Thank you everyone for your hard work this week.
We are currently on a Shinkansen train heading to Nagoya, where the live house tour is about to begin.

The Shinkansen is great.
I just love fast travel (?), and I love cars, trains, planes, and bullet trains.
On my days off, I get on and off trains aimlessly. I want to ride the train, but I also feel like it's too much of a hassle to decide where to go. So I love tours where I can move around to meet everyone.

So why do I love traveling so much? Of course, it's because I get excited about the development of civilization, but when I listen to music while watching the scenery go by, strangely enough, the words come to me more easily than usual.
Whenever I'm traveling, I often listen to a playlist of Japanese music whose lyrics I like, and a playlist of Western music with gradations in BPM and beat like a DJ.

Also, isn't my hobby just thinking?
That also makes a lot of progress.
So right now, I'm thinking while watching the scenery go by.


Recently I've been playing at live houses with Eastern Youth and Sayonara Poetry, and I'm also on this live house tour, so I've been thinking a lot about live houses.
It really is a unique and special place.

I think the first time I went to a live house was when I was in high school to see a concert by a senior.
At that time, the floor was filled with a mixed smell of smoke and tobacco, and I liked the feeling that it was a place that was not connected to my daily life.
Of course, when I get home I spray deodorant on my uniform and bag,
When I opened my bag the next day at school, it still smelled like yesterday, and I got nervous, as if I had brought something to school that I shouldn't have.
How should I put it? It's like a comforting feeling knowing that there is a secret me out there that everyone knows.


The day I skipped school and asked my grandma to call me without telling my mom.
There was a concert I really wanted to go to that night, so I went to the live house and ended up meeting a friend from school.
I went to hear a new song from my favorite band, but on that very day I collapsed from anemia and ended up listening to the music leaking out from the lobby. With my eyes spinning, I thought to myself, "It must be because I skipped school."
At the same time, I thought, "If I hadn't skipped school, I wouldn't have been able to accept this! I'm glad I did! Everything worked out!"

It's okay to do bad things like this every once in a while.
Because if you're working hard, working hard, working hard every day and something bad suddenly hits you, you can't stand it. But if you can think, "Oh, it can't be helped," and realize it's because you slacked off a little that time, you can actually think, "Oh well, it can't be helped."


In that way, when it comes to memories of live houses, I seem to remember the slightly dramatic days, for better or worse, better than the wonderful days that made me think, "I never want to forget this day!"
(I think it's probably because there were so many wonderful days that they kept getting overwritten.)


Another thing I remember is a concert I went to when I was a student after being invited by a friend.
I had only been to a small live house in town and a Guns concert at the Tokyo Dome, so I didn't know much about solo concerts. It was my first time to go to a concert where the whole floor was equally passionate and energetic.

It was there that I first learned that when you are in an environment of intense unity, you are hit by an equally intense sense of loneliness with the same frequency as you blink.
Because they're such wonderful artists, they say, "This is your place," but I feel like it's not even a "you," or even a "we."
I felt like there was something strange about me not being able to get into it, so I ran to the bathroom and listened to Sakanaction and danced in the stall, almost crying.

When you're suddenly hit by a feeling of loneliness or alienation, it's a good idea to just imagine yourself as the main character in a movie and turn it into entertainment.
In my favorite movies, the correct sequence is to run into the bathroom and then dance alone to blasting music coming from headphones, so this was totally within plan.

It was Club Citta, so the sheer number of empty toilet cubicles lined up felt like a very liminal sukima.
Even so, on the way home I'd say something like, "It was fun, please invite me again."


So, I guess it would be great if such dramas were quietly unfolding at our live shows, and someone decades from now would remember that 10-second event.

I'm just there, playing music and creating an excuse for people to come together.
I feel like there are more noble reasons to perform at a live house, but right now I like this the best. There's something romantic about people who happen to be born in the same era going to the same place at the same time to listen to the same song.
I'll let you know if I change my mind again.


So to be honest, if you ask me if live houses have always been a comfortable place for me, I would say no. I like it now better.
But it's certainly a place that stirs up a lot of emotions, and even though I don't know what I want, I find myself opening heavy doors all by myself again and again.
The bright light filtering in between people, the low kick reverberating in the toilet, the lyrics overlaid with feedback... My heart remembers them all before my brain can even recall the memories, and I get more excited than usual, thinking "I know this feeling!"
That's really strange.


I'm about to arrive at Nagoya, so I'll stop thinking about it.
I'm looking forward to the live house tour.

See you next time.


Postscript: We are currently on our way to Kyoto with our equipment truck.
After the Nagoya concert, I realized that I like live houses much more now. (Peace)


Ocean (Updated 2025.03.21)