Back in middle school, I was never able to join in whenever my classmates talked about music because I didn’t listen to the same things they did. ‘Why do you only listen to Western music?’ they’d ask.
“You think you’re so cool? Because you’re saying J-pop is lame or something?”
“Well, y’know, haha…”
All I could do was laugh and play along.
Though, it would be a lie to say I hadn’t wanted to be cooler by choosing something different. Still, the main reason why I listened to Western music in the first place was my parents. My father, especially, only ever listened to Western music, so It should be no surprise that any child that grew up while listening to artists like the Beatles, Led Zepplin, Rolling Stones, Queen, and Pink Floyd would turn out the way I did. And really, what could a kid do? It’s not like they would have the knowledge or money to pick out the music they wanted.
I didn’t blame my parents for that, of course, because there was one other reason why I couldn’t bring myself to like Japanese music.
I couldn’t accept the lyrics.
So to start, all of the popular Western stuff came from English-speaking countries, meaning they were supposed to be sung in English. The language itself is one where a majority of its words consists of a vowel surrounded by multiple consonants. As a result, ‘one note for one word’ was a fundamental rule for their lyrics.
On the other hand, Japanese words usually have multiple syllables, so it’s almost impossible to follow that rule (though some, like Sakurai Kazutoshi, had done so). The solution Japanese artists turned to was to use English for the most important parts of the song — for example, a single phrase in the chorus.
Back in middle school, I had laughed at that idea.
I thought it was so lame, that it was just inferior to the west in every way. I had even felt songs like that, the ones that used English for some parts, were better off being entirely in English, and I disparaged the artists for lacking skill in using the language.
Now, after starting high school and having to write the lyrics to my own songs, I wanted beat up my middle school self.
Inferior to the west? Something like that didn’t matter at all! It wasn’t something I could afford to worry about anymore! My audience was mostly Japanese, so obviously my lyrics had to be in Japanese. And for a song to be cool but still easy to understand, I had to write the chorus in English; it was a necessity out of technicality!
I might have learned the truth a little late, but still… well, at the end of the day, the brain and the heart were two different things.
And though it was something I did learn, that didn’t mean what I valued before was gone; it wasn’t like installing a software update or anything.
Even now, my middle school self still lurked in my heart, poking at me from within. Whenever I wrote lyrics, I could hear the mocking echo of his laughter.
It was because of him that to this day, I struggled with writing lyrics in Japanese.
*
“D’you think I can try writing the lyrics sometime?”
Akane asked me one day, during studio practice. It was now two weeks until the culture festival.
“Do you think… my lyrics are bad?”
I nervously asked back.
“It’s not that they’re bad, but… Hmm…”
Akane motioned with her eyes.
“Your lyrics are easy to sing but hard to remember. Like they’re kinda too abstract.”
“Actually, I’ve always wondered,” Shizuki added from behind the drum set, “Why is it that you never write any love songs, Makoto-san!?”
“Huh..? No, I mean… Uh… you see…”
I had nothing to say in my defense. And I mean, that was just how it was; the lyrics I wrote were always ambiguous because all I did was find Japanese words that fit the melody. Besides, writing about love was embarrassing…
“Is it embarrassment? How are you going to make any music if you’re just going to be embarrassed?” Rinko asked, “What do you have to be embarrassed about even? It can’t be more embarrassing than cross-dressing.”
“I don’t need you to tell me what is and isn’t embarrassing!”
“Oh, so you don’t feel embarrassed when cross-dressing? Perfect. Let’s have you cross-dress some more.”
“Huh? Wait, no, that’s not…”
I answered her on reflex and without thinking, digging my own grave.
“Okay, I’ll just write a love song that’s more embarrassing than cross-dressing!”
Akane exclaimed with excitement.
“I appreciate the help, but why are you suddenly interested?”
But when I asked, Akane blushed with an embarrassed look.
“I mean, isn’t the vocalist supposed to be the one writing the lyrics? I want some of that royalties money!”
“Royalties? We’re not releasing an album for sale or anything.”
“Then let’s do it! We can make a ton of money!”
“I also want a part in that. The sooner I have the money to get away from my parents, the better.”
Rinkok added something outrageous in a serious tone. Well, considering what had happened, I understood why… I mean, I really did, but…
“It’s not like I don’t think it would be great for us to commercialize, but there’s a bigger problem we need to figure out first.”
The girls didn’t seem to catch on. I placed my Precision Bass back on its stand, went over to and opened the laptop sitting on the floor in a corner of the room. I had it play the music videos we had been recording, one by one.
“I hate to say it, but the sound quality is just bad. The recording, not the performance, I mean.”
“R-really..?” Shizuki asked with upturned eyes, “I thought you did a really good job with it, Makoto-san, especially considering it actually isn’t part of your job.”
“When you put it that way, it just means the song doesn’t sound professional at all… Ah, I mean, I’m not angry that you said it or anything.”
I hastily clarified what I said as I noticed Shizuki’s expression darken.
“See, if we put our songs up for sale, they’ll be right there alongside professionals’ releases. And we can’t excuse our recording quality by saying ‘it’s okay because that’s not part of our job’ or something like that.”
“I suppose you are right…” Shizuki let her head droop in response; I knew she had meant to compliment me, but she herself couldn’t deny that our recording quality was quite poor.
Recording and mixing weren’t so simple that mastering it was just a matter of learning the basics and becoming familiar with using the equipment. Rather, it was on the level of learning the guitar or the drums or to sing, where it also factored in a person’s individuality and style. This was something I learned myself through personal experience, having compared my recordings to professionals’ and reading books on the subject; it wasn’t a skill one could just pick up after a day or two.
“All right! It sounds like I gotta start studying recording too!”
Akane clenched her fists as she bravely declared.
“Don’t be silly. You already have the performing to do, and you already said you wanted to write the lyrics, remember? How are you going to figure out recording on top of all that?”
“If I skip class…”
“No! Definitely not! You’re a student, you should be prioritizing school!”
“Boo… You know, even my parents have never said anything like that before. I think they’d be happy if I went to school at least once a week.
Surely she knew that was because of how she’d been truant for two years straight…
“Did something happen, Akane? Is that why you are suddenly trying to do more than before?
Rinko narrowed her eyes as she asked. Akane hesitated before giving her a bitter smile in return.
“No, nothing like that. It’s just… well, I was thinking, if we commercialized, I’d get more money, right? I mean, that’s why I took all those helper roles back then, remember? It’s ‘cos I kinda got no money.”
Wait, hadn’t she claimed she didn’t have any problems with money back then?
“Like Murase-kun said, even if we have you learn about recording, you still have to work on the performing part. It would be inefficient to have you split between the two,” Rinko coolly pointed out.
“Yeah, I guess…”
“So we will just leave that part to Makoto-san then?”
Shizuki looked back and forth between my face and the console room behind the glass partition.
“Murase-kun isn’t great at it, but I think another problem is how much we’re limited by the equipment we can use here.”
It was bittersweet, what Rinko said. But it was also the truth: I was just an amateur recording engineer, and Moon Echo was just a rehearsal studio. The sound equipment they had here was all pretty basic.
“Ugh, it’d be nice if we had someone that could handle the equipment and the people stuff…”
I muttered with a sigh.
“You mean like relying on a pro?” Akane asked.
“A pro..? Yeah, I guess so. We would need someone like that for the quality part anyway.”
We did have some money to use, but I didn’t know who to ask or where to start looking. And since it directly affected the quality of our recordings, I couldn’t just go and randomly look for people online.
“And I mean, I’ve been thinking about it ever since we did the concerto. There was seriously so much I had to get done back then; I wish I could have left it for someone else to deal with…”
“You mean like having a manager?” Akane asked.
“Yeah, it’d be great to have a manager. It’s just a matter of finding someone who would do it.”
“I’ll do it! I’ll even make honeyed lemons!”
“Like I said earlier, why are you trying to do everything? There’s already so much you have to do! And besides, we’re not athletes, so we don’t need lemons.”
“Oh right, you’re the type that doesn’t like lemons with your karaage.”
“What does karaage have to do with this?”
*
When I met with Kakizaki-san, I mentioned a little of what the group had been talking about.
“I see, a manager! I was just thinking it was about time your group found one. You absolutely will need one if you are thinking about making a major release!”
“Oh, no, we’re not planning on doing anything that big.”
Kakizaki-san was an employee of the event company that invited us to perform at the summer music festival, where we first debuted as Paradise Noise Orchestra.
He was a very lively and upbeat person, so our conversation naturally took on this kind of vibe.
“Oh, I see, so your group is starting to take the recording process more seriously! That’s great to hear! Absolutely fantastic! Though I imagine when you guys make a big name for yourselves, it won’t be easy to have you perform at our events, will it? Haha, I’ll have to make sure we get as much as we can out of your group before then! So, have you decided which production company you will be working with?”
In Kakizaki’s mind, the scope of our needs expanded even further.
I had arranged to meet with Kakizaki-san at this cafe in Shinjuku so we could discuss the sound equipment we would be using at my school’s culture festival. I knew the gymnasium where we would be holding the Midnight Festival event wouldn’t have great acoustics, so I wanted to at least secure better equipment and sound engineers; I got in touch with Kakizaki-san, knowing he is a professional in the industry. Our business talk shouldn’t have taken more than fifteen minutes, but casual conversation had pushed it long past that — our cups on the table, long empty, were evidence of that.
“It’s not like we’re aiming to produce an album for sales or anything. We just wanted the recording to sound better.”
“But you do want it to sound good enough that it could be commercialized, right? That practically is the same thing.”
When he put it that way, that did make sense.
This guy… he’s too good at smooth-talking!
“Let me be frank: what are your plans?” Kakizaki-san suddenly turned serious, “All of you in PNO do want to go pro some day, is that correct?”
There was a strange pressure to his question, as though he would brook no argument. I stared toward the ceiling and thought over his question before answering.
“Rinko is determined to make money from music, because she wants to become independent as soon as possible. Akane’s made a living as a studio musician before, and I think she’ll want to continue making a living through music at least. Shizuki, she… she’s mentioned her family’s business before. She often talks about wanting to play in the band forever, but going pro… I don’t know.
“And what about you, Murase-san?”
“Me, huh… Hmm…”
I wiped off my forehead with a hand. The cafe wasn’t particularly warm, but my hand was covered in sweat.
“I always kinda thought it could be nice to make a living through music, but it wasn’t ever anything serious. And I mean, is that really okay? I don’t know if someone as noncommittal as me should try going pro… I mean, it’s not like I’m really motivated or passionate about it or anything…”
There was a brief pause as Kakizaki-san seemed to choke and spit some of his drink on the table.
“Ah, oh no! I am so sorry!”
Perhaps to try and hide his embarrassment, Kakizaki-san flagged a waiter and ordered another cup of coffee.
“Anyway, what I wanted to say is, there are many pros out there that say something like that — how there’s a some sort of ‘professionalism’ involved or how there’s a difference in mindset that separates the pros from the amateurs. Personally, I don’t think that’s true because in this day and age, where anyone can share anything over the Internet, there isn’t really anything to make a clear distinction between the two.”
After dumping a large amount of sugar into his new cup of coffee, Kakizaki-san continued speaking.
“You see, I’ve worked with hundreds, thousands of different musicians; as you might be aware, it is part of our company’s business to organize events that feature net artists, so it goes without saying that we work with many amateurs. Among them, there were many that I would say definitely needed better awareness or should have been more cautious of their surroundings.”
Kakizaki-san was becoming more blunt the further he continued.
“And those are always the groups that don’t focus on what they should; they go on and on about wanting to sell and to be famous and to have their own producer. But what do they do? They just live from show to show, scraping by on each payout. Your group though, Murase-san, your group is different. It is clear to me you properly do what you need to do, and you have the results to show for it. That’s why I don’t think it matters what your motivations are; it is so much more important that you are able to bring back results. Besides, do you think the audience really cares about your enthusiasm or your attitude? No. They just want to hear cool songs and see a performance.”
I blinked rapidly trying to process what Kakizaki-san was saying; he continued with a smile.
“And you know, you kids are still first-years in high school, aren’t you? The four of you have got a long future to look forward to. See, it would be different if you were, say, in the mid-30s. By then, you would feel the pressure of having to decide whether you really should push for going pro or if you should give up. Instead, because of how young you are, between choosing to go pro or to keep at it as a hobby, both options are acceptable. Personally, I want you guys to go even higher, but… Oh, wait, I think that may have been a little strange to say.”
“Oh, no, not at all. I think I understand what you mean.”
“Ahaha, well, what can I say? I’m just a big fan of PNO, so I might have gotten a little carried away there. Anyway, as far as recording engineers go, I’ll do my best to find one… Actually, what I should say is, thank you for allowing me to help you find one! I will do my part in helping your group make the best recording you can!”
“That’s… I mean, thank you very much. I really appreciate your help.”
For a moment I wondered if it was really fine for him to put in so much effort for us; then again, there wasn’t anyone else we could ask for help from, so I decided it would be best to just honestly rely on his kindness.
After parting with Kakizaki-san, I began making my way over to Moon Echo. Originally, I had planned to stop by a music or book store on the way, but our meeting had gone on for so long that it was now almost time for our scheduled practice at the studio.
A harsh wind blew in from between buildings as I stood waiting at the traffic light, and I stuck my cold hands into the pockets of my jumper. I began to imagine myself standing atop a stage at different ages — twenty, then thirty, then forty.
That… didn’t seem like a good look.
Still, it wasn’t like it was any easier to imagine myself wearing a tie and going to work every morning instead.
*
The next day, right at the beginning of lunch break, Akane paid a rare visit to my class.
“I wrote some lyrics. Can you read it?”
“Sure, but… I was about to go to the music room anyway. You didn’t have to come all the way here to ask.”
“It’d be embarrassing to have Rin-chan or Shizu-chan read it…”
Okay…? I wasn’t following why, but somehow that meant it was fine for me to read it?
We walked to the stairs together, and there, Akane handed over a folded page of paper. I opened it up and read it over.
“Hmm… Well…”
I was at a loss for words.
“Tell me your unreserved opinion. Don’t hold back on me, Makoto-chan!”
No holding back, huh? Well, sure, I guess I’ll have to do my best.
“Okay, so I’ll be as brutally honest as I can be. First of all, its amazingly childish.”
“Yeah, I thought so…”
So she was already aware.
“I can now only appreciate how good you are at writing lyrics after trying to do it myself, Makoto-chan. It’s like… Hmm, how would I describe it… You have this like stylish, precise-ish kinda vibe! Like you really know what you’re writing about!”
Her words left me feeling complicated; it didn’t feel like she was completely complimenting me.
“All I did was play the music and think of words that fit… I can’t really compare to the real thing, but I try to set the right mood at least.”
“But if everyone who listens thinks it’s good, doesn’t that mean it actually is the real thing?”
It came as a relief to hear that, but the truth of the matter was that I was reaching the limits of what I could do. And I mean, all I did was string words together haphazardly, so it actually had been a huge help when Akane said she wanted to write some lyrics.
“In any case, I think what you have here was kinda rough, but there were also some good phrases here and there. It sounds more like the real thing than mine, at least.”
“Huh? Really? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”
I nodded as Akane stared at me, the unease showing on her face.
“There was this part, and this part also really stood out.”
As I pointed out some lines on the page, Akane’s face lit up.
“I thought those parts were pretty good too!”
And the rest of it – a straightforward love song I wouldn’t have been able to write – was nice.
“It’ll sound really good after you get rid of the stiffness, I think.”
At that, Akane’s expression darkened again.
“My vocabulary isn’t that great though.”
“That’s just a matter of reading and writing more.”
“Is that really true though? Would studying like that actually help? Besides, Japanese isn’t a great language to be writing love songs in, is it?”
I blinked rapidly when I heard her answer.
“…Really? Why not?”
I hadn’t written any love songs before, but that assertion didn’t feel right to me. Akane folded her arms as she began her answer.
“For example, saying ‘I love you’ in English is straightforward and easy to understand. But how would you do that in Japanese?”
“Saying aishiteru isn’t good enough?”
“But see, that’s passive, like you’re describing yourself in a ‘state’ of being in love, so it’s not the same impact, y’know? And so it doesn’t feel like you’re romantically pursuing someone.”
“Is that how it works? Well, I mean I do remember hearing before that aisuru wasn’t originally a Japanese term.”
It came from combining the Chinese character for ‘love’, 愛, with the Japanese verb meaning ‘to do’ する.
“I’ve heard that story! It’s why Natsume Souseki says to use the phrase ‘the moon is beautiful tonight’ instead, right?”
“Yeah, apparently that’s just an urban legend.”
“You’re kidding! Give me back my innocence, right now!”
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do even if you complain to me about it…”
“Okay, fine. I just have to go directly to Natsume Souseki! They buried him at the Zoushigaya Cemetery, right?”
He would probably be even more confused. It was a story people just made up about him and all.
“Anyway, people use aishiteru all the time in Japanese songs, right? So what’s the problem?”
I casually turned us back on topic, but Akane furrowed her brows in thought.
“Okay, how about we try it and see how it feels? You ready?”
“‘Ready?’ For what?”
Akane’s eyes suddenly seemed to moisten and soften as she drew closer to me, and after coming close enough for me to feel her breath, she whispered in a soft but passionate voice.
“…Aishiteru.“
I staggered away, backing into and bumping into a wall by the stairwell.
“…So? It didn’t get your heart pounding at all, did it?”
“It did. By a lot, too.”
“It did? Hurray!”
What was she so happy about? Didn’t my reaction mean her point was wrong?
“No, um, I mean, it happened so suddenly, and we’re alone here, so of course it it would get a reaction out of me, in this kind of place.”
For some reason, I started making excuses for my answer. It might have been because I didn’t want her to realize just how fast my heart was pounding from that.
“So it’s a matter of location? Do you wanna try doing it in the classroom then?”
“Absolutely not!”
My classmates already misunderstood the relationships I had with certain girls. I didn’t want to imagine what kinds of rumors would start if they were to also hear Akane saying aishiteru to me.
Akane shrugged and continued talking.
“Okay, fine, so aishiteru is good enough to be ‘I love you’. What about ‘I need you’ then? There’s no equivalent in Japanese, right?”
“‘I need you’… Hmm, watashi wa anata wo hitsuyouto-shiteimasu then?”
“Don’t answer like it’s a test question! I’m serious!”
“Yeah, they don’t have the same ring at all. Oh, and you don’t need to try using it on me, okay? I already agree with you about this one.”
“Hmm, there isn’t a specific word in Japanese for ‘need’ is there?”
It was true that there wasn’t; there was 必要とする and 要する but neither seemed right. Both felt more forced than aisuru and just sound formal and distant more than anything.
“Why not just make up your own word?”
When I suggested it, Akane stared off, murmuring ‘Hm, ‘need’ in Japanese… need-suru…’ in deep thought before finally speaking up.
“How about niidoru?”
“Um, actually, it’s pronounced hari?”
Akane laughed and leaned in close.
“Just think about it! Kimi wo niidoru! Doesn’t that sound like a killer pick-up line?”
“So you’re planning on stabbing someone..?”
“Oh come on, you know what I mean. Can you think of a better way to say it?”
“Why are you even so stuck on the word ‘need’ itself?”
I asked out of curiosity. Akane blinked in surprised before giving an awkward smile out of either unease or embarrassment.
“Well, it’s like… I just kinda like it, y’know? ‘Cos it’s like you’re really expressing yourself. Like, doesn’t your heart kinda tighten up with excitement when someone says they need you?”
“Hm, well, maybe, I guess..?”
I didn’t really understand what she was getting at.
“So what you’re saying is, you’d rather hear ‘I need you’ than ‘I love you’?”
“I definitely want to be told ‘I need you’! So go for it!”
Akane suddenly spread her arms wide open.
“Go for… what?”
“Why do you keep doing that?!” Akane cried, puffing out her cheeks, “Obviously this is the part where you tell me ‘I need you’!”
“What do you mean ‘obviously’? How was I supposed to know?! Why would I even say it?!”
“You know managing the group members’ mental health is the leader’s responsibility right? Of course you do. So I’m telling you to do this for me, because if I get too stressed, you’re out the guitarist and the vocalist!”
“Why are you suddenly threatening me..?”
That’s weird; why was I made the leader when we’d never discussed it? I guess Rinko did introduce me as the concert master that last time. Was it then? And if not, then when did it happen?
“And I mean, have you seen our band? We’ve got an unstable pianist who’s already been broken once before, a delusional drummer that comes from a weird family, and me, a delinquent that skipped school for two years straight and whose social anxiety keeps her from fitting in. In other words, you, Makoto-chan, have a very big responsibility in taking care of us.”
“I wanna quit already…”
“Though, if you ask me, I’d say I’m easily the most manageable of the three, am I right?”
“Okay, so how about using that weird self-confidence of yours to overcome your social anxiety!”
“Oh no, look at the time! If we don’t get to the prep room soon, Unstable-chan and Delusional-chan are gonna worry!”
Akane snuck in a rude quip before running up the stairs. I hurried along behind her.
We arrived to find Komori-sensei, Rinko, and Shizuki peacefully drinking tea around the desk. It seemed they had already finished eating their lunches.
“I noticed the two of you hanging around the stairs earlier, and it looked like Akane was practicing confessing her love to Murase-kun.”
Rinko spoke first, and Shizuki suddenly stood to her feet in response, with her chair rattling noisily behind her.
“Wh-what did you say?! I was just thinking it was a little strange that they were both late but still came in at the same time together!”
“Okay, hold on, Shizu-chan. It was just practice, not the real thing.”
Akane simply laughed and waved Shizuki off.
“I-is that what happened..? That’s a relief.”
Shizuki sat back down. I didn’t understand what made her suddenly flare up or calm down just as fast, but I was starting to see why Akane had called her delusional.
“Well, they do say you have to practice like it’s the real thing so that the real thing becomes like practice.”
Not reading the room at all, Komori-sensei added fuel that relit the fire that was Shizuki.
“So you really were doing it for real?!
“No, not like that, Shizu-chan, because you see, if the real thing becomes like practice, that just means it’s practice,” Akane said.
“Th-that makes sense… So if it’s practice… it’s not the real thing…. Wait, but if the real thing is just like practice, then… that would mean it’s not the real thing! But then what about practice…”
Shizuki seemed to be like a dog running around in a circle, chasing its own tail. Rinko, however, didn’t follow.
“See, I think otherwise. When I passed by, I happened to hear a little bit of what you were saying — ‘I love you’ or maybe ‘I need you’. Care to explain yourself, Murase-kun?”
“Uh, that was, um, just the lyrics…”
As I began to explain, I noticed Akane’s pleading gaze — right, she didn’t want Rinko and Shizuki to hear the lyrics just yet.
“I mean, uh, that’s not what I said? You must have misheard because what I actually said was ‘love is courage‘ and ‘freedom to love‘.”
“It’s even more embarrassing now that you’ve turned it into something poetic, Makoto-chan…”
“Hey! And whose fault is that?! Don’t just go and pull the ladder out from under me!”
I didn’t expect a sudden betrayal from Akane, but it was Rinko who dealt the finishing blow.
“You should have been honest and just admitted the two of you were discussing the differences between English and Japanese lyrics.”
“You already knew?! Why’d you even say you only heard a little bit then?”
“I wanted to hear what kind of excuse you would make, Murase-kun. But I didn’t expect you to come up with a lie that was three times more embarrassing than the truth.”
“Grr..!”
“Hey, what did you mean, ‘freedom to love’? Are you saying you’re okay with having an affair?! If you cheat in anyway, I will absolutely never forgive you, Makoto-san!”
Shizuki chose this moment to make her comeback.
They had me surrounded now, without any allies; it was my phone, abruptly ringing right then, that came to the rescue.
“Oh, my bad… It’s Kakizaki-san, I gotta take this.”
I’d never been grateful to the point of tears over a phone call, and I quickly took the vibrating phone in hand and left for the next room.
“I am sorry to bother you, since you must be in school at this time, correct? I thought it might be lunch break, so I chose to call now.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s lunch break now.”
“I must apologize once again for disturbing your break, but I have some incredible news that I wanted to share with you as soon as possible. You are familiar with Kyouko Kashmir, right?”
“…Yes, of course I am.”
What brought her up all of a sudden?
Kyouko Kashmir is a Japanese musician that became famous. Apparently her family name was hard for Westerners to pronounce, so her fans began calling her Kashmir (she often did Led Zeppelin covers for her concerts) during a tour through Europe. The nickname stuck, and now even Japanese fans called her Kashmir.
“I went to see our president to see what he could do about your need for a recording engineeer and how PNO would need a producer if they were to make a professional debut. He moved fast and called up Kyouko Kashmir, who is a good friend of his. According to him, she was actually quite interested in your group, having seen some of your videos.”
The sudden turn of events left me baffled, and all I could do was hold my phone in silence.
“There was even talk of having her be the producer for your group. Oh, I must apologize; we may have gotten ahead of ourselves without consulting you and your group, Murase-kun, but would you be willing to meet with her at least once?”
I could barely understand the rest of what Kakizaki-san was saying; I doubted I would remember any of what he said later, either.
After the call finally ended, I returned to the prep room and broke the news. Akane was the first to react, bouncing up and down with excitement.
“Are you for real?! Kyouko Kashmir?! I’m a huge fan of hers! You’re sure it’ll be the real thing? Like not a scam or anything?!”
“Yeah, I could hardly believe it when I heard her name, but I don’t see why Kakizaki-san would try and trick us.”
Shizuki was suddenly restless, unable to sit still as she began shifting around in her seat.
“Speaking of Kyouko Kashmir as a producer, would she push us in a more hardcore direction? The audition group she produced last year was focused on trance, so I wonder what she would do with us. Do you think she would have us go into Christian rock? Oh, it’s making me nervous just thinking about it…”
“You need to calm down. We haven’t gotten that far yet. We were just asked to meet her at least once, right?”
Rinko was much calmer compared to the others.
“Is Kyouko Kashmir really that big of a deal? I might have heard her music before, but I don’t actually know about her.”
“Oh you didn’t know who she is, Rin-chan?”
“I’ve only heard rumors about how she’s bisexual and is in an intimate relationship with a female drummer, and how she is also quick to hit on other girls.”
“That isn’t anything we need to know! And aren’t those just baseless rumors?”
“No, you see, according to my sources, she married the drummer overseas, and they even have kids together.”
It was at that moment Komori-sensei, having stayed quiet this whole time, nervously and noisily turned to stare at me as though she desperately needed my help.
“Aaaaaahh, what am I supposed to do here? It’s so big I’m not sure I can keep this to myself..! Murase-kun, what do I do? I can hardly stay quiet, so can I tweet about it?”
“Please don’t.”
*
On the Sunday of that week, we would be introduced to Kyouko Kashmir in a recording studio in Shinjuku.
It came as a complete surprise. It had started when Kakizaki-san told us he had arranged things so we could make a recording and find out what it would sound like.
So when the four of us entered the studio lounge, Kakizaki-san, who had been standing by the door, came over to greet us.
“Thank you again for coming today. Though, um, there has been an unexpected, uh, change in the schedule that –“
As he spoke, a woman that had been sitting on a sofa at the back of the room stood and approached us with long strides. She moved Kakizaki-san out of the way to stand before us.
“I’ll be taking over from here. It’s nice to meet all of you.”
She smiled at each of us in turn: me, then Rinko, then Shizuki and Akane.
I don’t think I had ever met anyone before who came off as strongly as this aggressive beauty did.
It was like encountering a leopard whose mouth was still damp with the blood of its last meal, or like the very moment before an avalanche fell upon an unsuspecting village, or like watching a war machine perfectly optimized for killing go to work — there was a palpable sense of danger that carried a powerful fascination with it. That was the kind of air Kyouko Kashmir’s beauty gave off when we met her for the first time, on that day. She herself had dressed simply, wearing a wool sweater over black jeans, but there was that otherworldly allure about her and a belligerent blaze in her eyes. She was supposedly in her forties, but she looked young enough to pass as a college student.
“I was told your group happened to be recording today, and you know, I just happened to have some free time, so here I am now. I’ll just be observing today, so no need to mind me.”
Uh, hello? It’s not like we can just pretend otherwise just because you said so?
And with that, she began shaking our hands, one by one. It had an effect on all of us: Akane’s face flushed as her excitement peaked, Shizuki’s eyes seemed to melt in awe, and even Rinko seemed nervous for once. As for me, I thought I felt something more than warmth coming off her hand, and that left me feeling numb.
“Ah, how wonderful. It’s just like my own high school days…”
Kyouko Kashmir muttered almost to herself as she watched Rinko, Shizuki, and Akane play from beyond the soundproof glass. I didn’t have a part in the recording myself, so I was now in the control room, talking with her.
“Um, Kashmir-san, you… made your debut in high school, right?”
I asked her something I vaguely remembered hearing; apparently she had been performing on stages from a young age.
“You can just call me Kyouko. Kashmir isn’t even my family name,” she answered with a chuckle, “but to answer your question, I actually made my debut in college. We did make some money back in high school, but as a band, we weren’t all that high of a level.”
“Wait, really? But there are always stories about how you started in high school, like legends, pretty much.”
For example, there had been an extremely-poor quality video recording of a culture festival performance that sold at an auction site for hundreds of thousands of yen. Kyouko-san simply giggled and shook her head.
“The stories of my high school days have been greatly exaggerated. If I’m being honest, I’d say your group here is far beyond mine was. To begin with, we didn’t even last very long.”
“R-really..?”
I couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed when someone as famous as Kyouko Kashmir gave a compliment like that.
“But I’m pretty sure everyone who was in your group back then is now pretty big in the industry, right? It had to have been amazing at the start, so… why did it break up?”
“Over relationship issues between men and women.”
I nearly fell over when it turned out to be a very familiar reason.
“See, our group was just like yours now: three women and one man. It’s actually the worst gender ratio a band can have, and for us, when the storm called love blew in, we scattered in the wind. It’s why I couldn’t help but feel a nostalgic aching when I saw your group.”
“Um, right…”
“And you, young man. You look a lot like the man I fell in love with back then. Looking at you reminds me of that sweet, irreplaceable pain I felt back then.”
My chest tightened up when she directed those words at me.
“Which is why if I’m going to produce you, I will forbid any romantic relationships within the band. I will not allow a band I’ve put my heart and soul into developing to break apart for such a reason. That being said though…”
Kyouko-san suddenly turned to give an intense stare at Akane, who was now strumming her PRS Custom 24 from beyond the thick glass.
“Trying to stop teenagers from falling in love is as pointless as trying to stop the sun from shining. Besides, it’s what makes you kids so charming and lovely in the first place.”
“That’s, um, well, y’know… That part you… probably don’t have to worry about…”
I forced myself to give a wry smile and stop talking when I remembered there were more important things to ask about than to focus on talk about a relationship ban that I couldn’t tell was serious or not in the first place.
“The thing about having you produce for our group… Was that true?”
I asked in a whisper so that the engineer and Kakizaki-san, both in the control room with us, wouldn’t overhear.
“I’ve got the motivation to do it,” Kyouko-san answered, “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have come all the way out here just to meet all of you. I haven’t decided yet though. And what about you? Do you want me to produce for your group?”
When she threw the question head-on at me, I found myself at a loss for words.
“Um… I’m not sure how to say this, but to be honest, I don’t even know what it means for someone to produce for us.”
I realized after I’d said it how pathetic it must have sounded; I should have just not said anything instead. However, Kyouko-san just smiled and nodded.
“You don’t, huh. Makes sense. I was like that, too, back when I was new to the whole industry. A lot of different people produced for me over the years, but I didn’t understand a thing about what they did. It wasn’t until I started doing it myself that I understood what it was all about. Basically, producing isn’t anything complicated, it’s just the collective grouping of all the side work – even the tasks that don’t have specific names – that goes into creating the art.”
I stared at Kyouko-san’s mouth. It didn’t seem like she was joking.
“All… of the side work?”
“Yep. And I mean everything that isn’t what the artists and engineers handle of course. So it’s pretty much all the annoying chores and side jobs you don’t want to do because you just want to do the music part.”
A shiver ran down my spine after hearing her words – words that made it sound like she had seen right through me. She wore an alluring smile, looking like it was no challenge for her to casually stick her hand into someone’s heart to pluck out whatever she wanted without ever leaving traces of having done so.
“And of course, that also means I’ll handle all the risks and responsibilities that might come up. So how about it?”
Despite showing that kind of generosity — no, because she showed that kind of generosity, I hesitated and shrunk back.
“It’s all… This was all just too sudden, I think. I haven’t really had a chance to think about any of it.”
“You don’t need to think too hard about it,” Kyouko-san teased, playfully poking at my shoulder, “but I do understand how you might be feeling.”
I wondered if my answer disappointed her.
No, don’t think about that; if I was going to regret it like this, then I should have just confidently answered, ‘Yes, please produce us’ right then and there. But right now, it was too late to be reconsidering like that.
The engineer suddenly called out to me.
“Excuse me, Murase-san? Could I have you confirm some parts of the chorus recording?”
At the same time, it seemed Akane had finished recording her guitar part, and now she was coming to the control room.
“Well if you’ll excuse me, I would like to talk with another of your group.”
Kyouko-san stood as she said so. As she left, it felt as though a mass of balled heat had disappeared and left me with an indescribable sense of helplessness. For a moment it felt like… I had been discarded.
Was this some kind of interview of each member?
Despite being in the same building, for the purposes of recording, each member had their own space; Rinko was practicing the piano in a separate room by herself while Shizuki would be changing places with Akane and taking the recording booth. I wondered if the reason why Kyouko-san had come today was so she could talk to each of us alone.
And if so, what she got out of interviewing me was…
Kyouko-san was moving towards the door to the lobby with Akane when she suddenly turned.
“Oh, right, there’s one other thing I forgot to mention. Remember what I said about my band breaking up?”
I had been moving toward the sound engineer but stopped when Kyouko-san called out to me. She had a satisfied smile on her face.
“I lied: it wasn’t over relationship issues. It was something more complicated but positive. So no need to worry; you’re free to fall in love.”
Kyouko-san put her arms around Akane, whose eyes were darting back and forth between us, before leaving through the door.
Ugh, she just kept yanking me around.
It seemed my guess might have been right because Kyouko-san later took Rinko then Shizuki into the break room to talk alone. As for me, though I didn’t need to play anything for it, it was still up to me to direct the recording; I couldn’t just leave the recording engineer on his own just to go over with the others what we’d all talked about with Kyouko-san.
But the biggest thing to happen came after we finished recording. Kyouko-san had just listened to the rough mix, nodding in satisfaction before speaking.
“This is very good. This’ll be it for the day, right? I think we’ve still got some time, so while I’ve got you all here, could you indulge in just one more little selfish request of mine?”
“And what could that be?” Kakizaki-san asked with a bitter smile on his face.
“I’d like to hear this song played by the complete ensemble together. However…”
She fixed a meaningful look at me.
“The bass will be played by me.”
Despite making her request in a subdued tone, it felt like there was a strange force behind her words that kept us from refusing.
And it wasn’t just me; the staff hadn’t questioned it and immediately got to work setting up the room, since the recording studio actually was large enough to have four people play together. Akane, Rinko, and Shizuki each gave me an apologetic look, but I could see in their eyes they were more than excited to get this chance to have a session together with Kyouko-san.
So just like that, I would be forced to watch helplessly as a paradise unfolded beyond my reach, behind thick, soundproofed glass.
It was an unreleased song, so today should have been Kyouko-san’s first time hearing it, and yet she played the bass more than perfectly.
I once read in a book that the most important part to playing the bass is control.
Only now did I truly understood what that had meant. It felt like the fingers of Kyouko Kashmir were not only weaving that cold, hard beat but also injecting it directly into our bodies, waking the heat that rested within. It only took a single break or a syncopation for her to crack, rattle, and break into our shell, pulling wide open the doors to the heart for her to peek into.
It continued like this — her bass completely dominating us all — for four minutes and twenty-six seconds and then even longer until the lingering echoes finally quieted; it felt like she had even controlled our breathing that entire time. It was only after she unslung my Precision Bass from her shoulders and placed it back on its stand that I was able to sit back down. No, rather, I hadn’t even realized I had been standing until then.
I watched as Kyouko-san took each girl in her embrace; their faces looked flushed in a pleasant fatigue, and their eyes sensually glittered from the moisture that had built up.
Why am I even here? I found myself wondering as a chill washed over me.
Why am I abandoned here, on this side of the glass?
Why am I not on there in that heat, in that light?
Rinko, then Shizuki, and finally Akane came through the door, returning to the control room. Kyouko-san was the last one back.
“I recorded that one just in case, but is there anything you would like me to do with it?”
The recording engineer looked between me and Kyouko-san.
“Ooh, I want a copy! I’m gonna wanna listen to it again and again!”
Akane answered with enthusiasm.
“It’s a prize of a recording that will not ever go public… It would be a real treasure to have!”
Kakizaki-san sounded just as excited.
My inner voice was screaming in anguish; it was a conflict over the desire to hear it again against the desire to not be reminded of my absence.
Kyouko used a towel to wipe the sweat from her forehead before looking over at us.
“Well that felt good. And it’s like I always felt: there are just some things you can only figure out by meeting and playing with people, and it seems coming here in person today had been the right call. Now, more than ever, I’m very interested in producing for your group.”
A tingling sensation prickled across my skin, as though it were feeling a sudden rise of the temperature in the room. At the same time, I felt a cold ball in the pit of my stomach, as though there was something were jabbing at me from inside.
Rinko and Shizuki exchanged confused glances. Akane stepped closer to Kyouko-san, looking like she had something to say, but Kyouko-san raised a hand to stop her.
“And before we go on, I should make one thing clear, right here: I do not want your band as it is now. And I think you might already know why.”
Kyouko-san’s eyes scanned each of the girls’ faces before focusing on me.
“It’s you, young man. You’re just at a completely different level. If I’m to be the producer, you’re going to have to leave the band.”
She set a business card on the table.
“Feel free to contact me once you’ve come to a decision.”
And then she left the room.
Headcanon TL 
Leave a comment