Loneliness
Music production is not something that can be accomplished simply by spending more time.
I can't even tell how many hours I've spent writing this book, but in my case, checking the text and interview drafts is something that progresses little by little the more time I invest. After two hours, I'm rarely in the same place as I was two hours ago, and ultimately, even though it's a confrontation with myself, there is always the "conversation" with others, such as interviewers and writers, involved.
To project oneself onto something that is thrown at you and to illuminate and reflect one's own shadow within a pitch-black box—how different these sensations are. When it comes to music and lyrics, my thought process often comes to a halt.
No, thinking that it has come to a halt is a big misunderstanding; it's probably a state of super full rotation beyond full. I judged everything based on whether I could create it or not, and I also thought that I spent a lot of time making songs, but I realized that there is a stopper in place regarding whether I can create or not. There's a sense of indifference within me that doesn't say "YES" to the phrases I've created. The gatekeeper, who is constantly being updated, stands in the batter's box until he nods his head.
That borderline is different for each person, not an absolute quality. Some people just say, "Ah, that's good," and effortlessly ride the wave to reach an island. I'm simply envious. Of course, there are times when I fall into that pattern as well, but I always end up double-checking if the island I reached riding the wave is the one I was seeking. Momentum is important at times, but what's even more important is whether the me from before knowing the wave has arrived at a place beyond my expectations.
Am I being deceived by "momentum" or the "passage of time"?
I always remind myself that this time cannot be shared with anyone. The illusion of "I've done this much" can sometimes make something insignificant appear significant. To avoid being possessed by that demon, I often find myself unable to progress at all from the starting point of zero by the end of the day.
I'm the type who opens every door one by one when creating a musical piece. If I don't confirm one by one that "I opened the door and found nothing inside, just emptiness," I won't move forward.
That seemingly wasteful time has the power to create the next moment and pave the way to the correct answer, and I understand that it's my own style. However, at the end of the day, when I listen to the mediocre phrases I've created and think, "Did I spend the whole day just for this phrase...?" it often leaves me disheartened. No, it's almost always those kinds of days.
Despite understanding that this vast amount of time creates those fleeting moments of grasping something, I sometimes get attacked by remnants of unfulfilled dreams, like "If that's the case, I wish I had been sitting in that café eating pancakes, drinking coffee, and standing in front of my favorite Danish furniture in the boutique." Or I get assaulted by remnants of delusions, like "Could it be that if I were a genius, I could come up with melodies even while eating pancakes or looking at furniture?" Please don't attack me. Rather, imagination, please don't enrich that aspect.
What have I accomplished today?
What should I do tomorrow?
Whether it's in a band or as a solo artist, since I primarily write songs alone, I often find myself plagued by a sense of loneliness as I reflect on these thoughts while walking home from the studio. Sometimes, it feels like I can't even reach the way back home.
For instance, if all the members were involved in creating every piece of work and the manager was present in the same studio, even if we couldn't produce anything through the process of creation, there might be a shared experience of the time spent working together.
However, when it comes to working alone, only the fact remains that "the song didn't come together." In reality, I might have been enjoying a week-long vacation in Hawaii, saying something like, "I tried my best, but it didn't work out," as the time spent remains unseen by anyone but myself. No, perhaps it would be more meaningful in terms of acquiring a definite result, like getting a sunburn.
While somewhere deep inside, I know that this immense amount of time is creating a moment that will come later, the destination remains unknown. When standing there, it feels like I can never reach anywhere, as if perpetually trapped in an image of eternal stagnation.
However, there is likely no way to break free from that loneliness. It's not about having someone by your side or relying on someone for help. And I also understand that fulfilling that loneliness is not the solution.
Of course, I sometimes collaborate with individuals who possess musical or sound-related knowledge, such as pianists or engineers. They engage with music on a much more specialized and theoretical level than I do. Thanks to them, I can obtain a smooth and wholesome "time."
However, I find myself freezing, trying not to be swallowed by the wave that emerges from those collaborations. Despite the various solutions that help me, I sometimes struggle to keep up with the flow. It could be more accurate to say that I'm making an effort not to follow it.
When people gather, different perspectives inevitably arise, and new judgments are born. This is like magic compared to working alone. When I transition from a position of creation to a position of selection, the angles from which I see things change, and the view becomes clearer. It's like having the best chef teach you the perfect way to cook based on their accumulated knowledge. It's a reliable magic that doesn't impose itself on me but rather accelerates my inner drive.
This magic, compared to when I choose by self-questioning, slightly eases the tension, smoothes the curve of the work, and paves the way for possibilities that didn't exist within me.
Still, I constantly find myself wondering if it has become a mere game of catch within a small box.
Just as the solitary work remains unseen by others, the significant waves that arise from interactions with others are also not easily visible. It's like the moment of despair when you buy a suit without trying it on and realize it doesn't fit when you wear it at home. Or the feeling of emptiness when a lively conversation during a celebration fails to convey anything to someone you talk to later.
"A sensation can only be born in that moment, but it's likely to be influenced by many things," is a secretion that occurs in the brain. That's why I long for a fleeting moment of being moved even when the magic wears off. I desire a melody that makes my ears pause when I unexpectedly hear that music again in the streets, as if it had vanished from my memory.
Whether it's something born out of solitude or something created with someone else, I have always been pondering how it sounds to the "ignorant me" who stands as an eternal listener in my mind.
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