Etsuko truly loved music from the bottom of her heart.
Her drumming reminded me of water—smooth, fluid, and occasionally intense.
She always had fun when she played. Up until that point, I’d been focused on the bass alone, but after watching her, I felt drawn to the drums and asked her to teach me. In the end, I only learned how to play a little bit. Still, she watched over me with a smile on her face and said, “All that matters is that you’re having fun.”
He and Etsuko were bandmates and lovers. She always supported him and never complained. Their relationship was more like a married couple than boyfriend and girlfriend, and I used to tell them they should go ahead and tie the knot. But he would always put it off, saying marriage was a prison and it was too soon for him to be locked up.
He would play the bass and Etsuko would sway to the music, or drum along, unable to resist. I loved watching her.
Back then, I thought of the garage next to the house as a super-cool secret base. I was so happy there, surrounded by the people I loved and the music they made. I admired them, and wanted to be even closer to them. I dreamed of becoming a pro musician one day and performing by their side. It was with that dream in my heart that I played the bass day after day.
“Risa, your music is completely different from Yuu’s,” Etsuko said one day while listening to me.
“What do you mean?” I asked. I remember snapping back at her, a little miffed. I didn’t like being told I was still far away from the sound I admired.
She chuckled. “How should I put it… When you play, I can tell how much you love music and how much you enjoy playing the bass.”
I was at a loss. I thought everyone there enjoyed playing music—that it was something we all had in common.
“If I didn’t enjoy it, I wouldn’t play it every day,” I said.
“Huh. Guess you have a point.”
“Aren’t you the same, Etsuko?”
“Yeah, I am. I play because I enjoy it.”
The way she phrased her answer seemed to imply that it wasn’t the same for him, and that made me uneasy.
“Why do you think I sound completely different?” I asked.
She hesitated a moment, then let her gaze wander, as if she was carefully choosing her words. “Because music…is the only thing Yuu has,” she said. She sounded sad, which puzzled me.
Everyone knew that about him—that he had nothing but music. He’d thrown everything else away. That was why he could produce such amazing sounds. What was wrong with that?
“But…isn’t that because he loves music? How is that different from me?” I asked. I never doubted his feelings about music. I’d always thought we felt the same way.
She shook her head and smiled sadly. “Choosing music over everything else isn’t the same as having nothing but music.”
I didn’t understand what she meant at all. It felt like she was saying his way of doing things was wrong, and that bothered me.
When she saw how confused I was, she smiled apologetically and said, “Sorry, this stuff is a bit complicated.”
“It’s okay…”
“Lately, I’ve been thinking…,” she said, gazing off into the distance. “Is just having fun not enough?” She didn’t say so, but somehow I knew she was talking about the band. “I feel like Yuu just keeps changing…and not for the better.”
“What do you mean? The band is doing well, right? Your music keeps improving.”
“Ha-ha. Yeah. It makes sense you feel that way. You’re focused on his music, after all.” She had an odd look on her face.
He was the leader of the instrumental band “Stray Fish.” They’d made their mainstream debut two years earlier, when I was a first-year student in junior high school. They’d become quite popular and made numerous appearances on prime time music shows. I thought the band was doing well. None of the members had let success make them lazy; they kept creating more and more challenging songs.
But Etsuko…despite being one of the band’s members…didn’t seem completely satisfied with the way things were going.
“Now that the band is gaining momentum, the label is putting more effort into promotion, and they have more influence over us than before,” she explained. “Yuu feels like he’s being backed into a corner.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he feels a lot more pressure to deliver his music to more people.”
What’s wrong with an artist wanting more people to listen to his music? I wondered, tipping my head in confusion. Etsuko paid me no mind and continued.
“You know, sometimes I think…back then, we were just screaming because we wanted to scream. But now, the goal is for people to hear us scream. And it’s scary.”
Etsuko usually just smiled and listened to other people ramble on, so it was strange for her to reveal what she was thinking like this. I knew it must have been a pretty significant concern for her, but…what she was saying was too difficult for me. My inability to understand filled me with frustration.
“I wonder what Yuu’s reason is for making music,” she said, exhaling softly. “I guess it’s not enough to just have fun…”
She smiled, her face full of sadness and pain. I’ll never forget that expression.