Essential Distortion
One of the most important things for me when creating music is
whether I can feel excited about what I've created.
During the production of our band's first album #4 which marked the starting point of our journey, the moments of excitement were much closer within reach. Being in a completely untouched state felt like seeing new scenery no matter which path we chose. Everything seemed bright no matter which direction we took, like effortlessly scooping up what was in front of us.
However, it wasn't a situation where anything was permissible; we didn't just try everything at random. The fear that our sound might not be conveyed correctly if it didn't perfectly match our image was a necessary evil for me, even when I didn't know right from left.
Because it was the first album that defined the color of "Ling tosite sigure," I became even more meticulous in selecting the ideal music. The uncharted territory I stepped into for the first time was liberating, and the process of trial and error, repeated until completion, had already been established back then.
As time passed, I would always fall into the illusion that everything had been smoothly created. It was certainly easier to paint the three sounds onto a blank palette, but I've always been wandering to reach the point of certainty without hesitation.
18 years have passed since then, and I have created, performed, seen, and listened to numerous songs. However, as experience accumulates, the number of paths that I walk for the first time diminishes. Within this narrowed world, the most important thing for me is whether I can generate new discoveries that blend together stimulation, inspiration, and motivation from within myself.
I struggle within the confines of the best cage I have chosen for myself. The "struggle" I refer to here feels completely different from what most people would imagine. It's like the wall I imagined when I faced the choice of pursuing the path I love after graduating from university. It doesn't simply mean suffering, but rather a kind of "ticket" in my mind that I'm willing to stake my entire fortune on in order to reach what I truly desire.
I eagerly anticipate the moment when I can show my creations, what new things I can bring forth, to my band members. Whether it's a demo or the moment they listen to a new song, it only happens once in the world. I am willing to face any arduous path to make it the best it can be. How much of the inspiration and excitement I've felt so far can I obtain from the music I've created? Amidst immense solitude, I gather only the sounds that evoke those feelings and release them to the world.
The sounds I discover while continuing down paths that seem isolated from the world, I finally connect them together to create a song. Then, the next steps are recording and mixing, where another door appears before me. In order to preserve the desired sonic image and accurately materialize my ideal vision, I take charge of the mixing myself.
Depending on the work and my mood, I have increasingly relied on others in recent years, but completing the image that is partly finished in my mind through someone else is much more challenging than completing it alone. I know that mixing myself is the most direct path to align with the sounds resonating in my head, but sometimes I attempt to create something even greater through collaboration with professional engineers.
The things I lose by taking charge and the things that only I can create—it's like constantly weighing them on a scale, just like my thought process regarding my vocals.
Even with the same coffee beans, the one I casually brew myself, accustomed to my own methods, and the one brewed by a professional barista are different. But perhaps that's a huge misunderstanding. Maybe the reason it tastes delicious is because of that retro café atmosphere. Maybe it's because of those vintage cups. When presented neutrally in front of me, whether the refined taste matches my ideals and resonates with people's hearts is a separate issue.
We present our music on the table without any adornments. We must only focus on how that pure sound will ring out, with what timbre and balance. That's why there is still no established method, and we waver every time.
The complex of "self-taught music production can't compete with professionals" lies at the core, which is why I am still experimenting and exploring various approaches to constructing sounds. I mentioned the example of coffee, but I know that professionals can definitely brew better coffee. Just remember that, in the realm of music, I humbly make my appearance.
To create beautiful sounds, high-quality sounds, it is considered conventional to have good equipment such as microphones and cables. I have also received a lot of know-how from engineers and tried various techniques.
However, what I painfully realize is that at the moment when people hear something, the aspect that travels the fastest is not the sound quality, but the form of the music itself. It's not about whether the sound is good or bad. There exists a sonic image that releases the energy emanating from the song. Amidst various balances, I repeatedly engage in trial and error to determine the best choices for that particular piece of music.
In 2008, we made our major debut. We recorded the song "moment A rhythm" in a luxurious Sony studio. Precisely, we had it recorded and mixed there. It was a perfect sound image, devoid of any extra reverberation or impurities that could detract from the music.
Ironically, we didn't use that sound for our major debut single. Instead, we reconstructed it based on a demo we had created as a reference. That demo was recorded in a studio where I used to work part-time. Even though it was just a demo, recording it was quite a challenge as we had to bring all the equipment to a studio that wasn't fully equipped for recording. Still, I loved the sound of the drums recorded in that roughly 40-square-meter studio as much as those recorded in Berlin's Hansa Studio.
Our major debut single, consisting of a roughly 16-minute and 50-second song and a photo booklet, was released. How it was received will be discussed later, but I must mention that the booklet included scenes from Oxford, where we visited before forming Ling tosite sigure. Sony didn't accept our wish to make the booklet bigger, but still, I subtly added the essence of our musical origins to mark a new start for the band.
Is it distorted?
Is it not distorted?
I like the sound that's on the verge of breaking. I'm always searching for that transparent sound that lies exactly between beauty and madness. It's not guaranteed by any equipment, studio, or engineer; it's that ambiguous, transparent distortion that gives life to my twisted music.
I always manage to grasp it by sheer luck at the very last moment. And when I look back, the path that suddenly appeared disappears, leaving me empty once again.
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