Mahne Frame
Born in the Australian Bush a couple hundred kilometres from Sydney, Frame moved to Tokyo right before the lockdown and was stuck there for four years during the Corona Disaster, in this time he had the chance to collaborate with Japanese rapper Tohji. He has since moved back to his hometown in the scenic Blue Mountains of Australia.

Upon listening to Mahne Frame’s lead track, ‘WALK LIKE’, the pleasant intoxication of the sound seems reminiscent of Conan Moccasin and Mac DeMarco, but there’s also a somewhat harebrained energy that feels less like resignation and more like a breakthrough towards something new.

What did he think about the difference between the city of Japan and the city where he was born and surrounded by the great outdoors, and how did he complete the EP? I decided to interview him.

Through releasing a collaboration with Tohji, ‘SOMETIMES I TRY NOT TO CARE’ and Aya Gloomy on his own label 21 N FUN, it gives the impression the artist has quite a diverse and unrestricted creativity. When we tried to interview Mahne Frame by email, his answers seemed playful and like he was kidding around, but at the same time, he was actually serious. So, what do you think?

“I’m stuck with just sitting down and seeing what happens.”

ーー First of all, please introduce yourself. Can you tell us about your musical roots and how you got started? Can you tell us about your influences and scenes, if any?

Mahne Frame: Hi my actual name is Mahne Frame, pronounced Mah-Nay Frame. My mum was pretty young when she had me and took me to folk festivals. I grew up in the bush and played a lot of drums. I really hope I get to play in Finland one day so I can dedicate the set to my elderly Finnish neighbors Pentti and Airi who never once complained. Max Rockatansky inspired me to make my own music but lately, I’ve been more inspired by Mark Valencia and Charles Dowding. 

ーー The downer, intoxicating songs that remind me of Mac DeMarco and Conan Moccasin are very appealing. What roots led you to create these songs?

Frame: I’ve never heard of those artists, I’ll check them out. I really wish I could rip off other artists more but I don’t have enough attention span to follow through. So I’m stuck with just sitting down and seeing what happens. When I’m rich, I’ll pay them to write my songs. I genuinely think my music is lacking dishonesty at the moment.

ーー You run your own label, 21 N FUN, that focuses on Japanese sonic and aesthetical ideas. Where did this inspiration come from? What aspects of Japanese culture are you inspired by?

Frame: 21 N FUN is just a general creative outlet. So far, it has concentrated on graphic design, fashion and video production and also functioned as a record label. One of the artists that has been using it as a label is Aya Gloomy who happens to be Japanese. Other than that we don’t have a particular focus on Japanese sonic and aesthetical ideas. Sonically we focus on honesty, aesthetically, we are heavily influenced by the sense of community in football.

ーーHow long did you live in Japan? Please tell us about any inspiring moments of your time in Japan, impressions of the city, or memorable events.

Frame: I was there for 4 years, delivered 1000 Uber eats, and got married. There are so many good vegetables in Japan that I can’t find in Australia. I found some gaps in the vegetable market here that I want to exploit.

ーーDid your collaboration on SOMETIMES I TRY NOT TO CARE (feat. Tohji) in 2020 give you a sense of connection with the Japanese scene?

Frame: I really like Tohji’s darker music like Propella, Oreo and an older track called Snowboarding. After I created SOMETIMES I TRY NOT TO CARE it really needed that kinda energy so I dug around for a link. At the time my good friend from Tokyo, Nuga, was in London and I saw that Tohji followed him so I reached out to see if they actually knew each other. Nuga messaged me back seconds later, shocked because they had just met at that moment and were sitting next to each other at a restaurant in London. So I think we all felt like it was meant to be and Tohji let me sample the vocals from Snowboarding.

ーーWhat changes have you seen in your own songwriting since returning to Australia after your time in Japan?

Frame: I’m not really conscious of Japan vs Australia. I happened to be in Japan when I started this project, but at the end of the day, I’m Australian. I didn’t have any of my guitars in Japan so naturally, I’ve started playing them, and now they are back in front of me. 

ーーIn particular, the music video ‘WALK LIKE’ was filmed against the backdrop of the vast Australian landscape, but it felt like the sound of a Japanese six-mat room, which was an interesting twist for me personally. Where did you get this idea from?

Frame: WALK LIKE was shot around my hometown where I grew up and am living at the moment. I recorded it here too so it should sound more like a brick house in the bush. But maybe I’m stuck in the past.

ーーCan you tell us more about your current life in Katoomba? What changes have you felt after your time in Tokyo? And how do you feel about the geographical Pacific crossing that is happening now that you have signed to a Berlin label?

Frame: I grow a lot of vegetables and work on this project. I wish I had more time to grow vegetables but I’m signed for 2 albums and so I better get that done. It feels like it’s now or never. I’m getting elderly and all I have are EP’s.

ーー Do you have a message for Japanese music listeners and fans?

Frame: Grow something you can eat, even if it’s small. Most of you in Tokyo have a tiny balcony but indoors works too. Japanese negi is an easy place to start. Use organic methods and if you want to level up try a Bokashi compost for working towards serious nutritional density. I really regret not doing that while I was living in Tokyo.

Photography Zac Bayly
Translation Hiroyoshi Tomite
Special Thanks Monkeytown Records

The post “I genuinely think my music is lacking dishonesty at the moment.”The elusive seriousness of Mahne Frame appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

He talked about an album Jikan (時間, literally meaning time), which was released in 2021 after leaving avex, as well as about Tamago, which was released just one year after the release of Jikan. We talked for a total of two hours at a kissaten, Japanese-style coffee shop, in Sangenjaya, where time has seeped into the walls and chairs, sometimes eating Shogayaki (Japanese ginger pork) set meals, smoking cigarettes, and drinking cream sodas.

Despite his words that he did not want this piece to sound typically like “music,” Jiro Yanase spoke to us about the ideal form of sound and words as lyrics.

Jiro Yanase
Singer-songwriter from Chofu City, Tokyo. Vocal of the rock band
betcover!!
https://linktr.ee/betcover

The ethereal sound world is created by sound as a “band.”

–Could you briefly outline your activities since you formed a band you are leading now?

Jiro Yanase (Yanase): I quit avex in January 2021. I invited Yuransen to do a live show and to play the songs included in Jikan, which was when I started playing with current backup band members. I had been on a label since 2016, and they were paying me for everything, but I didn’t own the copyrights of my works, so I thought it would be great to make the album with my own money so that I could be “responsible” for my own work. Also, I had some money saved up then, so I had the engineer I had been working with since the song “Seventeen” record the album Jikan at HMC Studios.

–What is the most significant change you have experienced since you left “avex”?

Yanase: We have become more of a “band,” and I feel more like “I am the boss.” I used to think about everything from songwriting to the sound arrangement, but now I often let the band members play independently. I can’t just tell Riki (Hidaka), “Do this” (laughs). So I usually tell him, “Here are the chords,” and let him swim free in it. As long as a theme is shared within a band and everyone’s sense of rhythm matches the theme, there is no problem.

–Did you have any changes in your own creative mindset?

Yanase: No, that hasn’t changed at all. There has not been a significant change in my feelings since I was working on “異星人.” In the first place, I have always thought it was okay for the music itself not to have a verse, bridge, and chorus. I use these sounds because I want to express myself in this way. My mindset is like, “I want to use this sound because I want to express something in this way.” So what I want to do has been consistent and has not changed.

–However, what you really want to do have become more nuanced and clear, and you have become able to express it more straightforwardly, right?

Yanase: Yes, you are right. When I was in avex, I was a bit more major-oriented. I was like, “Now that I’m on a major label, I want my songs to sell. (Laughs.)” I wanted songs that would sell. But then I found out that I could not intentionally create a kind of music that would sell well at that point in my career. I realized that I didn’t have that kind of talent. So, I made Jikan in a way that I could maximize what I could do at the time.

–In that sense, the two years since the release of the album Jikan may have been a period for building up the band’s sound with the current members, right?

Yanase: That’s right. It was around that time that the members became the current lineup. Basically, we got together in a studio and recorded all the sounds at once. We overdubbed vocals, and for some songs, we broke down all the drum parts and recorded the sounds of these, respectively. The whole recording process took about ten days, and it was all about experimentation.

Also, I was trying to make the whole album as one work of art. I had an overall concept in my older works, but each song was more independent. But in this work, the themes and images I wanted to create grew, and the concept itself determined the whole. So in that sense, I think the current work is much catchier and poppier than the old ones.

–Maybe you are right from a certain point of view. 

Yanase: I’ve become more honest than before. You have interviewed me many times, but I think I was more aggressive when we first met. But I don’t care about putting on a front anymore. Now I say “I’m sorry” every day. So I think that mentality has come to the forefront this time.

Creating a “soundtrack for an imaginary drama”; What distinguishes Tamago from previous productions

–What kind of blueprint did you have in mind when you were making this album?

Yanase: I always wanted to make “accompanying music.”

–Accompanying music?

Yanase: I wanted to make a “soundtrack for an imaginary drama,” in which our music is not the main focus but rather an adjunct to some story. That’s why this album doesn’t have a substantial impact. But this lack of impact was essential to me this time.

–Indeed, especially with this album, I felt like I was here and actually listening to Tamago but not hearing it. There is a sense of floating, of mixing the past and the future, of not being bound by time. I wanted to know why.

Yanase: For some reason, Jikan was well received overseas as well. With that album, I think I could express what I wanted to do at that time. But this time, I wanted to create something that was not catchy. I wanted to create more space and gaps in the sound.

— Why was that?

Yanase: I wanted to convey a “worldview” of the work, or rather, scenes my works depict more clearly. What I wanted to create was not a rock opera but rather band music. I wanted to make something like “accompanying music,” which cannot really be “accompanying music” itself. 

–Something like Vincent Gallo’s albumWhen for example?

Yanase: Yeah, kind of. It’s pretty much that type of music. Or I referenced the ambient albums of bands like Dirty Three, which includes Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds member Warren Ellis. Their music brings to mind the scene the piece is trying to depict. Riki taught me some of this kind of music. Riki taught me a lot about this type of music back then.

–What else did he teach you?

Yanase: I also learned John Cage’s ambient music and the music of Japanese singer Kan Mikami. His lyrics were terrific.

–So you wanted to create a work that evoked the scenery of a story, right?

Yanase: Yes, I had told the people at HMC Studio, whom I had trusted since my days at avex, that I wanted to make accompanying music, but they said, “You’re not ready for it yet.” I was told that I should work on that kind of music only after I had adequately created a soundtrack-kind of music myself and people had well received it, because that is, so to speak, to make “the kind of music that doesn’t sell.” After that, I was able to realize what I really wanted to make with the album Jikan. So this time, the timing finally came, and I decided to do what I wanted.

The worldview of sound that I have always wanted to create has been influenced by things other than music, such as my love of the “Noda Map” stage show and the “Inugami Clan” series, but I couldn’t help feeling that the music with a “Showa-ish” feel was performed by those who were not of the Showa generation. However, I thought that the music on this album sounded like music from the year 2022. It’s kind of mysterious.

Well, sometimes I do think that I like the music of that time, but it’s not that I admire it and want to do it squarely. I believe that is what distinguishes me from those of nostalgia. When I look at someone trying to reproduce the mood of the Showa period as it was and to be a person of that period, I think of this someone’s work as “nostalgia.” This may not be the right way to put it, but I’d rather “use” or “utilize” the sounds of that era.

–If one aims to reproduce an image that already exists, as you say, the one will end up being nostalgic. But you originally had a vision and a worldview that you wanted to achieve, and you cite it as an element to realize that vision, right?

Yanase: Yes. I choose something just because it fits what I want to create. I also mix in a lot of music from various eras. To be honest, I usually have multiple sources of inspiration for every song. I put at least three homages for each piece. And they are from different eras and countries.

–That’s interesting.

Yanase: I don’t enjoy old music or movies as something “old.” And that’s true for everyone, regardless of age or anything else. When you see a samurai drama for the first time, it’s fresh for everyone. That’s something like this.

I was able to bring out my current mode, so I am most satisfied with each song, and this is probably the most serious work I have ever done. Jikan was more spontaneous in a good way. There had always been a bit of a “comedic element” to my previous works, but that’s not the case with this one.

–I thought “Tako-to-ika-no-samba(タコとイカのサンバmeaning octopus and squid’s samba)” was a great song with such a great title.

Yanase: Well, I actually made that one at the saddest time of my life. So the most emotional one. Also, I wrote that song at the end. I was like, “Wow, it makes me cry. This is it!” That’s what it was like.

–The reference songs on the Spotify playlist were of various genres. Among them, the most impressive was L’arc~en~Ciel’s “Kasou (花葬literally meaning Flower Burial).”

Yanase: Yeah. As for “Barabara(ばらばら),” I didn’t think too much about the lyrics in the first place. It was initially a very slow song, but when I was thinking about the arrangement, I happened to hear L’arc~en~Ciel. The words “scattered in pieces (ばらばらにちらばる)” in the lyrics of “Kasou” were linked to the lyrics I had already written for the song “Barabara,” so I decided to use a similar tempo to that of “Kasou.”

–Oh, so you were influenced by the tempo of that song. What kind of texture did you aim to create throughout the album?

Yanase: This is connected to the theme I have been talking about, but I want to create something that is not affected by the times, something that is not really related to the times. What I want to express is the smell of embarrassment and humanity. Ultimately, I want to tell a story about people’s “emotions” and “immorality”. A story that anyone might have experienced. I want to tell a story that might make people say, “This kind of thing happens, doesn’t it?”

–You wanted to depict human beings themselves, right?

Yanase: That’s right. To create something that has “universality,” you have to create something that has “timelessness.” But when I focus on what I want to express in my music, it no longer matters what period it is. I am not that heavy. I am light. I can’t say anything meaningful, and I’m not great enough to speak for anything. Maybe I can do that when I’m in my 60s or something. That’s why I don’t make myself the main subject of the lyrics but rather sing it as a story.

I don’t like metronomes because I think, “Why do you have to make an axis for playing music? “

–Regarding the sound image, that album has a mysterious sound with a sense of distance, as if it is heard from somewhere far away, doesn’t it?

Yanase: Yes. I used ambient, classical, and jazz recordings as references. Classical and jazz recordings are done with a single microphone. Drums are especially important. Typically, we would use one microphone for each percussion. But for this album, I basically used only one microphone, and only supplemental recordings were made for the parts that were not enough. So most of the sound was recorded from outside of the band’s performance.

Some bands like 54-71 in and around the 2000s used this kind of recording style. If you listen to their sound sources carefully, they seem not too heavy. And I used the sound texture of such bands as a reference.

–Why did you aim for such a sound image?

Yanase: Nowadays, drums have become less and less meaningful because of the evolution of computing technology in music composition. Nevertheless, people practice with a metronome, focusing on that “clicking sound.” If so, I wonder if it is worth it for humans to play drums with their hands.

By not using a metronome, the sound becomes much less modern and more fluctuated. Unfortunately, we are not very good at keeping tempo, so sometimes our performance rushes and sometimes gets slower (laughs). Some people might find that uncomfortable, but I think the live recording piece sounds better for those who don’t.

–So you want people to listen to that fluctuation, right?

Yanase: Well, I hate metronomes so much. I’m like, “Why do you have to make an axis for playing music?” It’s a real mystery. I instead want to rush and play like a rolling stone.

–(laughs).

Yanase: Isn’t it really uncomfortable to play music based on a foundation that says, “This is how it’s supposed to be played.” That’s because it’s easier to mix or modify the recorded sounds later on. But I rather think, “That’s not music at all!”

–So you mean you only want to play what makes sense for you to play, right? Is it related to the fact that you originally played classical music in a brass band as a student?

Yanase: That may have something to do with it. In classical music, there are concepts like andante and crescendo. They exist as a natural part of the musical process. So when our performance rushes, it is because we want to rush.

–So you think this was the normal and original way of music in the first place, right?

Yanase: Yes, I do. But lately, people have come to disregard the emotional part of the music. I don’t want to say, “This part of the sound of the bass drum is out of rhythm, so let’s fix it a little. If you are a terrible singer, you should practice singing to get better instead of fixing the pitch in post-production, and if you are a drummer, you should just practice drumming.

–Okay, so that’s why you insisted on a live recording.

Yanase: Yes. And then there was simply no time (laughs). So it was a live-recording piece born out of limitations.

–What was the reason for that?

Yanase: I really wanted to record at a studio in Ginza that is used by Happy End, Ryuichi Sakamoto, and Akiko Yano. I rented that studio for only two days. I didn’t have a manager and was wholly self-produced, so I could record ten songs in two days. If I were in an environment where I could do anything, maybe I would try. But as a result, we didn’t lose sight of what we were really trying to do. We did the best we could with what we had.

This time, we rehearsed the demos many times, made arrangements through live performances over a year, and then recorded them. We played the same way in a live performance. But if we recorded it as usual, it would end up sounding like a powerhouse live album recorded in front of the audience unless we mixed it. That is why we did not increase the sound pressure and intentionally made the sound less powerful.

–Can you say more about making the sound less powerful? 

Yanase: Yes. We didn’t do any mastering this time. Usually, after mixing, the sound pressure is increased in the mastering process. Increasing the sound pressure means compressing the sound. It’s like flattening out the protruding parts of a sound. So it is a process of eliminating fluctuations in the orchestration and making it easier to hear. Usually, increasing the sound pressure makes the sound louder and cooler. But if you do that, you kind of kill the richness that classical and old-time music originally had.

–I see.

Yanase: This time, I didn’t change the sound pressure. I only managed to increase the sound volume. So each song is in the same state as just after mixing.

–Listening to the album, I felt the fluctuation of the time axis and the floating feeling that made me think I could go anywhere, possibly due to how the sound and atmosphere were recorded together.

Yanase: Maybe you are right because not so many people are consciously making this kind of sound in band music now.

What Ko Machida taught me about words

–I’ve seen that the fans of betcover!! from overseas are talking about your songs enthusiastically on YouTube. Maybe that’s because we can now listen to various foreign sounds. I’m pretty sure the premise on which this is happening is that everyone now has easy access to Fishmans’ music. What do you think?

Yanase: I don’t know. It’s like, “Yay! I’m so happy.” But I love Japan, so I’m happy my music is conveyed as a culture.

–I wonder if people overseas are listening to your music because it has some kind of Japanese-ness. What exactly do you like about Japanese culture?

Yanase: The language. I’m not very good at talking because my words are light. So I can’t really talk about myself. That’s why I write songs, though. But when it comes to words and poems, ……well, yeah, they are important.

Also, it’s great that you can use ambiguous expressions. Especially in terms of lyrics, the subject and predicate are not clear. Japanese can be conveyed even if the order of the words is changed to some extent, and there are various ways of arranging words. Depending on the combination of words, the interpretation can be totally different. Also, it is incredible that there are so many words that indicate “You.” In English, there is only “You,” but in Japanese, there are “Kimi, Anata, Ware, Temee, and Kisama.” You can choose anything, and everything has a background, right?

–Yeah, you’re right.

Yanase: That’s why I reorder all the lyrics afterward, hoping the message will be conveyed even if there is such a disconnection.

— Why do you intentionally vague the nuance so that it’s not too obvious?

Yanase: Because I don’t want people to understand everything. In this day and age, everything is very clear. Like good image quality, high pixel count, or clear sound. Like good image quality, high pixel count, or clear sound. But if we wonder whether what is not clear is nostalgia, it may not really be so. That might be similar to saying that this kissaten is less clear than the nationwide coffee shop chain Doutor, but it is not nostalgia.

When I had a conversation with Mr. Kou Machida, he taught me about language. He said, “When we were young and making music, we couldn’t see 10 meters ahead. We could do anything because it was pitch black. Now we can’t do that because we can see everything.” When I was in middle school, we already had smartphones. So I’m not too fond of things that are too convenient or too organized. I think things that are not organized or vague sound fresh.

–Do you think the reason for the response from overseas listeners after Jikan is because there is some kind of Japanese-ness in that nebulous image?

Yanase: Who knows? I wonder how the Japanese sound is perceived by people overseas. But on the other hand, we also understand the nuances of foreign songs, don’t we? I think I do. I like Brazilian music, such as Gal Costa. Of course, it’s not in Japanese, but I can understand the soul of their music. It can be conveyed just by the way it sounds. I like that kind of music, and I hope my music is like that.

Right now, after Japan, I have the most listeners in South America for some reason. I would also like to participate in events overseas eventually. I hope to be invited and perform it in places that defy expectations.

Photography Mayumi Hosokura
Translation Shinichiro Sato

The post The Times Don’t Matter; betcover!! Talks About Fluctuations, Human Immorality, and Soundtrack-like Music. appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

The DJ mix—which Cruz says he curated by harnessing the power of cosmology in art and music and based on his roots, that is, the influence of dance music from Latin America—is an impressive compilation of 26 tracks. It’s a masterful work encompassing bass music, techno, and even analog and glitchy soundscapes. What kind of world did he want to build through the album? We got to the bottom of Cruz’s real intention behind fabric presents Nicola Cruz, his first fabric mix. 

Nicola Cruz
Nicola Cruz is a DJ and producer currently based in Ecuador. He started his career as a percussionist and now explores electronic music and South American rituals and music. After contributing to different compilation albums, Cruz released his first album, Prender el Alma, in 2015. Since then, he has made “Andes step” music: a blend of South American genres connected by the Andes, ranging from folklore, roots music, cumbia, Afro-Latin music, and contemporary electronic music. He was invited to MUTEK in 2018 and played at Fuji Rock in the same year. Cruz released Siku in 2019. He made his first fabric presents mix in 2022.

Electronic music itself is a medium for experimentation

—Could you tell us about your fabric presents mix? 

Nicola Cruz: The mix mainly focuses on electronic dance music, gathering influences from my recent DJ sets and experimenting with new local scenes. I partially created this mix on the road, so the responses I got at my gigs gave me some lead on where to take the mix next. It’s a compilation made from the inspiration I got on tour.

—Surprisingly, this is the first time you’ve released a DJ mix album. What’s the difference between creating your own music and a mix?

Cruz: They’re two completely different things; creating my music means sound designing and going deep into personal and specific feelings and ideas. Creating a DJ mix requires taking ideas and experience from my DJ side, which involves storytelling and digging records. 

—How do you fuse underground electronic music with your upbringing in Ecuador?

Cruz: I always try to participate in and host events in Quito, Ecuador’s capital, whenever I return. My time in Ecuador is intermittent, so whenever I have the chance, I invite friends to play. 

—What is the most important thing in terms of combining analog instruments with digital beats?

Cruz: Leaving space. Music is also about the silence and the space between each note; that dictates rhythm, after all.

—You’ve collaborated with many local artists through your mixes. Could you share some of the songs that especially stood out to you?

Cruz: Regarding “Contato,” the fifth song: I had been following (former pianist and cellist) Marcela Dias’ work on a previous release she had on Fixed Rhythms. I reached out with some sketches I had for this fabric record. I really like her voice when she’s in “electro” mode.

“Reer,” the 18th song: I’ve also been following the work of Varuna, a collective based in Basel, Switzerland, closely. They’re masters at creating atmospheres and textures with a lot of gravity. We discussed which song to use and decided on using this one.

“Glue,” the 20th song: I’ve been playing with Machina for quite some time, and I really admire her work. It was a must to ask Machina for a piece for the album.

—One of the characteristics of your music is your ability to add folkloric, tribal beats and instrumentals onto electronic music. What’s behind that?

Cruz: It’s nice if it’s well done. Electronic music is all about experimenting and pushing it further, so approaching the recording of conventional instruments in an experimental way can lead to very interesting discoveries.

—Is there anyone that’s caught your attention in the contemporary music scene?

Cruz: I really like what Om Unit from Bristol and Nous’klaer Audio label from the Netherlands are doing nowadays. I’m going back to Brazil next year, so I’m happy to get into that scene and explore it again!

—What do you think about the Japanese electronic music scene? Do you have any favorite artists or labels in Japan?

Cruz: It’s a very solid scene. DJs and those working at venues have a professional attitude and know what they are about. There are many music venues with great sound systems, and on top of that, audio engineers start calibrating and checking sounds days before a gig. I respect that. You don’t always see that anywhere else.

Direction Kana Miyazawa
Cooperation Studio De Meyer　

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For the 2022A/W season, inspired by German film director Werner Herzog’s 1979 film Woyzeck, he found Czech wool materials from a textile mill in the Silesia region. That led him to get heavy cotton fabric Moleskin or vintage blankets used in the Austrian Army or correctional facilities in Germany.

For years, Frank has been one of the leading designers with detailed attention to handcrafted manufacturing processes and his extraordinary obsession with vintage blankets and antique buttons. TOKION sat down with Frank Leder at his Berlin Atelier/shop in Charlottenburg to ask what drives him until today.

Frank Leder
Born in Berlin in 1974. After studying fashion at Central Saint Martins in London, he presented his first collection in London in 1999. In 2002, he moved back to Berlin and relocated his base.
http://www.frank-leder.com/

Longing for the historical background behind buttons and materials

――How did you come to use Werner Herzog’s Woyzeck as a motif for this AW collection?

​​Frank Leder (Frank): In fact, rather than a film, it was originally inspired by a play by 19^th-century playwright Georg Büchner. And the film “Woyzeck” made the story well-known across the world. Memories of when I saw it in high school suddenly came back to me, which triggered my motivation to use this work as inspiration to create a collection under the theme of “German history,” a theme I’ve been working on throughout my life.

The story of Woyzeck is based on an actual event. It’s about how a former soldier, played by Klaus Kinski, becomes mentally ill and commits murder. It successfully depicts the bizarre process that occurred while the former soldier subordinated himself to a nasty doctor. The film describes the former soldier’s neurotic tendency repeatedly.

Apparently, Klaus Kinski was utterly exhausted by the previous film he had worked on before Woyzeck, and the film director Werner Herzog thought he was in a perfect state to play the role. That was an untold story about the reason Herzog cast him.

――Although German culture and history are often seen as a negative legacy, you get a lot of inspiration and ideas from there and incorporatey them into your collections. Why are these dark and heavy themes appealing to you?

Leder: Because I studied German literature when I was a student. My collections always deliver stories through photographs of clothes and their collection.

――What’s the process like to put these ideas into collections？

Leder: Looking into cultural backgrounds is the first thing to do. However, I also go on a journey to trace them if necessary. For example, this collection needed military blankets to embody the image of Woyzeck. So I went to Justizvollzugsanstalt, a correctional facility in Germany, to get military blankets used in the actual military. And I found them while I was still figuring out ideas for this collection, so I felt some fate. 

――It does sound like it’s meant to be. How did you find the blanket?

Leder: I saw a blanket covering a canvas when visiting my artist friend’s atelier. My friend also told me that it came to him through someone working a government-related job, and it turned out to be a military blanket. I convinced him, the blanket’s owner, to give it to me because I really wanted it. So I was lucky enough to get the blanket for my collection.

This story tells you enough, but looking for materials and selecting them is always filled with adventures and discoveries. I always feel an urge to make a jacket immediately whenever I find quality vintage materials because I know we rarely have this kind of a small lucky break. 

――Could you tell us about the collection for this AW season?

Leder: Not particularly for this collection, but when I create a collection, I start by being thoroughly particular about “fabric” and “button selection.” The origins of buttons or the background of how they were made are what I care about. Instead of using cheap and cost-effective buttons that we have no attachment to, I want people to know details such as buttons are what matters! 

――Could you tell us why？

Leder: Because buttons are something you touch when putting on and taking off your clothes every day. A commitment to these details defines fashion. For this collection, I used vintage Czech and German buttons from the 1960s. The jackets with separate buttons are also part of this collection, which I always care about. So the point is each item has a historical story and is precious and irreplaceable.

――What’s your favorite item in this collection？

Leder: My favorite material is this burnt moleskin. The machines that long-standing German wool manufacturers use steam and iron wool fabric, so they shrink and press them afterward. I found this moleskin fabric used between the materials during that process.

――One of the products that built your name, German Leather, is also included in this collection. 

Leder: Yes. But unfortunately, this collection may be the last time to showcase new ones because the company making the German leather went bankrupt, and their workshop closed down, too. So all the significantly essential machines that weave these garments have been dismantled. But there’s nothing we can do if that’s the way it is. 

――You already had been building your brand with that mindset even before” upcycling” became a real word.

Leder: Exactly. Every collection is a sequence of encounters and choices. If there is a workshop that produces quality products but doesn’t have a chance to approach the world, I can be the one to give them an opportunity. I already came up with the idea for this collection before the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Still, weirdly it matched the flow of the current era. If you’re a creator, it sometimes feels like you resonate with the spirit of the age.

――Where do you get inspiration for your creativity?

Leder: Things that inspire me are encounters with all types of people and reading about the environment. I always believe it’s crucial to stay open to friends or things that happen, even if they are distinct from me. Of course, fashion is the foundation of my interest. However, on top of that, engaging with various genres of people brings me a lot of inspiration.

――Any messages for your Japanese fans?

Leder: First of all, what I want to say is thank you very much for all the support you have given us over the years. Twenty years since the establishment of the brand was such a long period. It is rare for a brand like ours to be able to continue, especially in this era where work style and lifestyle are changing rapidly. I’m very thankful for customers supporting us every season. Being able to express my thoughts through fashion every season is a gift to all of you who support me.

Direction Kana Miyazawa
Photography Emi Iguchi
Tranlation Takahiro Kanazawa
Special thanks to: MACH55 Ltd.

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Further, Documenta removed an artwork because of its antisemitic nature. This has been stirring up discussions within the art world. While fully acknowledging the importance of discussions surrounding the aforementioned event, Hiroyoshi Tomite reports on the artworks displayed at Mitte, the center. 

The world of an art collective from outside of Europe

Fridericianum

Fridericianum is a large museum that explores the possibilities of education in the city center. Aside from a space for artists to show their work, the museum has a living and working space for them. It also has a kitchen, a library, a workshop space for children, a nursery, and more. Visitors and artists alike can use the museum as a place to learn. Visitors can see the artworks of 17 artist collectives from Asia and Africa from the first to the third floor. One characteristic is that most of the video art can be viewed sitting down and lying on the floor, not only standing up. Another is that the space provides time to ponder on the artworks.

Gudskul

The first exhibition you see on the first floor is by Gudskul, a knowledge-sharing platform made of three Jakarta-based collectives. Anyone interested in creating art in a group with a focus on collaboration is invited to join the exhibition. Visitors can gather around a table or sit on seats to have conversations around sustainable art. 

WAJUKUU ART PROJECT

One exhibition caught my eye: an exhibition by the Wajukuu Art Project. Founded in 2004, the collective is from a community space in Lunga-Lunga, the most densely populated slum in Nairobi. Made with scraps from the area, the collective’s exhibition is a recreation of architecture inspired by the Maasai Manyatta (a traditional homestead of the Maasai people in East Africa) and the everyday aesthetics of the slums. It’s worth seeing, as the collective successfully recreated the ambiance through materials from the area.

Cinema Caravan, the only participating Japanese collective 

On the night of my stay, I attended the Caravan Hive Party. The location was a hideout-like building used for resident artists. With Kuribayashi-san at the center, the Cinema Caravan crew from Zushi and other resident artists danced at the event. “Genki-ro” had been moved, and I witnessed the integral role it played, as people talked to each other about where they came from and which artworks caught their attention inside of “Genki-ro.”

 A permanent exhibition that matches the present

GRIMM WELT

Grimm Welt is ‌on a small hill. The exhibition makes you feel lost in a forest of dictionaries or words. The design made me realize how being too immersed in the world of meaning could make you feel dizzy in a whirlpool of words. That’s why it’s important to leave some space behind the definition of words. Once you think you know the truth, you’ll see another side from another angle. The definition crumbles down, and you’re back to being in the whirlpool of questions. You observe once again and regard the meaning you perceived from a distance as the truth. That was how the exhibition was built. I want you, the reader, to experience what awaits you beyond the letter z. 

The things I saw and felt at Grimm Welt, the permanent exhibition encouraging its visitors to go back and forth between objectivity and subjectivity and macro and micro thinking, and Documenta 15 over two days expanded my mind. My visit came to a close after I finished going around the museum.

One tangible reaction of the world can be seen in the controversy surrounding freedom of expression, the censorship of antisemitic artwork, and the resignation of the director general of Documenta 15. For a second, I felt like the fact that it’s being discussed worldwide is a testament to Documenta documenting the times. Humankind’s extraordinary history and contemporary artists’ art can’t be truly understood unless you visit and experience the exhibition yourself. I’m left bewildered by how I still can’t verbalize what I experienced there.

Documenta 15 uses all its energy to show works from various countries that are outside of the influence of European art society. I enjoyed engaging in thought-provoking conversations with like-minded people through the artworks while maintaining a playful spirit. 

I might sound like an elementary school student, but I felt that people trying to speak their minds was an imperative factor. The words, “Make friends, not art” cross my mind again. Perhaps this is Ruangrupa’s aim. 

In contrast to the pertinent authorities and controversy, the atmosphere at Documenta 15 was buoyant thanks to the visitors observing the art. If any of the artworks in which the artists share the wisdom of lumbung piqued your interest, I encourage you to visit the exhibition. I hope we all can engage in the once-in-every-five-years exhibition without being too serious about it. 

■Documenta 15
Exhibition Period: Until September 25th
Official Website：https://documenta-fifteen.de/
Offisial Instagram：@documentafifteen

Translation Lena Grace Suda

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In Berlin, there are many shops and skateparks within parks. Among these, Civilist has collaborated with world-renowned brands like Nike and is constantly under the spotlight, not just within skate circles but also in the mainstream. Since it opened its doors in 2009, the shop has been a community hub for over a decade. We at TOKION decided to inquire into Civilist’s background. Alex “Foley” Flach, skate photographer and owner of Civilist who preserves and represents what the shop stands for, speaks to us about how communities should be like, the beauty of the city, and more.

Anybody is welcome anytime; a shop that feels approachable  

–How has the Civilist community changed over the past decade?  

Alex Foley (Foley): Our shop is like a destination for skateboarders. People come here to visit us, and our current staff used to be customers. At first, they would come to the shop as customers, then we started talking a little bit and became friends. When I needed people to help me out, I asked them, “Do you want to work here around twice a week?” They said yes. People from different backgrounds come here every day, so it happens a lot.  

–What’s important to you when it comes to managing Civilist?  

Foley: When I was a kid, local skate shops were more than just a skate shop; it was where I read magazines, watched videos, and worked from time to time. When I went to Los Angeles for the first time, I found a local skate shop. The locals told me about good skate spots, parties, and restaurants, and I visited those places. It’s proof of a good crew existing and is very important for the shop. We can help some of our members now with their careers. It’s always been important to provide a space which is more than a shop that’s just open during certain hours every day. 

–The importance of functioning as one community in the city.  

Foley: Yeah. In summer, we all drink beer and hang out in front of the shop after it closes. At times, we keep the shop open until 10 PM. Our stance is that anyone is welcome anytime, especially the skate kids. The shop must be like a community where people could charge their phones and use the bathroom. I try to create a real destination where people can chill, hang out, and make connections with each other. People who meet here might work together in the future. Those lowkey connections are essential for our shop.  

–Do you have any ideas about what you want to do next? 

Foley: A lot. We were thinking of opening up a new shop, but the most crucial thing for Civilist is our original clothing brand. I want to keep pushing and make the brand bigger. I have other ideas, but I can’t talk about them yet. I want to continue being connected to skateboarding either way. I also want to do something to give back to the city and people, as I live here in Berlin.  

Skateboarding is now an Olympic sport; more people will compete. It’ll become even bigger. It also means that skating will go in a sports direction, but I want to preserve its underground side. Some people aren’t interested in skateboarding at the Olympics. 

–The skateboarders are divided on this issue.

Foley: I love the aspect of skating on the streets and not always going to the skatepark. Of course, you’ll get better at skating if you go to a skatepark every day, but I always tell the kids, “Hey, if you want to understand us, go skate on the streets.” It’s from experience because we didn’t have skateparks when we were kids, so we skated in cultural buildings. Another reason I like skating on the street is you can get to know the city well.  

–On one hand, skateboarding might have a disciplined sports side to it, but do you want to preserve the underground side, which existed back then? 

Foley: Having said that, it’s true that everything changes in life. Even football has become more commercialized than 20 years ago, and so has the level of professionalism. It applies to any scene that grows bigger, so it’s fine. But I like the DIY spirit and finding things out for yourself.  

If I walk around a place I’ve never been to before with my skateboard, I might find a building that’s perfect for skating. I like that instead of always going to a familiar skatepark. Skateparks are fun, but I enjoy skate sessions on the streets where I go on a bus or ride my bike to find skate spots. I did that when I went to Tokyo too. I also asked local skateboarders. But besides that, I usually walk around the city, find a good spot, and skate. What I like about skateboarding is exploring the city with my own eyes.  

The best place to start for those thinking about getting into music and art 

–What impression do you get from people living in Japan?  

Foley: There are seven times more people in Tokyo than in Berlin. It must be hard living in a city like that where the living costs are high. Compared to London and New York, the living costs in Berlin are stable. You’re guaranteed to be able to pay rent by working at a bar, so where you live might play a role in that.  

–Do you think Berlin is an appealing city for those trying to break into the creative industry? 

Foley: I think the environment is important. I believe people involved in different creative fields like musicians, DJs, and skateboarders, come to Berlin because you can live cheaply, and the cultural foundation is solid. There are well-known clubs, and international DJs come here all the time. Some things have changed along with the times, but the environment’s still great compared to other cities. My friends who moved from New York to Los Angeles said something similar. Los Angeles is more laidback, and there are fewer buildings and people who walk. That might also have an impact on people living there.  

–So that’s why you feel like Berlin’s appealing? 

Foley: I’ve seen many places like Korea and countries in Africa and South America, but I still think Berlin’s a great city. This morning I swam in a lake only half an hour away from the city. When I was a young photographer, I admired London and New York because of their trendy fashion and music, but I don’t think that way anymore. Berlin is the best starting point for people thinking about starting their career in music or art. Some people got their start here and became established in London and New York. 

–What’s next in store for you, personally? 

Foley: I believe there’s so much creativity in skateboarding. I think that’s why young people still get into skating today, which is a good thing for the future. I want to be connected to skateboarding for the rest of my life.  

Alex “Foley” Flach 
Alex “Foley” Flach is the owner of Civilist, a skate shop that opened in 2009 in Berlin, Germany. The shop shares a community and culture from Berlin, based on the concept of creating a space for people of all kinds, like musicians, artists, skaters, and BMX riders, to meet each other
civilistberlin.com/

Photography Hideaki Ota
Translation Lena Grace Suda

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He has been exploring expression other than “words” in the form of sound and images, and he dares to focus on a single “line” in this album. What you will hear and experience in this album is not only an immersive world of ambient sounds, but also a dynamic sound world of danceable and aggressive physical sensations.

We interviewed Max exclusively at TOKION to find out what went through his mind as he created a new conceptual yet simple masterpiece. What is he trying to convey through the sound he spun and the audio-visual world he created in collaboration with artists who seek cutting-edge expression?

A new album born as a result of confronting the limits of language and my own feelings

–How was the process of making this new album like?

Max Cooper (Cooper): The albums I have made in the past were constructed from visual and scientific ideas, from which my feeling was born. With this album, on the other hand, I started with purely internalized feelings, ideas that could not be expressed in words but could be expressed musically, and then created visual analogies to them. For each track, I collaborated with artist with different visual expression. (All of the videos for the tracks can be viewed at unspokenwords.net)

–What are some of the challenges you faced with this album?

Cooper: The challenge I faced was “how I could be honest with myself.” The whole project is about the inner conflict over expression. This is also connected to the story of the growth and eventual posthumanization of expression itself in the videos. Since I work within a specific genre and form of electro music, a musical language is always needed. If I get too caught up in that standardized language, my personal expression itself is undermined.

In that sense, the challenge for this work was “to identify my psychological state and feelings and convey them in a personal sound. That is why I had to constantly assess whether each choice was “really telling my own story” or whether it was “simply a formulaic musical expression.” That meant I had to be honest with myself.

–This may be connected to the background of the album title Unspoken Words, but do you think music can overcome the problem of language barriers?

Cooper: For me at least, music is a richer means of communicating my inner world than language. Objective ideas like science and everyday life are easy to convey, but when it comes to conveying what it is like to be myself, I can’t do it with words. But with music, I can express that experience in a direct form, and the essence of that experience is “how I feel.” Music is good at capturing how I feel about things.

–How was the music video for “Exotic Contents” made? I know it used the VQGAN and CLIP systems with Xander Steenbrugge? Did it help you explore the world of the song more?

Cooper: I was just stunned by the finished work. I had always been interested in Wittgenstein’s work, but I had never really delved into the original text to understand them. Looking at the music video created after facing his work, it felt like a melting pot of our world itself and the world of self-reference, and I discover something new every time I watch it. Machine learning systems throws us a new light, for example, when reading difficult original texts. In other words, I have come to the idea that depending on how we use them, they can be both our teachers and our new creations.

–Why were you inspired by Ludwig Wittgenstein?

Cooper: Wittgenstein explored how language can be ambiguous and misleading, and how it leads to philosophical questions. His writings are chock-full of jargons and references and require intense study to truly understand. Still, I turned to Wittgenstein’s writings when I was looking for a visual expression of the ideas for the “Unspoken Words” album, and it fit the theme I was facing at the time. In “Symphony in Acid,” Ksawery Komputery also sampled his texts to compose and create a music video that is in sync with the musical structure of my work.

Video and music are mutually interfering with each other

–You take a challenging visual approach with each film, how does this affect the musical value?

Cooper: Visual expression and the world of music are inseparable for me. I suppose they interfere with each other due to the nature of information. Every time I listen to music a visual image comes to mind. If I see a visual representation, I naturally come up with an idea for a piece of music in a same way. That is why I collaborate with many great visual artists to convey this, creating a “language” by giving information in the form of visual images to my songs and albums.

–What do you hope to convey to listeners through the album?

Cooper: My main wish is to communicate thoughts and feelings to each other. I think we all share a common inner state (collective unconsciousness). Being human is sometimes wonderful and sometimes difficult. That is why I think it is worthwhile if we can share that state and convey what is essentially important, away from the superficial, nonsense exhibition-like real world we live in.

I am trying to take people away from the everyday world to a better place. The information and technology of the record is full of surreal spaces that allow me to promote escapism in a 3D way.

–What are some of the most memorable moments in the making of the new album?

Cooper: The song “Ascent” was originally written with Salvador Breed and Martin Krzywinski at a beautiful church in Leuven, Belgium for a tactile surround audio-visual experience. The audience would lie on bass shaker beds that transmitted the bass directly to their bodies and view the image of cathedral ceiling of the church, which was mapped by Martin in the form of a 5-dimensional space and projected into the architecture. This was an intense experience. I tried to capture the religious and scientific intensity along with the direct tactile experience of weightlessness brought about by this system. This installation project was called “Transcendence,” and music was created to express the same idea: ascension. The feeling itself was indescribable, so I was able to participate in the project because it fit well with the album. The result is one of the most intense songs I have ever written.

–You are in the middle of an album tour, mainly in Europe and the U.S. How do you feel about playing the album in front of a large audience for the first time in a long time after the pandemic?

Cooper: It’s a lot of fun to be able to maximize the effect of a visual project in a huge space. I can create a 3D effect by layering translucent gauzes. Projecting the image on multiple surfaces of them creates a visual experience that feels as if it envelops the audience. The goal is to create the sense of escape from reality and the other-worldly sensations that we were looking for in music. We want to take audience somewhere they have never been before, which is a place filled with ideas and emotions that will leave a positive impact.

Performing in Japan is always amazing, and Japan is my favorite place. We have played in Fuji Rock in the beautiful mountains, the Japanese version of MUTEK, one of our most favorite festivals, and VENT with its amazing sound system. Every time was great fun and we are always looking forward to the next opportunity to come to Japan.

Max Cooper
Max Cooper is a British sound artist, producer, and DJ who began his musical career in 2000. Primarily working on solo live acts, he achieved success with his signature track “HermonischeSerie.” In 2014, he released his debut album, Human, a cinematic piece of electro music that freely combines elements of minimal techno, dubstep, glitch, and beats generated from acoustic instruments. He has performed in Fuji Rock Festival in 2015 and MUTEK.JP in 2016. His album Unspoken Words was released this March.

Direction Kana Miyazawa
PR Studio De Meyer

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Have you heard of a band called American Dream Express? The band has been active in Tokyo since the release of their album, Pure Love, on October 27^th of last year. And we’re still discovering their full potential: In addition to holding an event in Shimokitazawa in November, one of the band’s music videos unexpectedly featured Japanese actress Masami Nagasawa.

How do they want their second album, Pure Love, to sound? We caught up with the band, speaking mainly to its two leaders, Tomas and Kaito Sakuma. Amid the coronavirus and at a time when people are feeling disheartened, they wondered: “Why is everyone making things so complicated?” They spoke to us about the story behind the release of the album—which they made with the intention of “wanting to make everyone happy”—and what they hope to do next.

――What’s the story behind starting the band, Tomas?

Tomas: I’d never made music before, but I’d been friends with Kaito for about ten years. I used to go to his band’s shows a lot back then. I also had a part-time job at pebble in Shimokitazawa at the time. When your friend works at a bar, everyone visits them there, right? That’s how it was with Kaito—he used to come for drinks three or four times a week, and it was like a party every day. (laughs) But it came to the point where Kaito said, “We should do more than just drink.” He motivated us to start a band. I think that was about four years ago?

Kaito: Yeah.

Tomas: I’d never been in a band before, so we started with covers. In fact, one of the covers we did was Bon Jovi’s “It’s My Life.” And eventually, we came up with a song. And then it was like, “Oh, we’re going to play a show.” We took it one step at a time, and that’s how we got to where we are now, having made two albums. That’s about it. (laughs)

At first, it was just the two of us. Gradually, more people joined. We had a member who moved to Taiwan, and a guitarist, Ichiwa, who passed away. We started working on our second album with the current six members. It was around the time that the coronavirus broke out, and we couldn’t perform live. We released the first single in March of 2021, and from there, we released singles nearly every month. That’s how we ended up releasing the second album.

――You’d already made the first album and were familiar with that process. Did that make the second album easier to create?

Kaito: We started working on the second album right after we had the chance to perform at Fuji Rock. So we started recording around that time. But our process changed quite a bit, because live music venues had been devastated by the coronavirus and we couldn’t really play live.

――I see. So for better or for worse, you couldn’t perform live. But did that allow you to fully focus on making the album?

Kaito: Well, we changed our outlook and dedicated ourselves to production. For a rock band, there are a lot more costs to recording than just the money. There are a lot of live instruments, it takes time, and it’s hard to even get all the members together. But since we couldn’t perform live, we tried to keep putting out more and more singles. That’s how we made and released our second album.

――How would you describe American Dream’s creation process?

Tomas: Basically, Kaito writes the songs, and then we listen to them. That’s basically it, but there’s just one song that started with me playing acoustic guitar. It’s a song called “Planetrip.”

――What’s the story behind that song?

Tomas: I take a trip to Niijima every summer, and I spent a month there with Saku-chan and Kaya of Gateballers. On that trip, Ichiwa, a member of the band who passed away just before the album release, looked up at the night sky and said, “The universe is warm.” (laughs) At the time, I thought, “This is it,” and wrote the lyrics to “Planetrip.”  

――The song “Good For Nothing” off this album felt psychedelic to me. I think American Dream Express has a cheerful folk/bright psychedelic vibe that you don’t see in Japan much these days.

Tomas: That song was fun to make. We recorded it after listening to CAN. (laughs)

Kaito: Basically, our intent was to release a single every month rather than make an album. We thought about every song as we were making it. The music we were listening to was different at the time of each song, so that’s why the album is like that.

Tomas: There were times when we had a set release date, but the song wasn’t done at all. (laughs) So it was a lot like a live performance.

――I have the impression that your musical backgrounds are quite diverse as well—is that true?

Tomas:I like ‘90s music, so at first, that was Nirvana, Pavement, and The Flaming Lips. That was the kind of music I listened to.

――Maybe you like that loose sound and the wavy feel of a psychedelic band.  

Tomas: I tend to find something cool about not trying too hard. That’s at the heart of who I am. A recent example would be King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard. I don’t know how they feel, but personally, I think people who don’t take the world too seriously are cool.

Kaito: I may have mentioned this when TOKION interviewed me individually, but my solo work is more echoey. But with American Dream Express, I want to make happy psychedelic rock.

――What’s the story behind that?

Kaito: I think it’s just who Tomas is. And right before we started American Dream Express, I went to LA for work. There, I saw a psychedelic band from LA called Frankie and the Witch Fingers. They were so cool, down to the space they were playing in. People in the psychedelic scene there have fun dancing to psychedelic music. But I think it’s different from just playing rock music at a club. So, they have that kind of scene there, and it felt comfortable for me. That made me want to create a space for everyone to drink and have fun to happy psychedelic rock.

Tomas: People think of psychedelic as quite heavy and dark. But I felt like there was more to it than that.

Kaito: Exactly. Like, why not have more fun with it?

――Are the other members on board with that?

Natsuki: Yeah. That’s the vibe we’ve had all along.

Ren: I think if we made the old-fashioned 1960s rock I grew up listening to, but in the 1980s and ‘90s, this would be it. American Dream Express makes something similar to that vibe. That’s been my impression of American Dream Express since seeing them from an objective point of view [before I joined as a guitarist]. I was never in a band where I could just play guitar, but here, I can just play guitar. So I’m like, “Yes!”

American Dream Express makes happy music for an era where live performances have become complicated

Tomas: People are listening to music—not exactly psychedelic, but more along the lines of My Bloody Valentine—by themselves on their earphones. You can see that in the top charts and playlists during the pandemic. Old indie rock is what sounds good. So there are kids who go to performances to relive that experience. Everyone gets nervous at a live show, and this time, I invited a lot of friends, including friends who had never been to a live show. But then they said that they were nervous about going to their first show. But I wanted them to just think of it as a regular party. (laughs)

――What sort of things does the band want to do in the future? The band is named American Dream, so perhaps expanding into America?

Tomas: We didn’t give the band name that much thought. (laughs)

Kaito: But if I had to say something, I think like with Masami Nagasawa recently, we’re a band that lets people dream. So I think we should do things that let people dream.

Tomas: That kind of work is fun. It’s fun for us, and I think other people will enjoy it, too. Like, “Isn’t that band doing interesting stuff?”

Kaito: We do something big once a year that makes people think, “They’re at it again.” Excitement is American Dream Express’s number one gift. I hope that we can keep up that fun timing.

――Is there anything you haven’t had a chance to mention?

Kaito: Please invite us to play at festivals. (laughs) We’ll always be on standby.

Tomas: We’ll show you a fun time! Thanks!

American Dream Express
American Dream Express is a multinational band formed in 2019. With their danceable beats reminiscent of California’s psychedelic rock scene, they strive to make a new kind of dance music altogether different from hip hop or techno. After their formation, they released “Take 2,” and in 2020, they performed at Fuji Rock Festival’s ROOKIE A GO-GO. They released their second album, Pure Love, in October of last year. Actress Masami Nagasawa has starred in one of their music videos.

Photography Yuki Aizawa

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How much do music fans truly know about The fin.?

Since the release of their first album, and until 2019, The fin. has been traveling the world. So naturally, not many fans understand all the changes they’ve undergone. Originally from Kobe, they moved to Tokyo in 2014 and released their first full-length album, Days with Uncertainty, featuring the song “Night Time.” They quickly rose to prominence in the band scene, but soon after, they relocated to the UK. With members leaving the band and original members switching roles, it’s not hard to imagine that it was a bumpy road at times. Yet, these circumstances didn’t stop The fin. from completing their second album, there, in 2018. Since then, they’ve been unstoppable, touring Asia, America, and Europe and pursuing their musical dreams. In November 2019, they moved back to Japan, and in November 2021, they completed the full-length album, Outer Ego, The fin.’s first release in three years and four months.

The album is a conversation with the self as it transitions from childhood to the present. Meanwhile, the music is a means to gather the strength to face the world again. Although the album is introspective, there’s no underlying element of gloom or pessimism. Instead, the polished album has a warm, dreamy feel.

Uchino says he created the album by delving into his own emotions to align with the mood of the post-pandemic age. Like Kevin Parker, Uchino is the mastermind behind the album, handling all the songwriting, vocals, instruments, production, recording, and mixing. TOKION caught up with Uchino to learn more about the album.

――Outer Ego is one of The fin.’s more introspective albums in recent years. Why is that?

Yuto Uchino: I think it’s because the album was the culmination of what I learned while traveling the world. To give you an idea of the timeline, we started sowing the seeds to work abroad after our 1^st album, Days with Uncertainty, in 2014. Those seeds finally started to sprout around 2018-19. After putting out our 2^nd album, there, we toured Asia and started living in the UK. We also began receiving invites to play festivals. Looking back on the last seven or eight years, I think there was a traffic jam of information because of all the input I had while my band was busy. While touring, I could take notes on my inspiration, but I couldn’t be creative in an essential sense. But with the coronavirus pandemic in 2020, I finally realized I could pause.

――So you mean since you were experiencing an information overload, the coronavirus actually allowed you to pause?

Yuto: Right. With everything on pause in 2020, I moved back to Tokyo and finally had the time to dive deeper within myself. Looking back, when I made the first EP, Glowing Red On The Shore, I think I was able to create a strong introspective feel with this album. But listening to later albums, many of the songs are the output of what I learned from external sources while working. With this album, Outer Ego, I was able to go around the world and digest everything I saw, so it feels like I could pack that all in.

――What do you think was the most significant factor in that?

Yuto: When it comes to the tangible factors, it was huge to go back to Japan because I could finally get all the equipment together. (laughs) I only had a mobile set up until then, so I couldn’t buy any large equipment. But I took this opportunity to get all the analog gear and build a studio. Thanks to that, I could do more of what I wanted to do in terms of the sound and production. It was huge to be able to mix the sound to the point where I felt I couldn’t make it any better.

The fin. used to be four people; it was an actual band. So part of me felt like I had to do things as a band. But then The fin. gradually became more of a project than a band. I invite the musicians I like to play with me. So it’s become a project that’s about how I can show my creations through a live performance. Personally, I think it became better once I didn’t have to think about the stage output as a band.

――That certainly seems like it’d play a big role. What were the advantages of moving to Japan to produce the album?

Yuto: In 2020, I didn’t see people at all because of the coronavirus, so I think that allowed me to start another conversation with myself. With more time than I’d ever had, I could also try new production processes for the first time.

――I see. The first two songs—including the way they were mixed—felt closer to the tone of The fin.’s previous songs. But after the sixth song on the album, “At Last,” it sounds more like ambient music or beats, which felt like a deeper expression of what’s inside you. Could you tell me more about that?

Yuto From the beginning, I had a fairly clear image in my head of Outer Ego. I combined two elements within myself into one song and gave the songs some range. My imagination led to more imagination, and I put what I imagined in various places. Basically, the album’s main theme is this: Diving deep within while also rising to the surface. Those two phases are in the album, so that became the title.

“At Last” is a song born out of asking music the question “What is love?” and having a conversation with my inner child. If people listen to it, they might be like, “What is he talking about?” (laughs)

――Like, “He’s going pretty deep!”

Yuto: Yeah. In a way, it was a first for The fin. to have a song that’s like a story. And the lyrics to “Old Canvas” feature a conversation between a past self that still has that essential purity and the ego of an adult self who has had all kinds of experiences. Throughout the album, it’s like there’s always both a question and an answer.

――That being said, even though you’re diving deeper within yourself, it doesn’t mean it feels dark. The sound is warm, like the album cover, and feels like an imagined landscape.

Yuto: Really? (laughs) When I listen to music, it’s important for me to feel a sense of sinking. I don’t know if that’s the right phrase—it’s like descending into a deeper level of consciousness. It’s an incredible experience to listen to music and to dive in as if you’re sinking, then re-emerge from the surface. Because I have a strong sense of that, my musical expression has naturally gone in that direction.

Having his “soul stripped bare”: Reflecting on life in London and his thoughts on Japan.

――The coronavirus put your travels around the world on pause, which led to your latest work. Do you think your experiences living abroad have affected your artistic expression?

Yuto: To live abroad, particularly in the West, is to learn about individualism. Suddenly, you’re living as a “foreigner,” so it’s like you’re in the lowest position on the hierarchy. Japanese people live in Japan because they can live in an environment where they’re protected. Living in the UK, I had a lot of experiences that felt like having my soul stripped bare. It was huge to be able to experience that fairly early in life. Also, as I use two languages in my everyday life, I’ve experienced a sense of detachment from the broader Japanese community and the formation of a new, individual ego. That’s been in progress for the past ten years. I was constantly in flux.

――Between your former self and the self you’d cultivated from living abroad?

Yuto: Yeah. I think that’s what it means to speak two languages in the first place. There starts to be a divide between when you’re acting Japanese and what you really think. The same is true of your values. There are often stories about people who go to the US for two weeks and come back a different person. (laughs) It’s a joke, but it’s true that the longer you live abroad, the larger the gap between your old self and the senses you’ve cultivated after seeing the world becomes. It becomes harder to strike a balance. For example, if I go back to my hometown and talk to one of my friends from home, I speak to them as my old self. But then I think: maybe that’s not how I really feel. That sort of “fluctuation” starts to occur.

――I also live between two locations, and I wouldn’t go as far as to say I have two personalities—but I totally get what you mean.

Yuto: When your ego is in flux, you lose sight of your own life. When that happens, you suddenly start to waver as an artist. After going through that period in 2018 or 19, I gradually realized that this is just who I am. I guess I started to give up, in a good way. I also figured out how to approach the Japanese community in my own way. To put it simply, I figured out what kind of attitude I should have as The fin., as someone who makes music. The answer to that had become simpler in my mind. That’s what I’d been thinking about since 2020, and that became an album.

――To look at it from a broader perspective, do you mean that you started thinking about your role as a musician who has toured the world?

Yuto: Maybe. I’m already in my 30s, and obviously, I’m Japanese. As someone who came back to Japan after seeing the world, I think there’s a lot I can do as a musician, especially in these COVID times.

Japanese people are shy, and there’s a culture of bashfulness. That philosophy is engrained in our DNA. But since the coronavirus, I think that hasn’t affected us in such a good way. We don’t tell people much about ourselves, and the way we keep our distance from people is a bit different. That’s why I want to sing more honestly about myself now. Through that, I want to work on the current state of Japan. I want to speak out about the things I’m uncomfortable about or want to change.

Many of the Western musicians that I like to listen to are open about their relationships with their lovers and their inner minds—there are a lot of lyrics that bare it all, so to speak. The Beatles are a perfect example of that, right? Saying, “She’s so heavy” about his [John Lennon’s] relationship with Yoko. Maybe he can say that because it’s in English, but I want to be that kind of artist. With that in mind, the sound on my latest album is more vivid, and the lyrics are more vivid, too.

I feel like over the past seven years, I’ve built up my aesthetic philosophy in regard to sound. Looking back at when I made my second album, it was like I was taking in all this paint, and the colors were getting all mixed up and muddy. But over the past five years, the colors have separated to become clearer, and perhaps that’s why I could express myself in the way I do on the latest album.

――Your latest album was like a culmination of your work. What do you think is next for The fin.?

Yuto: I’m currently re-learning chord progressions by reading a manual and playing the keys. It feels like I’m preparing for the next stage. With this album, I gathered all the past parts of myself into one, so I feel like I’ve unified my selves. But if I lose my human fluctuations, I’m just a machine. I have a feeling that I’ll start chasing experiences that will cause culture shock again. I’ve lived in all kinds of cities, so I still feel like I could live anywhere easily. I want to visit Berlin, as well as live in New York. But maybe it’d be good to live somewhere that isn’t the US or Europe, somewhere that I can’t even imagine.

――So instead of being tied down to living in Tokyo, you want to be able to casually go abroad again when you get the urge.

Yuto: So much so that I’d even like to go to space. (laughs) Well, that’s going a bit too far. Anyway, we have more fans abroad than in Japan. I’m hoping I can perform in China and other Asian countries, as well as the US and Europe.

■Outer Ego
Price: CD ¥2,750、LP ¥3,960
Smart Link: https://thefin.lnk.to/OuterEgo

■Made For Mermaid
Smart Link: https://thefin.lnk.to/MfM

■”Outer Ego” Release Tour
Date: February 11th
Venue: Umeda-Shangri-La
Address: Oyodominami, Kitaku, Osaka 1-1-14
Start: 18:00(Open: 17:30)

Date: February 18th
Venue: LIQUIDROOM
Address: Higashi Shibuyaku Tokyo 3-16-6
Start: 19:00(Open: 18:00)

Admission fee: ¥4,000

Photography Toshiaki Kitaoka
Translation Aya Apton

The post The world of “Outer Ego”: An album that synthesizes the fluctuations in ego that The fin. experienced while living abroad appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.

On December 8^th, 2021, Berlin announced that it would be banning dancing in clubs once again.

The art and music scene has many difficult decisions ahead. In any case, I’d like to revisit a report of an underground event in Berlin that took place in the summer and fall of 2021, when the lockdown restrictions were eased.

Since its establishment in 1982 as a “festival for experimental music and images,” Berlin Atonal has been an annual event. That is, until last year, when the coronavirus pandemic forced the city into lockdown. Berlin Atonal may be the biggest festival that regularly connects Berlin’s art and music scene. For a report on the art portion of the event, please refer to part 1 of this series. In this article, I’ll focus on the concert portion of Berlin Atonal, which featured Tim Hecker as a headliner.

The venue had a coldness to it. This isn’t surprising: the site was formerly a power station and features a ceiling that stretches far overhead. The fact that this space is still used as a venue for art events is a noteworthy point about Berlin. Still, after a year where events were far and few between, there was a quiet feeling of excitement in the air. After all, we were about to witness a festival that would once again serve as a connection between the underground and art scene. The people who had been looking around the venue were killing time outside or doing as they pleased, but it didn’t feel like they were staving off boredom. Although the event was running behind schedule, everyone seemed to be in no particular hurry; rather, they seemed to be thoroughly savoring the time. Just as I thought that the crowd had grown larger, the time came without warning.

A hard, rhythmless beat echoes through the hall

It must have been about an hour past the originally scheduled start time. Quietly— but surely—Perila began playing heavy bass, as if to check the groove of the entire venue. Until then, everyone had been engaged in conversation, but Perila’s sounds pulled them in. The audience began exchanging looks with one another, as if to confirm, “It’s started.” It was as if Perila was standing on the border of the sonic universe, trying to delicately depict a profound universe and give context to this space. And just as the audience was sinking deeper into the atmosphere of the music, she gently stepped forward, bowed her head, and left. It’s safe to say that there couldn’t have been a better beginning.

The next performer was Berlin producer Ziúr. Accompanying the bass-heavy performance was a guest appearance by Kiani del Valle, a choreographer who has caught the attention of the world. The visual impact was striking: Ziúr aggressively approached the audience, not only from her sonic universe but also from a visual and bodily perspective. As she swayed her body to the sound, the vibrations reacted to Ziúr, who interweaved her sonic universe and the audience. It was amazing how this reaction led to an even more experimental approach. The two women expressed their thanks many times. On the screen, Ziúr’s trance-like expression was illuminated by beautiful lights.

In contrast to the hard, heavy sounds that rang throughout the industrial space, this straightforward and powerful approach was striking. And as 9 PM rolled around, at last, the MC announced Tim Hecker’s entrance onto the stage, and the venue erupted into applause as if to express their respect for both Hecker and Ziúr.

Tim Hecker’s mysterious and profound sonic universe

Just before starting, Tim let out a small smile. Then, he played a minimal number of notes, layering them one by one. The symphonic melodic line steadily became clearer, and the heavy bass enveloped the venue like an iron curtain. After a while, I could hear the bass echoing through the industrial, naked concrete venue from afar. The sounds were heavy, reverberating like cracks of thunder. These vibrations enveloped my entire body.

It felt as if we were in a secluded cave. The space was filled with expectation as if the audience was eagerly awaiting the moment when this heavy sound would play. People closed their eyes and swayed their bodies. 

Meanwhile, the gagaku (old Japanese court music) refrain of the striking song, “This Life,” began to echo through the venue. The time it took to walk on the border between Konoyo (this world) and Anoyo (the world over there), about 15 minutes, was like a ritual. The sound, which was too sad to call paradise, beckoned towards another world. Ancient string instruments reverberated over and over, permeating deeply into every cell of my body. It felt strange that in 2021, in Berlin, the sounds of gagaku were sincerely being delivered to the audience’s ears.

Nothing in the performance could be described as a rhythm. Instead, people sat and closed their eyes amid the continuous fluctuations and soundscape, or swayed their bodies to their own rhythm. Amid the sounds that blended the values of East and West, the border between people—which was noticeable even without closing one’s eyes—became blurred in the fog that filled the room. Each of us bathed in the sound that emerged.

Perhaps the combination of the sound and the audience’s memories, and the audience’s immersion in their own thoughts, amplified the images that emerged from this sonic universe. In that sound, we found something, exploring feelings that we’d never shared before. I muttered to myself, “This is like a kind of sonic church.”

After nearly 10 minutes of the gagaku echoing through the venue, the song that followed felt as if it were inviting us to another world—like the title of the EP, Step Away to Anoyo. I felt as if my body existed within this world, but my consciousness was being guided somewhere far away. Or maybe it was like the universe of stringed instruments and sound textures were a blizzard in the tundra, coolly numbing my brain. Was it the calmness of the venue? Or the magical chill manufactured by Hecker’s sonic universe? I was lost in a fantasy where my body was numb, unable to move on a snowy mountain. Just as I nearly reached a place of no return from this solitary universe I was pulled into, the synth sounds from “Music for Tundra” and Hecker’s newest album, The North Water, poured forth as if to illuminate our present world. Then, the same refrain from the beginning rang out, as if to rein us in from the border of the cold universe back to reality. The sounds died down as if to gradually return our consciousness to the present world.

For nearly 20 years, Tim has persisted as an artist who makes boundary-breaking music that can’t always be categorized as noise or drone music. He has always been a pioneer in the field of ambient and drone culture, not only with his construction of sound collages but also with his church-music approach to his composition, which leads listeners into a warm, fantasy world.

We never tire of stepping into the abyss of Hecker’s sonic universe, which he leads us into again and again. And then we disperse, going back to our lives. We bring something back with us, and something within us has been purified. As long as there is a place for expression and people who continue to gather there, the practice of appreciating and experiencing art will remain unchanged—no matter what happens in the post-pandemic world. This was a night that confirmed that for me.

Direction Kana Miyazawa
Translation Aya Apton

The post The full story of Metabolic Rift: A new format of underground culture by Berlin Atonal [Part 2] appeared first on TOKION - Cutting edge culture and fashion information.