Chapter 3.8: Imperfect live / Translucent Chaos - Chaos -

Imperfect live

Live performances are not always filled with happiness and fulfillment at all times. Rather, I continue to stand on the stage while being crushed by feelings of inferiority and imperfection towards the music I have created.

Of course, it is undeniable that it is the only place where I can share time with everyone. However, I don't think I can simply feel happy just because of that. It's precisely because it's the only place I can truly connect with, I don't want the meaning of live performances to be stripped away to just the sensation of "being able to hear it live" or "being able to meet in person."

The sounds that were heard from the two eardrums transform into something that is felt by the entire body, along with the tangible images projected onto the two eyes at the live venue. In such a place, the barrier of how to perform the music that I have dedicated everything to becomes incredibly high. Ultimately, where I perceive the image of the place where the music is played—rather than seeing it as the space of live performances—is largely influenced by the way I see it as a piece of art. This may vary depending on the period of production or the creative mode, but during the time when I was making music to perform live, I believe I was primarily focused on how it would sound on stage.

If prioritizing performing live, it is undoubtedly a mistake to create everything, including arrangements and vocal variations, with the intention of making them sound live. Of course, whether something was created during a session or not doesn't necessarily guarantee that it will "shine on stage," but the chances of ending up with something like "the vocal variations or musical arrangements were unrealistic" are overwhelmingly low. The reason I don't do that is because I have a strong conviction that "as long as a piece of music has the potential, I want to make it the best it can be."

When considering reproducibility and changing the form of a piece of music, I often find myself compromising. I envy those who can arrange without significantly altering the nuances.

For example, there are times when I know that it's practically impossible for a certain vocal technique to follow a particular melody due to the limitations of my own voice. Regardless of what I try, I cannot surpass that barrier. Perhaps those few seconds of options may not be apparent to the listener, but if I were to avoid that path, I would be killing the essence of what I originally wanted to create. Even if I feel a sense of despair and imperfection regarding my own music during live performances, not being able to bring it to the true form it should have would ultimately cause me to lose the meaning of making music.

At times, even without considering reproducibility at all, there are moments when my emotions and the energy of the performance naturally align on stage. This is mostly something that can be understood by actually rehearsing and testing the music. Live performances where the lowest moments and the highest moments resonate with each other become the one and only place where I belong. I become captivated by the time-based art I have created. How incredibly happy that is.

"What about suffering in a job you love?"

During my university days, such self-questioning in the midst of not being able to turn my music into a profession, even now in the midst of that turmoil, I can assert that it is a miraculous fragment that keeps me alive. It took me a considerable amount of time to realize that the imperfect elements that shape me have become my own music.

How satisfied are the people who come to my live performances? The criteria for judgment will surely vary from person to person, but there is always the presence of "if it were me." Words like "no one cares about that" or "I wouldn't have noticed from an outsider's perspective" only cut through the air within my self-consciousness, with the response of "Oh, then that's good."

I don't know how to align my focus on things that don't satisfy me. I don't necessarily want to show something difficult, but I can't help but think that no one will be captivated by something that doesn't excite me. I may not understand other people's feelings, but I allow myself to be self-indulgent in that aspect.

"That phrase should be sharper."

"The nuance of the lyrics was weak."

"The guitar is distorting too much against the acoustics of the venue, losing the sense of separation."

"The arrangement built on the studio recording is falling apart."

Even when I'm performing, even when I'm singing, there is always something like a siren echoing unconsciously in my mind. It's a continuous pursuit of trivial details. Being constantly held accountable for my own responsibility in that state is undeniably burdensome.

In the midst of such circumstances, I find myself on the verge of drowning between the desire to break free from that voice and the awareness that the very same voice brings my live performances to life. How much time have we dedicated to meeting here on this stage and floor, I wonder. It is solely for the purpose of turning that miracle into something irreplaceable that I desperately cling on.

In 2020, In the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, we held our first live-streamed concert. We hadn't released many live videos before. This is because the difficulty of translating our music into the live performance format, which I mentioned earlier, is completely the opposite.

Of course, if we devote ourselves to the process and carefully refine it, we can create a finished product as a video work. However, fundamentally both the performance and the way sound is crafted are meant to unleash everything solely within that specific space, directed towards the people present. Both us as performers and the audience are influenced acoustically by the sound reflecting off the venue, just as much as the direct sound from the speakers.

"Can I take this leftover dish home?" Sometimes, when you eat the food you brought home from a restaurant, it doesn't taste good at all. Various factors, such as how it was stored or reheated, come into play, but the more aspects are left to the consumer, the harder it becomes to convey the intention of the provider. I don't want it to become like fried rice that has lost its moisture, making you wonder, "Why did I bring this home?" Even fried rice would be angry.

The atmosphere created by the reflection in the venue, the dynamic lighting, and especially the sound produced by the collection of instruments heard from a microphone placed a few centimeters away, in the context of video works and live streaming, is a completely different entity from what is experienced at the venue. If there is no experience that surpasses a live performance, I couldn't sense the purpose of streaming it at all.

Having been moved by witnessing a live performance firsthand, there are instances when revisiting the recorded footage of that same performance evokes a rekindling of that initial emotional response, while at other times it leaves an indescribable sense of incompleteness. Listening to the confirmation audio sent after a performance, particularly one in which we strived to achieve an ideal expression on stage, often leads to moments of disbelief. It is through numerous encounters like these that the notion of live streaming or capturing performances on film was not previously considered as a viable avenue of artistic expression for me. Additionally, the awareness of "being filmed right now" within my own mind often left me feeling somewhat disrespectful toward the present audience right before my eyes.

However, due to the spread of the coronavirus, most artists became unable to perform live physically. The release of music and live performances.

For us, who have been repeating this cycle, what else can we do besides live performances? Looking at the state of the music industry, it was clear what we could do. More accurately, we felt compelled to face that reality and acquire new forms of expression.

There are clear reasons for not doing certain things, but there is always a chance within them. It is precisely because it is uncharted territory that, within the knowledge and connections we have acquired until then, we can overturn the choices we previously decided not to make.

"Dislikes" often conceal the opposite side of our ideals. I am quite clear about what I want to do and what I don't want to do. And the more it is not something ambiguous, the more it becomes connected to my own originality.

While there is some envy towards people who are okay with anything, who are tolerant, I try to convince myself that it's good to have an extreme way of thinking. I don't feel any response in my heart towards things that neither please nor displease me.

The flow of live streaming during the COVID-19 pandemic—looking back, it felt like there were many things that could only be seen at that time, just like at a live venue. Artists enthusiastically embraced streaming, and I felt that the recipients also made an effort not to let the artists' feelings go to waste.

Streaming can be quite costly, so the forms varied, but I focused on angles and audio that couldn't be seen in a live setting. As someone who usually constructs music in such detail, I was interested in how I could express things in one take. It wasn't just about the explosive energy of a live performance or the meticulousness of sound production; I was exploring new territory.

I applied a 5.1 surround sound mix and even attempted to screen it in theaters. Since each theater has different specifications, I couldn't have full control, but I aimed for an immersive experience in a different sense from an actual live performance. The director, Kenichiro Nishikawa, who I was collaborating with at the time, accompanied me tirelessly in creating the visuals. We were thoroughly dedicated to camera positions and angles that couldn't be achieved in a live performance. It wasn't a substitute for a live show; we were somehow trying to find new points of exploration.

In a time when the necessity of entertainment, including live performances, was severely questioned, I was determined to turn despair into energy, just like in a live setting.

Everyone faced the fact that the place we were in and what we were creating could be taken away in an instant. We were confronted with something ephemeral that we had somehow known. In a seemingly narrowing path, I felt an infinite possibility.