band image, I enjoyed customer service because I liked interacting with people and having conversations. Even though I didn't speak much during the MC parts, it's a different story altogether. I had no problem working at the reception or cleaning for long hours. The closing time of the commercial facility was 9pm, and if we received reservations beyond that time, the hourly wage increased to the nighttime rate. Back then, the regular rate was around 800 yen, but it would go up to around 1,000 yen during nighttime. Now, 800 yen might seem unbelievable, and 1,000 yen might be considered normal, but I always prayed for a phone call right before closing time.
My routine was to start work at 4pm and continue until the customers left. I was happy that even during my part-time job, I could engage with music and fellow musicians. We used the studio countless times for recording during the showers of rain. Our indie debut album was recorded in a public hall in Saitama and this studio. We would rent it for about 1,000 yen per hour under the "individual practice" rate allowed for up to two performers.
During late-night shifts, I sometimes secretly recorded songs while putting up a notice at the reception. When a customer who saw the notice entered the studio, it was strange how I would get flustered and answer, "Oh, I was just checking the microphone." even though no one asked.
Although I could have made reservations during regular hours, there were times when I couldn't suppress the impulsive urge. Even when writing this book, thoughts and words that came to my mind often disappear shortly afterward. Sometimes I can luckily recall them, but most of the time, they briefly surface in my mind and then sink into the depths where I can no longer see them. Some people might say that if you can't remember them, they weren't important, but I regret not being able to grasp them. If something reaches the surface, I truly want to capture everything.
After working until morning, I would discuss guitar effects and indulge in various fantasies with friends during the breaks between my university classes. After graduating from university and boldly choosing the path of music despite my mother's opposition, music gradually consumed me. Music dominated my thoughts day and night. It became everything for me.
When I write it down like this, objectively speaking, the six years of the indie era were quite challenging, and I don't even think I could do it now.
But when I jumped into this world with the thought, "I want to do music." it felt like I was always in a dream. Since I was walking the path I chose, I felt like I was constantly in a dream-like state, and it seemed natural to face the hardships and immerse myself in each day.
Lately, even when I'm editing videos until morning, there are moments when I think, "I could have someone else do this, right?" But there's a part of me that thinks, "If I don't do it myself…..."
If there comes a time when I entrust everything to others, I would probably think, "I did everything by myself back then." and by entrusting tasks to someone else, I should be doing something different. I'm not saying that I’m the masochistic type that always create a difficult situation for myself (laughs), but due to my personality, I feel like there's no shortcut to obtaining what I want. I wonder if that's just how it is.
No matter how challenging the path may be, it's the path I chose for myself. Whether I can enjoy the journey or not may depend on my perspective and mindset.
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