MUSICA - TK from 凛として時雨 / May 2025 interview

Since the release of Sainou in spring 2020, TK’s solo project, TK from Ling Tosite Sigure, is putting out an album, Whose Blue, after five years. It is by no means an album made in a short span of time, but in any case, TK’s activities over these five years have- been intense, and this work, which becomes their culmination, comes pressing into the listener’s brain and heart as nothing less than a monument that exceeds even the words “epoch-making album.”

In 2021, marking the 10th anniversary of his solo activities, he released a best-of album as a summation. “unravel” and “katharsis,” which are also included on this album, became the most listened-to Japanese music among overseas streaming listeners, and indeed became one of the great foundations of the current overseas J-POP boom. Over these five years, TK from Ling Tosite Sigure has undoubtedly established in the scene a value and recognition beyond that of merely being a side project of the rare band that is Ling Tosite Sigure.

After that, he worked on providing many songs for artists such as Vaundy, ano, Aina the End, and krage, and furthermore released last aurorally as Ling Tosite Sigure’s album for their 15th major-debut anniversary year.

On top of that, he carried out numerous tours year after year, spanning both Sigure and his solo work. While things that can be revealed and things that are being revealed intersected, TK himself continued creating to an inexpressible degree, and releasing. And then came the journey up to this present work, Whose Blue. Collaborations with figures such as Koshi Inaba of B’z, the hit of “first death,” the ending theme of episode 8 of the TV anime Chainsaw Man. Further still, “Kujakujano Maam Aib,” which he provided to NHK’s Minna no Uta, performed with his unique humor and rhetoric.

This album, born at the end of that story and pursuit which could not help but result in a masterpiece within his career, became something in which TK-ness, and the concept of TK as destruction and aesthetics, are sung out with a new sense of release, updated and sent out toward the world.

This is a retrospective of TK’s five years and this album, given with full power. A long-awaited back-cover feature.

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▶ This Whose Blue is your first original album in five years, and I thought it was an amazing work overflowing with that much intensity, emotion, and story.

TK: “Thank you very much.”

▶ At the same time as I felt the pure force of it as music, I also felt a new change in the adaptability that TK the musician possesses. In many senses I thought it was an intense work. I imagine that so many things happened during these five years, so today I’d like to ask you how you made your way here through all that.

TK: “Yes.”

▶ First, I roughly wrote out TK’s activities over these five years since the release of Sainou, including Ling Tosite Sigure’s activities as well. When I did that, there were this many topics (shows the list). It’s an enormous amount.

TK: “It really is (laughs).”

▶ So this means you were brimming with energy, right?

TK: “It’s not like I was especially fired up (laughs). I don’t really have the impression that I was going at it so aggressively. But, that it’s been five years since Sainou that is a bit of a surprise… well, it’s always like that though. It’s the same with Sigure too, but when the press release comes for me to check, announcing ‘we’re putting out an album,’ the very first thing written is always ‘First album in five years!’”

▶ True enough (laughs). Ling Tosite Sigure’s album last aurorally that came out in 2023 was also the first one in five years since the previous one, wasn’t it.

TK: “Exactly. Of course, since I’m alternating between two projects, I think it ends up that way every time, but for me I don’t really have the sense that it’s been five years. So every time I think, ‘No way that’s true,’ and I do the math—and sure enough, it really has been five years (laughs).”

▶ (laughs). But in reality, during these five years you really haven’t stopped, continuing to release one thing after another, and continuing to perform live. On top of that, not just with your own band and your solo activities, but in these five years you’ve also done an unusually large number of song contributions and collaborations, with partners spanning an incredible variety—forming a lineup that freely crosses both eras and scenes. I think the fact that you kept doing this is truly amazing, and in other words, as both a songwriter and an artist, those five years must have been overflowing with energy, wouldn’t you say?

TK: “Hmm… from my perspective, I actually feel more like there was a kind of normal body temperature to it. But maybe, in terms of the intensity toward music, what is to me a normal temperature could be seen by others as being in a state of overflowing energy.”

▶ Right, a maintained overflowing energy.

TK: “That state, for me, is just the natural state. For example, it’s not like I had a concept such as, ‘These five years are a decisive period for me, so I’ll go ahead and write lots of songs across genre boundaries.’ But when it comes to production requests, in these five years it felt as if, naturally, singers who would tie together future and past just happened to appear. It wasn’t that I was thinking, ‘Next I want to work with this person,’ or ‘I want to try doing this genre,’ but suddenly there was talk of Aina the End, or ano and Ikuta Lilas. The fact that those things linked up seamlessly with my own activities, when I look at the works, that part is interesting, I think.”

▶ For example, in this album there is “Synchrome,” which features Yorushika’s suis as guest vocalist, it’s your second tag-team with her since the 2019 release “melt.” Yorushika, who have openly declared their respect for Ling Tosite Sigure, have now become one of the representatives of the new Japanese pop scene. And “unravel,” which you wrote in 2014 as the opening theme for the anime Tokyo Ghoul, since 2019 has continued to rank for years among the top of Spotify’s “Most Listened-To Japanese Songs in the World.” And Ado released a cover of that “unravel.” I think these things show that your activities have been adjusting to the purest and most wonderful parts of the scene as it changes along with the times, and that this is what has led to this workload. How do you yourself feel about that?

TK: “Of course I do have a sense of adjusting, but that said, I’m not really the type who’s all that skillful. For example, when I look ahead at my own future, I can’t really think in a structured way like, ‘If I create this kind of song now, in a few years it’ll turn out like this,’ or ‘If I produce this person, it will connect with my activities in this way.’ So rather than adjusting in the sense of thinking about my future musical activities and steering toward them, it’s really nothing but my instantaneous reactions to the moment. In that sense, I might actually have a stronger sense that I’m in a future I hadn’t expected myself. …This is something I say every time I make an album, but—even though it took five years—the fact that I could make this work at all, to me, feels like a miracle. If you told me to start thinking about the next thing now, nothing would come to mind (laughs). There are people who, when they put out a completed album, are already thinking, ‘Since I released this kind of work, next I want to make this kind of thing.’ But I’ve never had that feeling, even now, so I really respect people who are always overflowing with that kind of energy. On the contrary, I’m the type who, when I’m in the taxi thinking, ‘What will Shikano-san ask me in today’s interview?,’ ends up wondering, ‘Do I even have a single clear thing that I see in this album?’ So today too I came here thinking, ‘Will today’s interview even be able to hold together at all…?’ (laughs).”

▶ That’s something I myself also always go into seriously thinking, “I won’t know until I actually try it each time.”

TK: 「(laughs) That’s probably what I’ve been doing for about 20 years now. Even now I’m always carrying the feeling of, ‘Will this really work out?’ To the point that I can’t help but think that very feeling has itself become my driving force, I’ve been continuing only with instantaneous spur-of-the-moment power. That’s why every time I think, ‘Maybe I won’t be able to make anything anymore.’ This time too, it just so happened that when I dove into myself I managed to find some fragments of sound, and somehow polished them up and made them into one form as a collective of songs, which became this album Whose Blue. But really, I’ve always been working in a situation where it wouldn’t be strange at all if I suddenly couldn’t make anything anymore. That doesn’t mean, by the way, that my passion for music has disappeared.

The passion is always there, but actually being able to see music in front of me doesn’t happen very often. To say it even more strongly, I rarely see music in my own future. For example, if next year is my solo anniversary then let’s do something for that, or since this year is the 20th anniversary since Sigure’s release of #4, maybe we should try a show at Budokan — those kinds of things that tie in with live performances are somewhat easier to imagine. But outside of that, when it comes to imagining something truly from zero, as someone whose official title is “musician,” I’m always feeling the burden of whether it’s okay for me to be in such a state where I can’t see anything at all. So honestly, even for this album, my feeling is really just, ‘Somehow, I managed to make it here.’」

▶ For example, if we compare music to a painter’s canvas, there’s a kind of attitude within you that says it should always be a completely blank white canvas on which you paint sounds, and that that’s what pure creation is — and I think that’s part of why you’re able to keep going. In other words, something like, ‘Since we’re doing an arena tour at this timing, let’s make a song with a scale that fits that,’ would be equivalent to putting unnecessary colors on the canvas in advance, so you don’t do that. The feeling that what you can take pride in, as the minimum proper manner in releasing music into the world, is precisely to weave new sounds from a blank state — do you feel something like that?

TK: 「Hmm… that said, if I could paint colors on the canvas earlier, it would probably be a big help to the people around me (laughs).」

▶ I’m sure that’s true (laughs).

TK: 「I think deciding things like, ‘Three years from now I’ll release a work like this, four years from now I’ll be doing this,’ all the way up to ten years into the future and then making it happen — that’s one valid way of doing it. But simply put, I can’t do things that way. Yet, even though I can’t think about or see my own future at all, that doesn’t mean I’m not constantly creating music — and that’s where I feel the biggest contradiction within myself.」

▶ Realistically, you are continuing to create after all.

TK: 「Exactly. Whether it’s my own works or productions for others, I always pour everything into that one song, or that one album, and think I’ve completely used myself up — and every time I think, ‘Surely next time will be impossible.’ But in practical reality, I still haven’t come to an end (laughs). Even very early on in Sigure, we put out the album Inspiration is DEAD, but from back then I’ve been saying the same things. When I think about it, it really is strange. And I’ve never really taken a big break either (laughs). Some bands, for example, after finishing a tour will take a long break, and then go back to working on an album or another tour. But in my case, I’ve never had that kind of experience. I’ll go on short trips, sure, but I’ve never taken a long break. Even when (Pierre) Nakano injured his leg and the band went on hiatus, that was when I started my solo work. What exactly has been driving me to that extent — I still don’t know, even now.」

▶ When you’re writing songs, creating sounds, and editing them, do you feel a weak sense of being alive, or perhaps a sense of happiness enveloping you, in that process?

TK: 「I wonder… Earlier I said, ‘It’s rare that I can see music in front of me,’ but when I start making a song too, I don’t know what I’m trying to make, and I don’t even know the size of the canvas. But, when I keep excluding paints one after another from among countless options by saying, ‘This color isn’t right,’ there’s something like a color that starts to come into view. Rather, it feels like only at that point does my sense of touch come alive. To put it another way, at those times what I can see very clearly is, ‘It’s absolutely not this.’ In that sense, I’m the type who draws out what I’m truly seeking from the ‘it’s not this’ points. That’s why it takes an enormous amount of time. When talking with friends and they say things like, ‘Right now I want to make this kind of work,’ I can’t help but envy them. Because I think that’s such a simple and pure musical impulse. I myself can’t see anything like that at all — and yet, that doesn’t mean I’m the type who, like you said earlier, feels happy just fooling around with sounds when I’ve got nothing.」

▶I see.

TK: “Rather, the stress I feel in the process of creating, or the loneliness and sense of suffocation that come from not being able to see anything, those only get stronger as I approach completion. It’s like my level of suffocation increases to the point right before my body’s functions shut down, and only then do I finally see something, like I’m creating on the verge of fainting. But when I’m able to create in that state, maybe there really is something close to an intense pleasure there. I think I’m the one who feels most strongly the miracle of being able to create something that I absolutely thought I could never produce, something I couldn’t see at all until that moment. So I think fans who’ve been waiting will take it as, “Ah, TK spent five years making this album.” But for me, it’s not like I was shaping something I could see over five years — it’s that I finally saw it in that last moment. Every time, I really am wandering the boundary between life and death in terms of whether I can make it or not. It’s always the fear of, “Maybe I won’t find any words, and I’ll just put together some words and sounds that seem fitting, and with a confident face I’ll present it as a new song.” But then, on the other side, there’s the pleasure of finding it at the very end. Somehow it’s between those two poles that I manage to create. So really, I keep wondering, “How many more years can this continue?” Of course, the fact that the band is still going is the same, but I do constantly feel the joy of being kept alive by music. Still, a little while after I finish something, that joy just suddenly disappears. … I always want to keep that joy in my heart, but I immediately return to a self with no palette, not even a brush in hand. So in the end, the fear of not being able to create again is stronger than the pleasure. And then, the shock I receive from myself — the degree of surprise — it lessens with each work. Before, maybe I’d be inspired by my finger movements or my vocal voicing, but once something is finished, it’s already “something I’ve obtained” and gets imprinted in me. So next time, I won’t be able to feel stimulated by those finger movements or voicings anymore.”

▶So you no longer feel that kind of fresh impulse or blissful chaos that you once did.

TK: 「Right. Which means, if I keep going like this, that “correct answer” in front of me, that shining light, it’ll just keep getting smaller and smaller. But even if it narrows into the tiniest light, if it’s able to become something incredibly intense, then I think there will still be enjoyable things waiting in my musical life.”

▶I see. Now, despite everything you’ve said up to this point, I’d like to ask you a question as if I hadn’t heard any of it.

TK: 「Okay (laughs).」

▶This album, I think, has many keys and points within it. To be specific: after releasing your previous album 彩脳 (Sainou), you put out the best album egomaniac feedback in 2021, at the 10-year mark of your solo career. Then, after doing many different things, the song first death became a streaming hit.

TK: 「Did it really? I feel like I’ve come this far without ever being connected to “hits.”」

▶I know that’s how you feel, but objectively speaking, that song was a hit. And you also had many collaborations unlike any before, plus new encounters and challenges — for example, クジャクジャノマアムアイア being used in NHK’s Minna no Uta. That one honestly floored me.

TK: 「(laughs)」

▶And in terms of songwriting for others too, you created works hand-in-hand with top-ranked artists whose songs reached hundreds of millions of streams. On top of that, there was the anniversary of Ling tosite sigure, and now looking at the credits for this album, I see there was recording in London. And in the limited-edition photo book, there are shots from a trip to Iceland. So with all these points accumulated over the past five years, connecting into a line, I feel this album Whose Blue was born. Would you say that’s true — that it’s an album shaped by all those things? Or was it really just something you made purely out of instinct and feeling? Could you explain how you see it yourself?

TK: 「When I went to Iceland, yes, I did have the desire to gain some inspiration there. But rather than melodies clearly being born from seeing the scenery or stepping on that land, it felt more like I was transfusing something into myself. A feeling like, “I hope someday this will emerge from me as music.” Of course, there are specific moments like “I came here, and this word was born,” but… For example, I went to Berlin alone to work on music, and it was there that I wrote the lyrics for musique. Still, it’s not so much “this place directly caused this” — it’s more like those things seep into me in ways I don’t even notice. … In the first place, my way of facing solo works started with film A moment (2011), which was a photo book.」

▶film A moment was made from photos and 8mm film you shot while traveling alone through Scotland and Ireland, right? Shaped into “photography + travel diary” and “film + music.”

TK: “Yes. After that, with various circumstances — overseas travel becoming harder, streaming becoming mainstream so physical works no longer selling, the cost of making physical things going up — there was the difficulty of, “Can I really make a photo book anymore?” But with this project, recording in London too, I felt like if I didn’t do it now, I’d be giving up something and end up trapped by a sense of loss. So despite all the difficulties, I dared to make a 100-page photo book, and we recorded at Metropolis Studios in London. These past years, because of COVID, overseas recording wasn’t really possible. Finally we could go again, but flights were so expensive, hotels too, everything tough. Still, I thought, “I really want to go,” so I went to London with BOBO and we recorded. … Looking back at my past works, I clearly remember my own hand movements while mixing, being moved by the sounds we’d recorded in a Berlin studio. It’s not that overseas sounds are inherently better, but I feel there’s a unique kind of inspiration you can only get in overseas studios. The way my brain works is clearly different than when I record in Japan. Even if listeners say, “No, it sounds the same, Japanese or overseas,” to me, it definitely adds a huge sense of specialness to the work. So when the choice came up — either go to the UK to record, or record domestically and add a studio live session as a bonus — I chose the former.”

▶ In TK’s mind, what is so different between recording in Japan and recording overseas? Surely it’s not just a simple matter of the difference in sound, right?

TK: “Hmm, I wonder… maybe it’s the sense of myself trying to grasp something… it’s like photography too, you know. You wouldn’t go out of your way, right? I think there are quite a few musicians who take photos, but very few people would go all the way to Iceland to release a photo book — in a way, it’s abnormal, I think.”

▶ Actually, I don’t think even professional photographers would go that far just to shoot a portfolio.

TK: “Also, going all the way to England just to record drums… I thought that might be a bit strange too.”

▶ Wait, did you only record the drums at Metropolis!?

TK: “(laughs) This time, I went to London twice. The first time was for my own production, and the second time I went to record BOBO’s drums. Of course, I did a few other tasks locally too. That kind of abnormality, in a way, was already there when I went to shoot ‘film A moment,’ and I feel it’s connected to who I am now. This was something I thought about quite a bit among the options this time.”

▶ Without fear of misunderstanding, this album feels like a best-of album to me. Even though ‘unravel’ and ‘katharsis’ are not included, it still sounds like a best-of album, which I think is amazing. That probably means that TK’s essence is that concentrated in this work. In fact, I think TK’s sound image with the scent of the north is solid, and there are tracks where you can hear that.

Moreover, not only in London but also the sounds recorded in Berlin, which you had been visiting since before the COVID era, are heard here. And while I understand you have done various collaborations before, I think the collaboration this time, for example doing a second collaboration with suis-san, has become a very significant strength.

Also, the sound of ‘Scratch’ with B’z’s Inaba Koshi, I feel, has a slightly weaker sense of TK’s characteristic destructive sound image. I think that is an expression of respect for the collaborator, but I think that kind of thing has resulted in new music…

…I think that is an expression of respect for the collaborator, but I think that kind of thing has resulted in new music.

On top of that, the fact that a photo book and instrumental tracks are included makes me feel that it is also settling accounts with my solo work that began with ‘film A moment.’ If you think about it that way, it’s realistically like a best-of album of solo work. To have done that so densely is impressive, I think.

TK: “Yeah. I thought I might explode.”

▶ Right?

TK: “When I did ‘film A moment,’ there was a photo book, and I also edited the video myself, but it wasn’t an album, so the number of tracks was completely small. But this time, I had to proceed with the photo book and the album sound production simultaneously, which was a first experience. On top of that, I was also working on Shigure’s next work during that time, so I wondered if I could survive (laughs). Well, if I could do this, I feel like I could do anything.”

▶ So it was like, ‘The image is already there, so I just have to go for it,’ and that’s how you proceeded?

TK: “I think it’s true that it ‘appeared.’ But that ‘appeared’ is not something concrete; it’s more like ‘the possibility appeared.’ So, I don’t know if it definitely exists, but if even for a moment I see that there might be another door there, or maybe beyond that door is what I’m truly seeking, I want to go open it. If that weren’t there, I’d probably spend my time a bit more slowly (laughs), but maybe this is my music. I feel like I can give a little credit to my own empty thinking that I can still continue making music now.”

▶ “The album is titled Whose Blue, and the package is also primarily blue, but how did this image of blue come about?”

TK: “I think about the things I face every day, and even at this very moment, unimaginable things are happening in distant places… Even if what comes through in videos, photos, or writing is not entirely true, incredible things are happening on the same Earth. And yet, the Earth I see from an airplane is incredibly blue, carrying a sort of insane beauty. I feel a sense of loneliness or sadness at that kind of contradiction. Especially when I’m seeing a deep blue scene amidst the noise of the airplane, there’s a feeling like my vision is moving through some deep subconscious that isn’t quite my usual self, so maybe these are words toward my own powerless self… it’s a little hard to explain. But I do feel with my own skin, especially when traveling abroad, that this blue is not just beautiful. It looks different than before, somehow.”

▶ “The album ends with the instrumental ephemeral mist, but just before that there is the song linked to the album title, Whose World? Whose Blue?. Listening to this song, I felt that this BLUE represents both fragility and the Earth’s blue. The Earth carries, in a sense, cruelty—specifically, in the past five years there was a pandemic, then Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, and Israel’s invasion of Gaza, among other human-made disasters. Many things have happened. I felt anger toward these things, feelings of helplessness or futility, and the unavoidable wounds of life. I felt that such things are densely embedded in this title and this song.”

TK: “Yes. In that sense, the only thing I can really do may indeed just be making music… Perhaps that’s also a part where people try to comfort me by saying so. But I also feel a sort of guilt that the word ‘live’ might just be a word to convince myself. Nowadays, if I open social media, I can easily see the world as it is—not just the beautiful parts—but each person is already doing their best just to live day by day. How much can anyone really confront all this? That also makes me feel frustrated with myself… Right now so much blood is being shed in the world, but the Earth I see from airplanes is indeed blue. And the more times I see it from the air, somewhere inside I feel, ‘Can such things happen in such a beautiful blue? That can’t be right,’ an almost surreal feeling. I think that part is reflected quite strongly in this song.”

▶ When this song was made, did it feel like a major part of the album became visible?

TK: “Yes. I didn’t really think about making it the title track, but after creating this song and laying out the photos taken in Iceland, the thought of ‘Whose blue is this?’ came to mind, I think.”

▶ I think we can start with Kujakuja no Maaam Iaia and next, UN-APEX. Both of these songs are very poppy in both their articulation and sound. The <Sakkassama!> in Kujakuja no Maaam Iaia and <Give me Give me (Gimigimi)> in UN-APEX are, in a sense, visually striking words. On the other hand, TK has always explored using minimal words to express a lot, and this time it seems that comes across as a kind of greatest common denominator. Also interesting is that in these two songs, the words don’t feel awkward—they blend completely into the music. I think that can be called an evolution, and I find it very interesting.

TK: “Yes. For example, with Minna no Uta as well, what I found interesting when I did anime tie-ins was that even if I placed words in a way no one would understand, the addition of a visual element, or in the case of anime, a scenario, made musical mechanisms that I understood only internally appear pop on the surface. That kind of fun in conveying to others is something I didn’t really feel before. Of course, in the past, there were things only certain people knew—like, ‘this is what it means,’ which maybe Nakano-kun only knew, or 345 only knew, or only the real core fans knew—but now, in the past few years, I’ve felt that everyone notices. Doing Minna no Uta itself probably surprised those who heard the news, but for me, I felt that what connects to Minna no Uta was already within me. So I was really looking forward to seeing how it would resonate with people, and the more surprised they were, the happier I felt. I was ready to do it even if it seemed like a broadcast accident, and I fully carried it out.”

▶ Hahaha. So, you enjoyed the challenge of this song, and also the reactions?

TK: “I didn’t really feel it as a challenge, but thinking about how to make it appealing to children, and considering that if children are watching, their parents are too—thinking about what to throw at them that would be interesting—used a part of my brain I normally don’t use, so it was fun. Moreover, because this is Minna no Uta, it served as a kind of get-out-of-jail-free card, letting me lean on that massive weight. It’s a bit twisted, but I hadn’t really sung purely about love before, so approaching that was interesting. …From the beginning, I think the biggest weakness in both Ling Tosite Sigure and my music has been my singing. People might say, ‘No, No, your unique voice is great,’ but…”

▶That feeling never leaves you.

TK: “Yeah, I feel that if I didn’t have this voice, maybe more people would have been able to recognize me, and that’s not regret, but that’s how I perceive myself. So, for example, when I wrote songs for SMAP or Aimer, by having them sing the melodies I made, there was a fun sense of my melodies and the song materials becoming more visible. Recently, Aina-san is the same. For Shigure fans, it might feel like the usual TK-style melody, but for someone hearing it for the first time, there’s the fun of being struck from a different angle. After all, because I’ve lived through J-POP, I have an enormous attachment to pop things, but the frustration of not being able to sing them as pop is somewhat resolved during produce work. It’s the same when I handle anime (theme songs). Because of anime, there’s a shared pop quality that is different from expressing through Shigure or TK alone, and it broadens the entrance to my music. That kind of expansion has been fun recently.”

▶I understand very well. When I listened to Ado-san’s cover of “unravel,” I felt that again. That is, TK’s singing is really sad.

TK: “Was the sadness coming through? (laughs)”

▶Yes. Very sad and touching. And at the same time, Ado-san brings a strength to the song through her interpretation and expression, which I also found interesting. How did you feel about that cover yourself?

TK: “It’s rare, isn’t it, to have the chance to hear the same song sung by someone else? Moreover, Ado-san’s cover followed the original arrangement quite closely, so it’s easy to compare side by side… I am a bundle of complexes regarding my own vocalization. When Ado-san first appeared, she was accepted a bit like a gimmick, but if someone who sings hears her singing, it’s immediately clear that she’s not an ordinary technical singer. I think even if she sang a normal ballad, she could show an incredible variety. Because someone like that sang my song, the cover gave me more of the impression of ‘Ah, so this is how she cooks it .a feeling of admiration.”

▶So there was an interpretation different from TK’s interpretation there.

TK: “Yes. Of course, I feel she really sings with respect, but more than that, her inherent qualities are vividly appearing in various places, and I thought that was wonderful. I discovered and felt admiration in moments like, ‘Ah, she sings this part this way.’”

▶As a listener, that was also an extremely good experience. I’ll mention two more songs: “orbit” and “musique.” I think these are among the large-scale works on this album. Practically, both exceed six minutes, and more than anything, both have ensembles structured in two parts. “musique” starts with piano and vocals and is gradually destroyed. And “orbit” —

TK: “Acoustic guitar, right?”

▶Yes, it starts with acoustic guitar and ambient electronic sounds, depicting a very floating world, and eventually the floating feeling completely disappears. Both songs are very grand and intense, but how did you interpret and create them?

TK: “At that time, both were moments of being created completely from zero overseas. orbit… was in London, right?”

▶musique?

TK: “‘musique’ I started creating in a hotel in Berlin. Pushed the walls of the hotel to the limit (laughs).”

▶Hahahahaha!

TK: “Because of that, it starts from a very small song. From a place barely perceptible, it gradually expanded.”

▶Was London just for this one song, and Berlin just for this one song?

TK: “The songs we recorded were more, but the ones created completely from zero were those two. Also, ‘Whose World? Whose Blue?’ was created over there. There were also parts of songs with Kenmochi-san (Microwaver, programmed by Kenmochi Hidefumi of Wednesday Campanella) created over there, but the base was completely different, so that atmosphere may not be very present… ‘orbit’ and ‘musique’ were also created starting from the instrument structure, so they probably show a slightly different aspect than the other songs.”

▶I think “orbit” can be interpreted as crystallizing the fact that you were staying in London into the music. If you put that into words a little more, what kind of feeling is it?

TK: “When I made ‘orbit,’ on the way from the London hotel to the studio, I was often listening to something with complex guitars like ‘UN-APEX.’ And when I was looking at the scenery from the upper deck of a double-decker (the famous two-level buses in London), I thought I wanted to create music that flowed more like air. In my case, I usually don’t first think ‘I want to make this,’ so I thought, ‘I’ll try this.’ At first, it really started with just a kick and acoustic guitar chords, wanting to make music that would play like a slight BGM to the scenery in front of me.”

▶Was that a challenge you wanted to take on?

TK: “No, it wasn’t about wanting to challenge that; it was just that when I was looking at that scenery, I wanted to make something that resonated with how I felt. Purely, the song was born from the impulse to attach sound to the scenery I was seeing. That happened during the first London trip for my own creation, and then it was further brushed up. When I went again to the UK to record with BOBO, I went about four days ahead alone and worked on it, and the structure became quite complex there. As a result, it’s no longer a song that can be simply listened to (laughs).”

▶Ah, so this grand development was a result in retrospect?

TK: “Yes (laughs). But that’s what’s interesting. When I first created the prototype of ‘orbit’ there, it ended much more simply. But when I returned to Japan, I saw the chaotic city, and the flow of time was quite different from being in London, so it naturally changed in that context. This is also true for ‘musique,’ but I feel my mindset is directly reflected in the structure of the song. Moving between overseas, Japan, and overseas while creating probably gave rise to those ups and downs. With Shigure’s songs too, even from the past, they’ve often been said to be like suites. ‘Do you like prog?’ and such.”

▶ I can understand why you’d want to ask that.

TK: “For a while I did play around with that kind of image as a sort of joke, but in reality, I’ve hardly ever listened to prog rock. Back in the very early days, when I was helping with the merch table at shows, someone once asked me, ‘Do you like Yes (the British band representing progressive rock)?’ and at that time I was like, ‘What’s Yes?’ (laughs). Nakano liked Dream Theater, though. So it’s not that I particularly like prog rock, or that I’m deliberately trying to write suites. It’s more that when I try out different ways of approaching the structure that came right before, it just ends up taking that kind of form. From the perspective of someone who does have more musical knowledge, I’m sure it must look like, ‘What on earth is this guy doing?’ (laughs). But I don’t really think in a calculated way, like ‘I’ll develop this section like this,’ or ‘I’ll change the key here.’ It’s more like whatever appears before my eyes at the time I’m working—that applies not just to sounds but also to words—gets placed there naturally, and that’s how the production proceeds.”

▶ “orbit” has an ambient first half and a chaotic second half, while “musique” starts with sparse, hollow piano and then turns chaotic. What’s really interesting about TK’s musical structures is that the first halves always feel like they’re depicting something extraordinary, a bit like a fantasy world—and then as they return to everyday life, they become chaotic. In other words, maybe he’s suggesting that daily life itself is chaos. I found it fascinating that I could sense that kind of inherent disposition from these two tracks.

TK: “It’s the same with Iceland. When you look at those landscapes, you can feel that the inspiration for music like that is lying all around you.”

▶ For example, something like Sigur Rós’s soundscapes?

TK: “Yes. I didn’t used to think so, but once I actually went there and listened, I really understood—‘Ah, this is music that could only be born from this landscape.’ It was the same when I was in London; I’d get inspired by the music I’d happen to hear in passing moments. The number of sounds is minimal, and then there’s the warmth of human communication, the feel of the architecture you’re looking at—things like that end up being thrown directly into my music. What was good this time is that, in the past, I’d take photos on a trip, then only after returning home would I start composing. Travel and music-making were separate. But this time, when I went out shooting photos, there was a studio right near the hotel, so travel and creation were side by side, really close.

Whenever I felt, ‘Ah, that’s it,’ I had the environment to immediately make it concrete. Until now, the only things that would leave a deep mark on me during a trip would remain in the music, but this time, even little things—like a subtle breath—could show up in the music or in the corners of the lyrics. You could say that from input to output, I finally felt like the path was smooth and pure, without stress. It had been a long time since I’d experienced that. I thought it would be interesting if that flow of time could also be felt by the listener.”

▶ I thought the lyrics of “musique” were truly wonderful. I might be imposing my interpretation, but I felt that the “you” sung about here actually refers to “music” itself. In other words, the song expresses TK’s relationship with music, what it means for him to make music. With that in mind, the title “musique” also made a lot of sense to me.

TK: “You could say this song is a kind of love song to music itself. I don’t think I’ve ever had a track like that before. I started it in a hotel in Berlin… Normally, I don’t write lyrics and melody at the same time, but with musique, I came back already having written one chorus.

What struck me later was how different the sense of emptiness I feel toward music or creation when I’m in Japan is compared to when I’m away from it. When I reread the words I had written, I realized that difference, and I thought, ‘I mustn’t forget this.’ So it started almost like a memo.

And because the BPM was slow and the arrangement was stripped down, I felt like I could finally place words in a gentler, less forceful way. Most of the music I make is strong, so I’m always unconsciously working to create lyrics with the strength not to be overwhelmed by it. But here, in this extremely minimal soundscape, I could just place words that were like my own breathing toward music and I hadn’t been able to do that in a very long time. Well… in the end, of course, it does spiral into chaos (laughs).”

▶ Yes, exactly (laughs). They were really wonderful lyrics, truly.

TK: “Thank you.”

▶ It was also really unexpected to see you collaborating with Kenmochi on “Microwaver.” I always thought of both TK and Kenmochi as complete, self-contained creators, so it surprised me.

TK: “I see (laughs).”

▶ He was responsible for the programming on this track, right? I imagine those eccentric sequences were probably his input?

TK: “That’s right. At first, I just made a rough demo with simple programming, then he added only the rhythm, and I put guitar over that—it started in a simple way. I’d often meet Kenmochi-san and talk with him, and though he’s that kind of artist, he’s actually a huge fan of Ling tosite sigure.”

▶ By “that kind of artist,” do you mean someone whose songs make it hard to guess what’s going on in his head?

TK: “(laughs) I mean more in terms of genre. Listening to what Kenmochi-san makes, it doesn’t really sound like something a sigure fan would make, right? We had never specifically said, ‘Let’s work together someday,’ but while talking, I thought, ‘It could be fun to make music with someone I can connect with on this kind of wavelength.’ At the time, I had no idea how it would fit into my own work, and I assumed it would probably stand out no matter where I put it. But I felt like I wanted to try opening that Pandora’s box, so we ended up working together.”

▶ Do collaborations like this usually start from that kind of pure curiosity?

TK: “Yes, that’s true. That said, there’s always a sense that I can see some kind of certainty in it as well. It’s not like I go in thinking, ‘Well, even if it fails, that’s fine.’ If I had that kind of attitude, I’d probably be doing far more collaborations. It was the same with working with Inaba-san—when I connect with someone who, as a musician, is operating on a completely different timeline than I am, it gives me this feeling like I’ve been reborn. That’s the same whether it’s with a guest vocalist or in production. Maybe part of the reason I do it is because I look forward to meeting this new version of myself that gets created through the process.”

▶ That’s fascinating.

TK: “For example, just the act of going back and forth with someone like, ‘Do you think this sound is better?’—for me, that’s incredibly fresh. With sigure, the basic structure is: I create something, and the three of us perform it—that’s the completed form. With my solo work, naturally, what I make myself is the completed form. Of course, at certain points, I’ll have conversations within the band like, ‘Maybe this arrangement is better,’ and with solo projects I might talk to arrangers in the same way. But the freshness of having another person in the room from the very beginning of the creation process—right now, I find that extremely enjoyable. The stimulation I get from that is huge.

For instance, seeing Inaba-san singing, or catching even a glimpse of how he faces the process when he’s recording—that, in itself, is an irreplaceable experience in my musical life.”

▶ Absolutely, I can see that.

TK: “Well, if I keep saying things like this, people might end up thinking, ‘So he only does collaborations and producing for his own sake’ (laughs). But honestly, it is largely for myself.”

▶ Coming back to your collaboration with Kenmochi-kun, I personally think Wednesday Campanella’s music is like “drug music.” In other words, I see Kenmochi as a pretty insane genius as a musician. So when his essence seeps into TK’s music, it becomes this incredible spice. And the fact that you can properly absorb that into your own sound really showed me again that you’re also someone seriously “insane” in that sense—it was fascinating. And regarding your collaboration with Inaba-san, I feel that both he and you treat shouting as an essential part of your vocal performance. But while Inaba-san’s shout is more the type where he spreads his legs, bends his knees, drops his weight, and roars from the ground up, TK’s shout seems to be more of a standing-straight, immovable shout. I thought that difference created a really interesting effect in the song. Did you also find it enjoyable to experience and sense those differences—whether in performance style or in the fundamental way of giving voice to music?

TK: “From start to finish, the entire session with Inaba-san felt like a treasure. Despite his long career, he approached the work with me on the same level, enjoying the creation together. That attitude itself was surprising. From the very first meeting, it felt that way. Initially, it was supposed to just be a chat, but I got the sense that maybe he also wanted to try something he couldn’t do within B’z.

Once a band reaches that ‘monster unit’ scale, I imagine there are countless things we couldn’t even imagine that come into play when doing outside projects. But there was none of that like, ‘Well, in B’z it’s this way, so…’ Instead, he collaborated purely to create a song together. For me, that was almost unreal. But the process itself felt incredibly natural.

As you mentioned earlier about vocal positioning—while we share similarities in singing high notes, when it comes to singing with such density and power in the midrange, seeing him up close, I could physically feel the pressure. And watching him, at his age, still singing with a voice that surpasses even his past—it made me feel that the future is bright. Of course, I’m sure it’s because of the immense effort he puts in, and it reminded me that I need to work hard too. But being able to directly experience the coolness of realizing that not everything inevitably declines with age—that was an enormous gift.”

▶ It gave you hope for your own future, then.

TK: “Yes. Even in casual conversations with Inaba-san, if I’m singing a melody, he’ll say things like, ‘No, no, that’s way too high,’ and we’d laugh about it. It’s like we were both just saying to each other, ‘That’s high!’ (laughs).”

▶ Hahaha. Sounds like you really had a wonderful time.

TK: “Yes, truly.”

———

▶ Going back to the album—the first track is first death, the second is Synchrome, and the third is 誰我為 (Dare ga Tame). Those opening three songs feel very “TK-like” to me, and I also hear a glimpse of the worldview of TK’s music when tied to anime. Listening to these first three, I strongly felt again that “TK from Ling tosite sigure” is not music that cuts off the intro to chase a viral hit, nor music that starts from the chorus—it’s music that’s properly built and completed with this sense of being an outlier placed at its center. In that regard, is there something you’re consciously aware of?

TK: “Awareness of being an outlier, you mean?”

▶ Sorry—what I mean is, as you keep creating this kind of outlier music, it feels like it’s becoming more pop, or maybe the times are accepting it as pop.

TK: “Hmm… if anything, I still feel like it’s not really being accepted, and yet I’m still doing it. That kind of struggle, I think, will probably continue forever. For example, if you look at numbers—say, in this era, unravel was the most listened to worldwide, or first death got played a huge number of times—of course, that’s something to be happy about. But my feeling is more like, ‘That was just coincidence, right?’ I see it as thanks to the anime hits. I do feel the songs worked well as collaborations with those works.

Recently there was MTV VMAJ (MTV Video Music Awards Japan), and two songs I wrote were included—ano-chan’s 絶絶絶絶対盟域 and Aina-san’s Love Sick. But I felt that was because those artists themselves were wonderful. It’s not like I’m putting myself down. I do have solid confidence that I could make something pop if I set my mind to it. But whether I’m able to output that 100% purely on my own power… I still feel like I’m far from that. So… an outlier… am I, really?”

▶ Here’s what I think. To be honest, in this discussion, the play counts don’t matter at all. For instance, both first deathand 誰我為 (Dare ga Tame) were written down as anime theme songs, right?

TK: “Yes.”

▶ Of course, I think you were fortunate to encounter good anime. But more than that, the reality is, the anime side must have felt happy to encounter this music. Because TK’s music expands the expressive range of anime. That’s exactly why you keep receiving so many offers from anime, I think. In that sense, I believe TK, Ling tosite sigure, and UNISON SQUARE GARDEN’s music are all great achievements. I strongly felt that immense power again from these first three songs. Synchrome doesn’t seem to have a tie-up, but I think it’s a song that would perfectly fit as an anime theme.

TK: “True—when it comes to anime songs, for example, sigure did PSYCHO-PASS in 2012 (abnormalize), and I think the way anime songs were seen back then was completely different from now. Even in terms of how major labels looked at it—when we joined Sony in 2008 or so, that period was really difficult. Especially for alternative, eccentric bands like us, there was still a strong sense that going major was lame.”

▶ Ah, at that time, yeah.

TK: “And toward anime songs too—not exactly prejudice, but there was this view of, ‘Anime songs are anime songs, they’re not rock.’ I think that view was pretty strong back then. But when we were given the offer, I felt—this is kind of like Minna no Uta—that no matter how the world sees it, something cool will always remain cool. Being able to embody that with my own music, I feel was a good thing.

It’s not like it’s my personal achievement, but anime itself has expanded into so many different kinds of works, and there are more and more cases where people who otherwise would never have made an anime song end up doing one. To the point that now, just from listening, you can’t always tell if a song is for anime or not—it’s that widespread. That’s a big change from back then.

Within that, I’m glad I’ve been able to continue with a consistent stance. Not by ignoring anime with a ‘This is what we are’ kind of stubbornness, but by saying, ‘Even when working with anime, my music will still sound 100%.’ I think the fact that that’s been conveyed, at least somewhat, to listeners has been a good thing.

It really could’ve gone either way. There were probably people thinking, ‘Don’t use such aggressive music for anime’ (laughs). But the fact that there were also people who accepted it—that was big. Back then, the idea of something being streamed millions, tens of millions of times overseas was unimaginable. It was a time when we thought, ‘There’s no way a Japanese-language song could hit overseas.’”

▶ Yeah, that was the general mood just about ten years ago.

TK: “Even then, people would sometimes say, ‘Sigure might catch on overseas!’ But in reality, if we went and did a live abroad, it wasn’t like people would just come right away, it wasn’t that easy. But somehow, before I knew it, it became a situation where TK doing anime makes overseas listeners happy. That’s honestly amazing to me.”

▶ Right. I kind of ignored track order and looked back from different angles, but once again, I felt it’s truly a wonderful, dense album. This year there will be a tour around this album, and in December, Ling tosite sigure’s Budokan show. And once that’s done, next year 2026, marks 15 years of TK from Ling tosite sigure’s activity.

TK: “Yeah.”

▶ You just looked at it with a very detached gaze.

TK: “No no, not at all (laughs). It’s just, nothing’s been decided yet. I’ve always been talking with staff about wanting to try activities outside the country. I’d love to do that. Of course, there are difficulties, so I’ll need to figure out how to properly structure that as activity. But since there are this many overseas listeners supporting me, I want to experience firsthand what kind of chemical reactions will happen when they finally get to see it live.”

▶ Realistically, there are a lot of people waiting.

TK: “Do you think so…?”

▶ No, for sure! There are tons. Even in the comment sections you must see lots of ‘We’re waiting!’ comments, right?

TK: “Yes, I do see people writing that. So if it actually happens, I strongly want those people who say ‘We’re waiting’ to really come. Don’t go saying, ‘Oh, I have work that day…’ (laughs).”

▶ No doubt (laughs). But really, I’m very excited about what you’ll do from here. Surely you’ll keep going at the same high pace, right?

TK: “Most likely, yes (laughs).”

▶ (laughs).

TK: “But really, I think that in itself is a happy thing. I’ll do my best.”

———-

Thanks so much for reading!!

It’s a pretty long interview, so I haven’t had time to go through and proofread every line yet.

Hopefully the ChatGPT translation didn’t mess things up too badly lol.

If you spot anything off, feel free to DM me!

You can grab the physical or digital magazine here:

http://musica-net.jp/detail/2025/5/