Music is not meant to be seen or touched; it is meant to be felt, deeply and profoundly. It is the only form of art that exists purely in the intangible, and perhaps that’s what makes it so essential. It connects the invisible. It links hearts, minds, and spirits in a way nothing else can. —— Masami Tsuchiya
It’s not often you come across an artist who literally crawled out of a window to pursue his dreams—both metaphorically and in real life. Masami Tsuchiya, the enigmatic Japanese guitarist, singer-songwriter, and producer, has carved a unique path in the music world that defies categorization. Rising to prominence as the lead vocalist and guitarist of the band Ippu-Do in the late ’70s, Tsuchiya’s career has spanned decades, influenced by global artists like Bob Dylan and David Bowie, while also leaving his mark on both Japanese and international rock scenes. Tsuchiya’s story is one of rebellion, resilience, and reinvention.
Born in Shizuoka, Japan, he began his musical journey not as a willing classical pianist but as a rebellious teenager who secretly taught himself guitar. After running away from home at age 15, he embarked on a wild ride that would take him from being a roodie for Golden Cups to collaborating with legends like Simon Le Bon of Duran Duran. Today, as a veteran of Japan’s rock scene, Masami Tsuchiya reflects on his career, the music industry, and his constant search for meaning through sound. In this portrait interview, Masami Tsuchiya talks about his background, music, philosophies, collaborations and the fascinating moments that shaped his life.
——Masami, thank you for having me today.
Your music career started in 1969, and you’ve been in the industry for decades. Can you tell us how it all began?
Masami Tsuchiya: That’s a great first question. Let’s start by the very beginning then. Growing up, my environment was very strict, particularly with my parents. Rock music wasn’t something that was encouraged, and in fact, in Japan at the time, just holding a guitar was seen as rebellious. To even think of playing an instrument in front of my parents was unthinkable. But I always had this inner drive, an innate need to express myself through music, even if it meant doing so in secrecy. The turning point for me came when I was in elementary school and then junior high. It was around the time when the Beatles began to rise to global prominence. Their music reached Japan, and it was like a cultural bomb went off. In those early years, the music came from America first, and Europe got it a little later, which was the opposite of what we might expect today. But in those days, American music was the dominant influence. We didn’t have much exposure to European music back then, so when I heard the Beatles’ albums, especially the ones that were produced and released in America, it felt like a revelation. It wasn’t just their rock’n’roll sound—it was something more. It was the way they harmonized, the way they layered their vocals in such an intricate, beautiful way. It was the first time I had heard music like that. There was something about it that struck me so deeply. It was the harmony that fascinated me, and I found it so mesmerizing. You see, in Japanese music at that time, and even in American folk music or Elvis Presley’s work, there was nothing quite like that.
——So, it was more than just the sound—it was the complexity of their music?
Masami Tsuchiya: Exactly. It was the complexity of the harmony, the way the music was constructed, that left a huge impression on me. And at that moment, I didn’t even fully understand what it was that moved me. It just felt so fresh, so innovative. Looking back, I can analyze it now, but at the time, I was just in awe. But that was the beginning, and it was only the start of my musical journey.
——It sounds like that opened the door to discovering more music.
What came next for you?
Masami Tsuchiya: Definitely. After the Beatles, I became more curious about the world of rock and roll, and that’s when I discovered the Rolling Stones. At first, I didn’t understand them fully, but I was drawn to their rawness, their energy. While everyone around me was obsessed with the Beatles, I became intrigued by the Rolling Stones because they felt different—more untamed. I liked that rebellious energy. It made me feel like I was breaking away from the mass, which, as a teenager, was an important feeling for me. But it didn’t stop there. Soon, I was discovering the legends like The Yardbirds, with Clapton, Beck, and Page. By the time I was in junior high, I was already deeply entrenched in the world of these guitar gods. They were my heroes—icons of rock. And as I moved into high school, I became infatuated with Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin. Their music was electric, revolutionary, and it resonated with me on a spiritual level. By the time I was in high school, the Beatles had broken up, but their influence was still strong. I loved them, but I also realized they were more than just a rock band. The messages they were spreading, especially John Lennon and Yoko Ono, were about peace, love, and something much greater than just music. It was a new kind of expression. That shift in perspective was life-changing for me.
——How did that affect you personally and creatively?
Masami Tsuchiya: For the first time, I truly understood what the statement peace & love meant—not just as an abstract idea, but as a way of living. When I listened to Lennon, I realized it wasn’t just about the music, but the power of using music to convey a message, to inspire change, and to bring people together. For someone like me, growing up in a strict household, hearing this was incredibly impactful. It was a revelation that music could transcend boundaries and become a platform for something larger. It was the first time I saw musicians in Japan begin to embrace this kind of thinking, this belief in making a difference through music. But even with all that influence, my main focus remained on the technical side of music, especially the guitar. It became my obsession. I practiced constantly, honing my skills, even though I had to do it in secret, away from my parents.
——Your passion for music is evident. But that must have been challenging, especially with the restrictions at home. How did you manage?
Masami Tsuchiya: It wasn’t easy. As much as I was drawn to the music, I had to keep my passion hidden. But there came a point where I simply couldn’t deny it anymore. I left home after middle school and took only two bags with me. I boarded the last train to Tokyo, determined to make my dream a reality. I had no idea what would happen next, but I knew I had to get closer to the music world. I became a roadie for a band called Golden Cups, which was my favorite Japanese band at the time.
——That must have been a big step for you. How did being around professional musicians influence your growth?
Masami Tsuchiya: At first, the band didn’t take me seriously. They all rejected me except the bassist, Masayoshi Kabe, who told them, ‘It’s fine, he can stay.’ His encouragement meant the world to me, and it was that moment that solidified my place with the crew. I was only 15 at the time, and being around real equipment, seeing the guitars and amps used by the greats like George Harrison, and carrying heavy amps like the Fender Dual Showman—everything felt surreal. I had a front-row seat to the very world I had dreamed of, and it was everything I had hoped for. Those were formative years for me. After that, I faced many challenges. My parents eventually found out where I was, and the police tracked me down. I had to return home and finish my high school education, but by then, my parents had learned not to say much—they were too afraid I’d run away again. It wasn’t long before I started a band in high school. We played Led Zeppelin covers and even won contests in Shizuoka.
——Oh, wow!
Masami Tsuchiya: By the time I reached high school, I was absolutely certain that music was my calling. I wanted to be on stage, to make music that resonated with people. Becoming a roadie was the quickest way to immerse myself in that world. I wanted to be close to the action, to the music, to the energy of live performances. And eventually, I made my way into the industry, where all of my influences—from John Lennon to my own experiences—shaped the path I walked. Music was, and still is, my whole world.
——You had quite a difficult start with your strict upbringing but you made your own luck.
Masami Tsuchiya: It truly began with a series of fortunate circumstances. I was at university, but I must confess, my studies weren’t my focus. I spent most of my time playing guitar in the school courtyard, often lost in my music. One day, a professional musician, Nobu Saito, approached me, commenting on how interesting my guitar playing was. Nobu Saito later played in a band called Bye Bye Session Band. Anyway, I hadn’t expected anything like that, but his words changed the course of my life. He invited me to a recording studio, which was a pivotal moment. At the time, I didn’t recognize it as the beginning of a professional career, but looking back, I can see that it was. I got paid for the session, and I was surrounded by seasoned professionals, a realization that would come to shape my future in music.
——That must have been a surreal experience, especially so early in your career.
Did you have anyone guiding you through those first steps?
Masami Tsuchiya: Yes, there were a few key people who really helped me along the way. The first was Nobu Saito, a session musician who’s now one of Japan’s top players and music producer. For reasons I’ll never fully understand, he took a liking to me. He saw something in me and invited me to all the jobs he was working on. Through him, I met many talented people, including a female singer-songwriter named Lily, who was like Japanese version of Joni Mitchell, and I had the opportunity to work in her band. That was a crucial turning point for me, the moment when I truly entered the professional music world.
——And then, of course, you crossed paths with Ryūichi Sakamoto, who would go on to become a global icon. How did that collaboration come about?
Masami Tsuchiya: It was an incredible stroke of luck. In 1973 or 1975, Ryūichi joined the band, Bye Bye Session Band, and it felt almost serendipitous. At the time, he was still in graduate school, one year ahead of me, and although I was technically the senior member of the band, musically, he was far beyond me. Ryūichi was an exceptional keyboardist, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of inferiority when we played together. His natural talent was astonishing, and I knew I was in the presence of someone special. None of us could have imagined, of course, that he would go on to win an Oscar and become such an influential figure in music, but it was clear from the start that he was destined for greatness. Ryūichi and I spent a great deal of time together, particularly during our tours. He often stayed at my apartment because he didn’t return home much. He was something of a free spirit—he didn’t care much for the usual social norms. I used to joke that he was ‘dirty’ but not in a malicious way. He simply didn’t worry about things like cleanliness or having a change of clothes. His mind was always occupied with music. He was a rare individual—deeply talented, but also detached from the everyday concerns that most of us fixate on. Over time, as his career blossomed, I saw him transform into the artist we all know today, but even in those early days, his brilliance was undeniable.
——You’ve mentioned Ryūichi’s background being quite different from yours. How did that contrast shape your perspective on music and life?
Masami Tsuchiya: Ryūichi’s background was fascinating to me. He came from a highly intellectual family, his father being a well-read scholar who admired writers like Yukio Mishima, and his mother being a refined, cultured woman. Their expectations for him were very different from those of my own family. He was a child prodigy—by the time he was 12, he could already play all of Beethoven’s and Mozart’s works. But despite his extraordinary abilities, he had a troubled relationship with his parents. To help him build character, they sent him mountain climbing, which he despised. He would often tell me stories about how his mother would take him on these mountain trips even when he was in university. It was a stark contrast to my own upbringing, which was far more traditional, but it gave me insight into his psyche—he was already thinking in ways that most of us never even consider. Ryūichi’s approach to life and music was deeply informed by his unique upbringing. His disconnection from conventional social norms allowed him to focus on what truly mattered to him—music. He wasn’t bogged down by the superficial aspects of life, and that was reflected in his work. He was fearless in his musical experimentation, and his ability to think outside the box made him a true pioneer. Working alongside him was eye-opening for me, and I learned a great deal about how to approach creativity without fear of judgment or failure.
——Your career path continued to evolve, especially with the emergence of electronic music. Can you share more about how you gravitated towards that style?
Masami Tsuchiya: By the early 1970s, the concept of electronic music began to take shape, and I was naturally drawn to it. I had already been listening to bands like Ultravox, who were incorporating synthesizers and electronic sounds into their music, and I was fascinated by the possibilities. At the time, YMO was starting to experiment with similar sounds. They were pushing boundaries in ways that had never been done before, using machines, rather than traditional instruments, to create music. It was a bold and groundbreaking concept, and it took some time for people to fully understand it. We were still playing rock and roll, but the way we created it—using technology—was revolutionary. It was challenging for the industry to wrap their heads around, but it was a new direction that felt incredibly exciting. The world was slow to understand it at first. Japan’s record companies were more comfortable with traditional rock music, so the concept of technopop was difficult for them to grasp. But YMO’s musicianship was undeniable. Hosono, Takahashi, and Sakamoto were among the best players in the world, and though they weren’t playing traditional instruments, their use of machines was just as innovative, if not more so. What was especially hard for people to understand was that, despite the machines, we were still very much playing rock and roll. It wasn’t purely electronic or purely rock; it was something entirely new—a fusion that took time for the industry and the public to fully appreciate.
——And amidst all this, you encountered other influential musicians. How did that shape your musical perspective?
Masami Tsuchiya: Yes, during that time, I had the chance to meet The Plastics, a Japanese band that was also very much at the heart of the technopop movement. It was a bit of a chance encounter—during a visit to Tokyo, I found myself at an event where Mick Karn was showcasing some of his sculptures. There, I crossed paths with The Plastics, and their influence on technopop was profound. It was a complex time, with all these ideas converging. The connections I made and the people I met during that period had a lasting impact on my musical evolution, and looking back, I see how those experiences shaped the path I would eventually take. Without a doubt. The period of technopop and my collaborations with Ryūichi, YMO, and other influential artists opened my eyes to new ways of thinking about music. It challenged my previous understanding of what music could be, and it pushed me to explore new sounds. It was a time of radical experimentation, and I was lucky to be part of that movement. Though technopop itself evolved over time, its core principles of blending technology and creativity remain a profound influence on my work. After The Plastics disbanded, two of the core members, Toshio Nakanishi and Chika Sato, began a new project called ‘Melon,’ and they invited me to join. Their mindset was to create something that could reach an international audience, and so we recorded in New York, working with a variety of talented musicians, including members of Talking Heads. One of the standout musicians in this project was Percy Jones, the legendary fretless bassist, someone I had admired deeply since childhood. To share a studio with him, to have him play on Melon’s album, was truly a dream realized for me.
——Did your connection with The Plastics eventually lead to your involvement with JAPAN?
Masami Tsuchiya: Yes, indeed. After we returned to Japan and played a live performance at a club called Tsubaki House in Shinjuku, the members of JAPAN caught wind of it and came to see us. They were already familiar with my work, and when they arrived, I instantly recognized them. It was a moment of serendipity—I knew this was an opportunity to form something special, and the chemistry between us was immediate. We quickly became close friends.
——How did the idea of collaborating with JAPAN come about?
Masami Tsuchiya: At the time, I was working on my solo album, RICE MUSIC (ed. see cover below). Although I hadn’t started recording it yet, I realized that this might be a perfect moment to join forces with JAPAN. So, I proposed the idea to them, though I didn’t yet have any complete tracks ready. The very next day, I composed some bass demo tracks and shared them with the band, suggesting that we continue the project in London. I took the tapes with me, and when I arrived, they were waiting for me at the studio. The experience was nothing short of magical. We were fortunate enough to work with the brilliant producer and engineer Steve Nye, who had previously worked on Tin Drum with JAPAN. The synergy in the studio was palpable. Everyone was so incredibly talented, and I felt deeply honored to be part of such an esteemed group. Soon after, David Sylvian, the lead vocalist, joined us. It was a bit of a surprise to everyone, as David came to the studio alone, without any entourage—he came specifically to meet me.
——How did the collaboration evolve from there?
Masami Tsuchiya: At the time, JAPAN had just parted ways with their guitarist, Rob Dean, and they were in need of a replacement for their upcoming tour. Mick, who had heard of my work, asked if I would step in. I must admit, I was both excited and a little nervous. I had never played guitar in front of David Sylvian before, but he was incredibly eager to work with me. I recall pretending to be uncertain, making them wait a few days, but in reality, I was thrilled by the opportunity. After a few days of ‘deliberation,’ I agreed, and we began discussing the details of the tour. Once I committed, the process moved forward smoothly. What stood out to me the most was the kindness and patience the band showed me. At the time, my English wasn’t very strong, but they were so understanding. They reassured me that everything would be fine, and despite the language barrier, we communicated effortlessly. Their patience and kindness made me feel completely at ease, and it was a testament to the supportive environment they cultivated.
——It seems like that was a turning point in your career.
What do you think you took away from that time with the band JAPAN?
Masami Tsuchiya: Joining JAPAN was a pivotal chapter in my career, one that I will always look back on with deep gratitude. Their warmth and generosity, combined with their exceptional musicality, taught me more than I could have imagined. It wasn’t just about making music—it was about creating something larger than ourselves, something that transcended cultural and linguistic boundaries. It was a reminder of the power of collaboration, and it solidified my belief that music, in its purest form, is a universal language. As a fun fact, when I was first working in the UK, with JAPAN, I noticed something odd. When the band members would speak to me, they would use very clear and simple English, but as soon as I wasn’t around, they seemed to talk in a jumble. It was like they were speaking a different language, and I couldn’t understand a word of it (laughs).
——I understand that feeling (laughs).
You mentioned working with Duran Duran in the mid-80s. How was the experience with them?
Masami Tsuchiya: Ah, yes, in 1985 or ’86, I was invited by Duran Duran to work on a project called Arcadia. We recorded in Paris, France and at that point, I found myself reflecting on my time with JAPAN. The members of Duran Duran were from Birmingham, and their accents were so thick, I couldn’t understand a word they said. They didn’t mean any harm, but they just assumed I understood. I’d just say, ‘Okay, okay,’ but then I’d wonder, ‘What did they actually say? What am I supposed to do? It was embarrassing at times. I didn’t want to ask them to repeat themselves, so I just kept pretending I understood. But it was tough. Luckily, there were also American musicians on the project, and their English was much easier for me to follow. It’s simpler and to the point, so I could manage better.
——Why did you pretend to understand (laughs)?
Masami Tsuchiya: Because it was cool to do so (smiles). The image, you know (laughs)? I wanted to project a good image of myself, someone cool who was bilingual. After living in the UK for a while, I realized that American English was actually much easier to understand. It’s more straightforward, without all the extra words or phrases that British English tends to have. It made things a bit easier to handle in those situations (laughs).
——I heard a funny story about David Bowie trying to attend a show of the band JAPAN when you paying with them…
Masami Tsuchiya: Ah, the guestlist (laughs). It’s true! I heard this story directly from someone very close to David Bowie, so I know it’s true. He tried to attend our concert but was turned away because his name wasn’t on the guest list. He was refused at the door. Isn’t that crazy? It’s always such a big deal on tours, especially when it comes to security. The door security takes the guest list very seriously. If your name’s not on it, you’re not getting in, if you’re not you’re out. But, when it came to David Bowie, the rules shouldn’t apply (laughs), don’t you think? At the time, I couldn’t believe it. I thought, “There’s no way David Bowie could be turned away!” It seemed absurd. In fact, I half-thought the story might be a fabrication. Apparently, they were angry and genuinely frustrated, asking: “Why weren’t we allowed in?”. Simon NAPIER-BELL, the manager of JAPAN at the time, overheard the situation. Simon was a key figure—he had managed legendary acts like the Yardbirds, Marc Bolan, and T. Rex. Later, he even worked with Wham. At that point, he was arguably the top manager in the UK. Now, Simon was also a cunning individual. He sold the story to the press—probably to The Daily Mirror or another major newspaper.
——So, the story became public?
Masami Tsuchiya: Yes, it made headlines (laughs). The press framed it as if the band JAPAN had turned David Bowie away. I didn’t see the article at the time, but later, someone showed it to me. It was a big newspaper, and the story was sensationalized: “JAPAN Kicks Out David Bowie.”
——I think, your presence has something very similar to David Bowie’s.
Masami Tsuchiya: Thank you. He’s an icon. I saw him once at a hotel in Hampstead, a well-known spot where Brian Eno used to stay. I remember watching him from a distance as he walked toward the hotel, but I couldn’t bring myself to approach him. He didn’t look anything like the David Bowie I had imagined. He was dressed so casually—wearing flip flops, of all things. It was shocking (laughs). At that time, I couldn’t reconcile that image with my perception of him. But later, I learned that Bowie often wore flip flops. It was part of who he was, though it completely defied my expectations.
——David Bowie’s appearance has always defied expectations (laughs).
Masami Tsuchiya: Absolutely (laughs). To be honest, I love his music but I’ve always been captivated greatly by his face, his presence. When I first saw him during the Ziggy Stardust era, I thought he looked extraordinary. My favorite phase was the Station to Station era. His sharp, slim look during that time really stood out to me. Ironically, that was also one of his darkest periods—he had lost a lot of weight, likely due to drugs. Even so, that phase carried a magnetic energy. Afterward, his Berlin era was also fascinating, but Station to Station remains my favorite. What I adore about out David Bowie is his ability to transform himself completely at each stage of his career. Bowie was always reinventing himself, pushing boundaries—not just musically, but visually and culturally. It’s something I still deeply admire.
——In the 1980s, Japanese bands and UK bands were tightly connected. It was a special era for music between these 2 countries. You’ve spent a significant amount of time in England yourself. What led you there and how was your experience like?
Masami Tsuchiya: You’re right, it was indeed a special era for these 2 countries. I moved to London in 1990 and ended up living there for 13 years. I spent lots of time in London even afterwards and it’s still very close to my heart. The first time I went was around 1980 when I collaborated with Kim Wilde, producing some of her songs. The first time I collaborated with her was for a commercial. I never expected my song to be chosen, but since it was a big opportunity, there must have been about a hundred songs submitted. Apparently, Kim Wilde chose it, saying: “This is the one”. She wanted to record the song in the UK, so that’s when I first went to London. It was very fateful. I recorded it at a studio called Rak Studio, which was created by a man named Mickie Most. Mickie Most was very close to Simon Napier-Bell, the manager I mentioned earlier. He was a very important producer from the 1960s, and according to him, he’s the one who formed Led Zeppelin. He called Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones to the studio, and that’s how Led Zeppelin was formed. Anyway, it feels like fate brought me to that first studio in the UK. That’s where it all came together for me. Everything felt so natural, as if I just found myself in England without consciously deciding to go. It wasn’t a planned journey but something that happened organically. I also realized that all the people I respected in music were coming from England. That connection felt so meaningful to me.
——Why did you decide to return to Japan?
Masami Tsuchiya: Over time, though, my ideal image of London and England started to change. This was around 1990, just as the Gulf War began. It was a strange time—people were hesitant to travel, especially to the UK. At the same time, many wealthy people from the Middle East moved to London, particularly to areas like Mayfair, seeking refuge from their own conflicts. By the 1990s, these shifts significantly altered the atmosphere of the city. I lived in a decent area, Maida Vale, but the dynamics changed. My neighbors—both above and below—were families from Iran or Iraq. I don’t mean to generalize, but they often argued, and these arguments sometimes escalated to fights. I started to understand why wars happen—there seemed to be constant conflict, even in day-to-day interactions. Language barriers and cultural differences often led to misunderstandings that escalated quickly. Over time, I grew tired of it all. London no longer felt like home. The cost of living skyrocketed, and it became increasingly difficult to live there. Even the people I admired and connected with started leaving England.
——I understand your feeling and frustration, that’s one of the reasons I left Paris.
Masami Tsuchiya: Yes, right! Another big change was the transition from analog to digital. Many engineers I worked with—those who deeply understood sound—left the industry as analog equipment was phased out. George Martin once told me something profound: every time technology advances and makes things easier, we lose something in the process. For example, in the days of analog, microphones and mixing consoles used vacuum tubes. These tubes needed to warm up for 6–7 hours before they could work perfectly. This inconvenience was why people switched to solid-state transistors and later to digital chips. It made recording easier, but it also meant losing the unique qualities of analog sound. George Martin taught me to always consider what we’re losing with every “improvement.”
——We often lose something when we think we gain time with the use of technology.
Masami Tsuchiya: One famous example is the Beatles. In the U.S., studios were already using 16-track systems for soul music recordings. Meanwhile, the Beatles were still recording on 4-track machines in England. American engineers mocked them, saying British studios were behind the times. But the reality was different. Analog tape quality varied depending on how many tracks were crammed onto it. George Martin chose to stick with 4-track systems because they preserved the sound quality. By dividing the tape into just four sections, each section had more space for better audio fidelity. In contrast, 16-track systems divided the tape into thinner sections, compromising the sound. This is why Beatles recordings still sound unparalleled today. Martin knew that convenience often comes at a cost, and he prioritized quality over ease.
——While in Japan…
Masami Tsuchiya: In Japan, the mentality was to embrace new things, always adopting the latest innovations. Interestingly, Japan was at the forefront of technological innovation in music during that time. Japan’s advancements, especially in the 1980s, were far ahead of the UK’s. It felt incredible to see Japanese technology, like Roland’s instruments, influencing the global music scene. Back then, Roland and other Japanese manufacturers were developing groundbreaking equipment. Today, this would be akin to the functionality of computer-based music production tools, but back then, these companies created hardware instruments capable of automation and advanced features. British musicians, however, were often behind in adopting these technologies. From my perspective, they were surprisingly slow to adapt, still using outdated methods while Japan led the way.
——Traditionally, when Japanese artists visited the UK or the U.S., it was about studying and learning from them.
Masami Tsuchiya: To some extent, but by the 1980s, this dynamic flipped. Japanese musicians started teaching their British counterparts, pointing out outdated practices and introducing new techniques. Visiting British studios during that time was exciting because I got to share knowledge and innovations from Japan. It was incredibly fulfilling. There was shift in global influence. You were right when you said earlier that it was such a special time for cultural exchange between Japan and the UK. Meeting and working with people I admired was truly rewarding. Almost every one of the people I looked up to—probably 90%—turned out to be genuinely kind and inspiring. I never felt disappointed. Being able to meet those I idolized, create music with them, and share those experiences was a dream come true.
——Between 1982 and 2013, you released eight albums. How would you describe your body of work during this period? Are there any album or tracks you’d recommend to someone who’s just discovering your music?
Masami Tsuchiya: That’s a tough question because I have a deep attachment to all my albums. Each one was created with my full energy and passion, so it’s hard to choose. That said, the tracks I worked on with Mick Karn hold a special place in my heart. We collaborated on several songs, and I really love how they turned out. Mick’s talent and unique perspective elevated the music in ways I couldn’t have imagined. I would recommend those collaborations to anyone curious about my music—they’re personal favorites and represent a high point in my creative journey.
——You’re not only a guitarist but also a singer. How do you feel about your identity as a vocalist?
Masami Tsuchiya: To be honest, I’ve never been happy with my own voice. I don’t like my singing and often feel it falls short of what I aspire to achieve. I have idols, like David Bowie and Lou Reed, whose voices I deeply admire, but I know I could never match their brilliance. When I listen to their music, I’m in awe. Their voices convey so much emotion and character. Then I hear my own recordings, and it feels embarrassing in comparison. I just don’t like my voice, and it makes me more self-critical as a vocalist. I’ve spent years studying and improving as a guitarist, and I’m always eager to try new things with my instrument. But when it comes to singing, it’s more challenging to feel satisfied. Bowie and Reed have set such a high standard that I can only dream of reaching their level.
——I heard that you resume your activities as a solo artist thanks to Sugizo (LUNA SEA)?
Masami Tsuchiya: That goes back to around 1993 when I was living in England. I returned to Tokyo briefly for some production work, and during one of those nights, I met Sugizo at a nightclub. He approached me and introduced himself. At the time, he had just started his band, Luna Sea. He told me something that left a strong impression: as a kid, he had watched me perform and decided he wanted to become a rock guitarist. That moment stayed with him, and he shared how much it inspired his path. Even back then, Sugizo stood out as someone unique. He handed me a collection of materials, including records and documents, that he said defined his identity. I thought, “This guy is definitely one of a kind.” But I admired his passion and dedication, and we stayed in touch. Later, during a break in Luna Sea’s activities, Sugizo moved near me in London. We spent a lot of time together—talking, making music, and sharing ideas. By then, Luna Sea had grown into a massive presence, and Sugizo was launching his own label, Cross Label, under Polydor Japan. This label allowed him complete creative freedom. Sugizo invited me to create an album under this label and gave me total autonomy. He was in charge, so whatever he approved could move forward without question. We ended up producing two albums together: Forest People and Sea Monster. For Forest People, I asked Atsushi Sakurai from BUCK-TICK to sing on two tracks. His voice was incredible—full of depth and emotion. I’ve always admired vocalists like him who can convey so much feeling in their performances.
——As you mentioned Atsushi Sakurai, what have you learned from these numerous experiences and collaborations you’ve had with different artists and were there any particularly memorable ones?
Masami Tsuchiya: Collaborating with other artists has been one of the most rewarding parts of my career. It’s always a learning experience. When you work with others, especially those you admire, it opens you up to new perspectives and approaches. For instance, working with Atsushi Sakurai was unforgettable. His voice transformed my songs in ways I couldn’t have achieved on my own. When someone else sings your music, it allows you to hear it with fresh ears, without the self-critical lens you often apply to your own performances. I’ve realized that music is about more than just technical skill or talent. It’s about the connection you feel with the person behind the music. That’s why I love artists like David Bowie and Lou Reed—not just for their songs, but because of who they were as individuals. I’ve never met them, but their personalities and artistry shine through in their music, making it all the more meaningful to me. With collaborations, it’s often the same. When you genuinely admire someone as a person, it makes the music they create even more special. Whether it’s Sakurai or Sugizo, my respect and affection for them only deepened through the work we’ve done together. Honestly, every collaboration I’ve been part of has left a lasting impression on me. I feel incredibly grateful for all of them. But if I had to pinpoint what truly matters in these experiences, it would be the sense of resonance—of harmony—between myself and others. Music, at its core, is about connection. It’s about creating something together that resonates on a deeper level. Think of it as harmonization: two different sounds blending together to form something greater. That’s the magic for me—the most important and enjoyable part of making music. For instance, when someone like ISSAY or Atsushi Sakurai sings over a track I’ve created, it’s not just about their voice. What makes it powerful is their spirit, their emotion, and the intention they bring to the performance. Singing isn’t just about technique or using your vocal cords—it has to come from the heart. Without that authenticity, the song won’t move people. Both ISSAY and Atsushi Sakurai embody that dedication. They pour their whole selves into their performances, and that’s why I love working with them. Atsushi Sakurai, in particular, was one of the first Japanese vocalists to sing on my tracks. Back then, we used 8-track tapes—quite a dated system by today’s standards. I sent him a tape with my backing track, asking him to record his vocals and send it back. I expected one or two takes, maybe three at most. Instead, he filled every track with different vocal ideas. It was incredible—I was stunned by his dedication and creativity. What amazed me even more was the quality. Every single take he sent back was good, so much so that it was hard to choose just one. In the end, I picked the first take he recorded. There was something so pure and raw about it—it resonated with me on a deep level. When I told him my choice, he was kind of shocked. He said that track wasn’t meant to be the final version; it was just a test, something he had quickly recorded without much thought. His later takes, he explained, were more polished and intentional. But for me, that first take captured something honest and unfiltered, something that couldn’t be recreated. It wasn’t perfect in the conventional sense, but it had heart—it felt alive. This is what makes music special to me. Someone else might have chosen one of the later, more refined takes because they were smoother or technically “better.” But I’ll always go for the version that feels the most authentic, the one that speaks directly to my heart. Music is about connection, and that’s what I value most.
——That’s beautifully eloquent. It’s hard for me to transition after that… Let’s talk about the band KAFKA. The lineup was full of unique talents. How did you bring the members together, and what was your vision for the band?
Masami Tsuchiya: My goal for KAFKA was straightforward: I wanted to create a really cool band with equally cool members. ISSAY (DER ZIBET), for example, is incredibly charismatic, and Motokatsu Miyagami (The Mad Capsule Markerts) and Koji Ueno (Thee Michelle Gun Elephant) are both fantastic musicians with their own distinct styles, Ken Morioka (Soft Ballet) is one of kind keyboardist. At that time, I found myself revisiting the music of Joy Division—a band I had always admired. They have this raw, pure quality that’s hard to find. While many people see them as dark or melancholic, to me, they’re deeply honest and authentic. I wasn’t aiming to replicate their sound, but I wanted to capture that same sense of purity and commitment within KAFKA. ISSAY was one of the few musicians in Japan who truly understood what made Joy Division so special. Although I knew of him during the ’80s, we hadn’t spoken much until we attended a BUCK-TICK concert together. After the show, we started talking about how we’d love to create a band inspired by Joy Division’s ethos. Right then and there, ISSAY said, “If you’re serious, I’d love to be a part of it”. Coincidentally, Ken Morioka overheard our conversation and immediately chimed in, saying he wanted to join too. In just a matter of moments, the three of us decided to form KAFKA. Ken also recommended Motokatsu (Mad Capsule Markets) a drummer he had worked with before, and I already knew him through his work with Sugizo’s band. When we approached Motokatsu, he was on board right away. For the bass, I thought of Koji Ueno from Thee Michelle Gun Elephant. I’ve always been a big fan of his playing and his personality—he has this samurai-like straightforwardness and honesty. When we reached out to him, he seemed genuinely surprised, almost asking, “Are you sure you want me?” He excels at punk-style basslines, but I think he worried about whether his style would suit the diverse genres I tend to explore. That doubt made him even more determined to give it his all, and I loved his enthusiasm and dedication. Each member brought something unique to the band. Koji’s sharpness balanced Ken’s more indecisive, reserve nature, creating a dynamic that worked perfectly. It was truly a dream lineup. Unfortunately, after Ken passed away, we couldn’t see a way to replace him. While we never officially disbanded KAFKA, it felt impossible to continue without him.
——May he rest in peace.
How did you approach working with such distinct personalities in the band?
Masami Tsuchiya: Surprisingly, it was very natural. There were no major conflicts because I handled most of the creative direction. I wrote the music, and ISSAY contributed some ideas, but overall, I made the core decisions. I think that streamlined the process and avoided friction. Everyone trusted the vision and gave their best to bring it to life. If we had tried to create songs collaboratively, it might have taken much longer, with disagreements along the way. Instead, we had a clear structure, and the recording process was incredibly efficient. Everyone respected the roles we played, which made working together smooth and enjoyable.
——You’ve worked across various genres. What genre fits you the best?
Masami Tsuchiya: Yes, I’ve always been involved in a wide range of genres. I think it’s important to approach music from different angles, exploring various styles and sounds. When it comes to what suits me personally, it’s a bit hard to define. I’ve always believed in experimentation, and that’s where I found my space in the so-called “New Wave” movement. But New Wave, in its true sense, isn’t just a single style or genre. It’s a fusion of many elements, and that’s what attracted me. For me, New Wave encompasses a variety of influences. Of course, there’s techno, as well as rock and roll—those are essential elements for me. But there’s also a significant influence from R&B, which I hold in high regard. For example, I’m a huge fan of Al Green. His rhythm and vocals resonate deeply with me. In fact, the beat and the way he sings have had a massive influence on my approach to music. Artists like Otis Redding and, of course, James Brown also played a crucial role in shaping my musical foundation.
——You’ve worked with a lot of musicians from both Japan and abroad. Do you see any differences in how music is approached in these different regions?
Masami Tsuchiya: Yes, absolutely. The way music is approached can differ greatly depending on the culture. In Japan, for example, there is often a very technical and theoretical approach to music. Many musicians are trained in music theory and are very familiar with things like chord names and scales. This isn’t a bad thing, but it’s often more structured and academic. In contrast, many musicians in places like the UK or the US may not have formal training in theory, but they have a unique ability to connect with the music on a more visceral level. Take Mick Jagger, for instance. He doesn’t worry about whether the note he’s playing is an F-flat or an E-sharp. He reacts to the sound, and that’s the magic of it. He’s playing based on what he feels, not on what the theory tells him. This is the same for other great musicians like Percy Jones, a bassist I deeply respect. He doesn’t read or write music; he just feels it. For a musician like him, there’s no need to follow the traditional rules or write down every note. They’re more focused on the energy of the performance and how they can communicate through their instrument. I think this is a major difference between how music is approached in Japan and how it’s approached in other parts of the world.
——Maybe it’s the difference in cultures that come out where westerners put more emphasis on letting emotions do the talking. How did that influence the music?
Masami Tsuchiya: Well, it’s a very organic way of approaching music. In the case of Percy Jones, I’ve had the opportunity to work with him on several recordings. He doesn’t use music sheets or anything like that. Instead, he’ll bring a whiteboard into the studio and start drawing images. For example, he might draw a mountain or an elephant and associate those images with certain sounds or feelings. He might say: “Play it like an elephant” or “This section feels like the moon,” and you would play based on that imagery, not based on a set of notes or chords. This kind of approach is much more intuitive, and it leads to more creative freedom. It’s not about following a set of rules or structures; it’s about communicating through the music in a very personal way. And I think this is something that’s often missing in Japan, where music can sometimes feel more rigid because of the emphasis on theory and structure. There’s a beauty in that, of course, but I think there’s also a lot to be gained from letting go of those boundaries and allowing the music to speak for itself.
——That’s amazing!
You’ve mentioned earlier that artists don’t have a good image in Japan, now what do you think is the role of artists in society?
Masami Tsuchiya: In Japan, there’s a historical context where entertainers and artists have always been viewed as being at a lower social status. This goes back to the Edo period and has persisted through the years. There’s still this cultural perception that artists are somewhat secondary, and I think that’s reflected in the way we’re treated in society. For instance, in places like Paris, I’ve experienced a completely different attitude. When you walk into a café or hotel, artists are treated with a kind of reverence and respect. You’re given the space to exist as an artist. In Japan, it’s often the opposite. You’re made to feel like an outsider or an inconvenience, which is a shame. Even in professional environments, this can be seen. During a recording session, you might find that artists in the West are given more creative freedom, whereas in Japan, the focus is often more on technical proficiency and following certain procedures like you would a company. This difference in attitudes towards artists and their role in society is a significant aspect of the cultural divide between Japan and other countries. But I do think that with the rise of social media and greater global connectivity, attitudes toward artists are slowly changing in Japan. There’s a lot more room for self-expression now, even if the underlying cultural perceptions are still deeply ingrained. Maybe that’s the reason why Japanese artists are serious about music theory. Percy Jones, for example, he played in a band with Phil Collins and collaborated with Brian Eno on albums like Another Green World, which is one of my favorites. He’s an absolutely incredible bassist. But when I first met him, I was surprised to find that he didn’t know anything about musical theory—not even the basics. He couldn’t tell you if a chord was a B-flat or a C-major 7. In Japan, professional musicians are typically well-versed in these things. They understand chord names, time signatures, how to follow repeat marks in sheet music—it’s just part of the job here. But in the UK and the US, especially with musicians we admire, it’s the opposite. They often don’t know any of that technical stuff. Sure, there are musicians over there who can read scores, but they tend to be… well, boring. The really interesting musicians, the ones who stand out, often can’t read music or follow conventional theory. They work purely from intuition. For example, I asked Percy how he recorded with Eno, and he told me this story. Eno would bring out a whiteboard and draw pictures on it—mountains, elephants, moons, suns—and say: “Play like this.” He’d literally point to a drawing and tell Percy, “This is the vibe I want: from the mountain to the elephant, from the elephant to the moon.” Percy would then play based on those images, creating sounds that matched the concept. If you listen to Another Green World, you can hear it. It’s a very visual, almost tactile soundscape—some parts feel like mountains, some like elephants, some like the moon. That approach blew my mind. It was such a different way of thinking about music. So, when I recorded with Percy, I adopted his method. I used a whiteboard and sketches instead of traditional sheet music. Normally, musicians would get a chart, something that says, “Play this section for eight measures, then go back to this part.” But with Percy, it was all imagery: “From the mountain to the elephant, from the elephant to the moon.” It was such a refreshing way to collaborate. He literally gave me a shove on the back to inform me to change the mood of the performance while I was playing (laughs). That kind of spontaneity is something you don’t find in Japanese musicians.
——How do you think Japanese musicians are unique compared to those from other countries?
Masami Tsuchiya: Well, to be honest, I think Japan uniqueness isn’t always a good thing. It needs to change. Let me explain: in the West, music has a natural hierarchy. There’s the songwriter, the singer, and then the audience. To reach as many people as possible, stadiums were built for performances. Then, records were created to reach an even wider audience, which coincided with Edison’s inventions. So, there’s a clear sequence: the music comes first, and the companies and technology follow to distribute it. But in Japan, it’s upside down. Here, companies like Panasonic and Sony—hardware manufacturers—were the ones driving the music industry. They started by wanting to sell record players, so they commissioned composers to create music that would help sell their equipment. Then they’d find vocalists to perform the music. Musicians were at the very bottom of this hierarchy. This system flipped the natural order, where the artist should have the most value. In Japan, artists are often treated as the least valuable part of the process. If hardware companies didn’t need them to sell their products, they’d drop them in a heartbeat. I experienced this firsthand in the 1980s when everything shifted to digital. Sony, for instance, wasn’t interested in selling records or record players anymore. They wanted to sell CD players, so they focused on creating content specifically to promote that technology. This approach has long-lasting effects. It reduces the value placed on artistry and creativity. In the West, even the most unconventional musicians have room to thrive because they are recognized as the foundation of the music. In Japan, the system prioritizes products and companies over the artists, which can stifle originality.
——Oh, that’s very interesting. I always thought Japanese artists had a special way to appear as inaccessible while western musicians don’t really seem to care to look like a very common person. How is the treatment of artists in Japan different from other countries?
Masami Tsuchiya: I think it ties back to one of the fundamental issues with how Japan views and values artists. It’s a systemic misunderstanding, deeply rooted in the culture. For example, I noticed this starkly when I went to Paris to work with members of Duran Duran on the Arcadia project. Sometimes we’d go out for tea or to a small café, or even to a hotel bar. And you know what? The staff would immediately recognize the artists and treat them with immense respect. They’d rearrange tables, set up a special space, and make us feel genuinely valued. It was as if they understood that artists held an important role in society and treated them accordingly. Contrast this with Japan. Here, when I enter a venue, I’m often met with awkward or hostile looks, as if to say, “Who’s this strange guy?” I get it—there’s a cultural difference in how artists are perceived. Once, I had a particularly eye-opening experience in Paris. This might sound like boasting, but it’s more about perspective. I had dinner with Mick Jagger at the Ritz, one of the most prestigious hotels in Paris. It was already late—restaurants typically close around 11 PM. But Mick was having a drink, and nobody dared to ask him to leave. Instead, the staff stayed and kept the restaurant open until 3 AM, accommodating him with patience and respect. No one complained. Now, imagine the same situation in Japan. The restaurant staff would’ve politely but firmly asked us to leave the moment the clock struck closing time. “We’re done for the day, please go home.” That’s the difference—how society positions and respects artists.
——On the contrary, isn’t good to treat celebrities as regular people as they truly are? I understand your point about the culture differences though.
Masami Tsuchiya: I suppose so. But, what I am advocating for is to not place artists at the lower tiers. As I said, this dates back to the Edo period, where entertainers and performers were placed in the lowest tiers of society. That historical view persists today, even though things have modernized with platforms like social media, which allow artists more freedom to express themselves. Still, at a fundamental level, the societal perception remains unchanged. Artists in Japan aren’t seen as central or integral to the culture. This is reflected in how they’re treated—whether by businesses, institutions, or even audiences. Even as an artist myself, I sometimes feel this instinctive hesitation. There’s a sense of, “I shouldn’t take up too much space,” or “I can’t really assert myself.” It’s as though artists are conditioned to see themselves as secondary or insignificant in society, and that mentality is hard to shake.
——So, artists are not taken seriously in Japan?
Masami Tsuchiya: I think so, yes. It’s a tough reality… Often, artists end up lying about what they do, even to their parents. I saw it on TV recently—someone said they were going to university, but in reality, they were doing comedy. When their mother found out, she cried. It shows how hard it can be for parents to accept it. People go to great lengths to keep their careers hidden from their families.
——But you’ve had some major success. How did that change things for you?
Masami Tsuchiya: It was a turning point for me. I appeared on a major media show, particularly on BS and TBS, alongside a famous host. Do you know Tetsuko Kuroyanagi? She’s a legendary MC, one of the longest-serving in Japan. After one of my songs became a hit, I appeared on her show, and my parents were so proud. Before that, I was a musician kept secret in the family. But after that, they were cheering me on, telling everyone, ‘Look at him!”. Before that, I was a top-secret musician to them, but after the show, they became my biggest supporters. Media exposure really changes everything. It’s not just about how good you are at your craft; it’s about how much exposure you get. Many talented people perform in small theaters, but they remain overlooked.
——So, media visibility is key?
Masami Tsuchiya: Absolutely. It’s critical, whether you’re a comedian, musician, or actor. Even today, the media remains incredibly important.
——I’d like to focus the rest of the interview on your personal philosophy. You’ve spoken before about the darker side of life and art, particularly with the band KAFKA. Can you explain your thoughts on this? Do you consider yourself a dark person?
Masami Tsuchiya: Yes, I do. I’ve always felt a deep connection to the shadow side of life, that place where the profound and the mysterious dwell. I’ve always felt that darkness is just as essential as light. It’s a part of the human experience, and without it, the light would have no meaning. I love brightness, the warmth and energy it brings, but I’ve never trusted someone who is only bright. When someone’s light is un-shadowed, un-contrasted, it can feel shallow, superficial. Brightness without darkness is incomplete. It’s the balance between light and dark that gives life its depth. Darkness shapes our understanding of the light. It teaches us to appreciate moments of joy and clarity, because we have felt their absence. If you live only in the brightness, the world becomes flat, two-dimensional. The true beauty of life lies in its contrasts—the way light and dark dance together, creating layers of meaning, of complexity.
——So, life is about contrasts?
Masami Tsuchiya: Yes. Also, life is not about just adding more to our experiences; sometimes, it’s about stripping away the unnecessary, letting go of the excess, so we can see what remains. And in that simplicity, in that rawness, we find something truly beautiful. It’s not about constantly seeking the light, but rather understanding that both light and dark are part of the same whole. Together, they form the depth and the richness of our existence.
——That’s a good perspective.
What makes music so special to you?
Masami Tsuchiya: Music, much like life itself, is rooted in resonance. It is the way that two hearts, two souls, can meet in a moment of shared understanding, without words, without explanation. You can create something that sounds beautiful to you, something that feels right in the deepest parts of yourself. But the true magic—the essence of music—is revealed when you can share that feeling with another. When the sounds you create bridge the space between you and someone else, and for a fleeting moment, you are not just two people, but one shared experience. Music is an exchange of emotions, a silent conversation that happens within the vibrations of sound. What makes it so uniquely special is that music transcends all distractions. In a world full of visual stimuli and interpretations, music is pure. It is not tied to anything you can touch, not something you can see—it is an invisible force. It is air moving, vibrating through space, touching our very core. You cannot hold it in your hands, nor can you possess it in the conventional sense. And yet, it becomes something tangible the moment it resonates within you, and you feel its echo in others. It is abstract, yes. There is no form, no shape to grasp. But in its very abstraction lies its power. Music is not meant to be seen or touched; it is meant to be felt, deeply and profoundly. It is the only form of art that exists purely in the intangible, and perhaps that’s what makes it so essential. It connects the invisible. For me, it links hearts, minds, and spirits in a way nothing else can. Music is the pulse of life itself, flowing through us in waves of sound, binding us together in a universal language that transcends time, place, and even thought. Music is life itself, unspoken, unseen—but always felt, always flowing, always connecting. That’s why it’s so powerful. Because in the end, it’s not just about what you hear—it’s about what you feel. It is the bridge between the self and the other, the link between the past and the present, the visible and the invisible. And in that, music is everything.
——I heard that you are very serious about the guitar, paying attention to even the small details that other guitarists might overlook. Is that true?
Masami Tsuchiya: Absolutely. But where did you get that from (laughs)? To me, everything I work with is like a living thing. In Japan, there’s a long-standing tradition—not exactly a legend, but more of a belief—that if you take care of something, it becomes imbued with life. For example, there’s this idea that if you treat something with care, it gains a kind of spirit. It’s not just a tool; it’s more than that. When I hold my guitar, I treat it as if it has its own life. I believe there’s life in it, and that’s why I care so deeply for them. Even the smallest pieces, like bolts or parts of a guitar, are essential. It might seem insignificant to others, but to me, it’s everything. For example, when adjusting a pickup or tightening screws, it’s all important. If you don’t take care of those little details, you can’t achieve the best sound.
——Is there anything about you that your fans might not know? For example, it seems you have an interest in fashion.
Masami Tsuchiya: Yes, definitely! I’ve always been drawn to mod fashion, especially the ‘60s style from England. Bands like The Who and The Beatles had a huge influence on it. I still love that style today—it’s something that’s stayed with me over the years. Currently, I’m really into Hedi Slimane, who’s designing at Celine now, and previously at Saint Laurent. His work is high-end, but I admire it deeply. He’s also collaborated with musicians, which I appreciate, especially his connection to the ‘60s mod scene. He even worked with David Bowie, which resonates with me. It’s that distinct British style—there’s something uniquely expressive about it.
——You’ve released eight solo albums, and your latest album was released in 2013 under your own label. Could you tell us more about how you started your own label? Did you want to have complete creative freedom and control?
Masami Tsuchiya: I did. It’s quite simple, really. Back in the ’70s and ’80s, the record labels in Japan had a proper system in place. You had directors, promoters, and people dedicated to every aspect of the process. Everything functioned like a well-oiled machine, and it allowed artists to focus on their music. But things started to change in the ’90s. That structure, which had worked so well, began to fall apart. By then, it felt like nothing was functioning the way it should. The whole system had become fragmented. At that point, I realized I had no choice but to take matters into my own hands. I didn’t want to, honestly. If there were still people who could manage those things for me, I’d gladly rely on them. But the reality was that there weren’t any. So, starting my own label became the only way to stay true to my vision. I am glad I have complete control though it’s a hassle to do everything on my own. The hardest part when I was working with other labels was ensuring that the people involved truly understand my vision. When I create a song, I always have a clear idea of how I want it to sound, who I want it to reach, and how I want it to be presented. But if the people working with me don’t grasp that, things can go completely off track. Unfortunately, that kind of misunderstanding happened often when I worked with traditional labels. A song would be marketed or promoted in ways that didn’t align with my intentions, and I hated that. Now, working independently means operating on a much smaller scale, but it allows me to have control. I’d rather have a smaller reach with integrity than compromise my work for broader appeal. But it’s a hassle (laughs)
——You mentioned thinking about making a new album. What’s holding you back?
Masami Tsuchiya: I think about it constantly. I want to create something new, but I haven’t been able to make it happen yet. It’s not for lack of trying—it’s just that executing your vision the way you imagine it can be incredibly difficult. I’ve always admired simplicity in music. For example, there’s a concept I love called “One Note to Enlightenment.” It’s the idea of creating something so pure and complete that even a single note can express everything. That’s the kind of music I want to make. But I’m not there yet. Reaching that level of simplicity and perfection is incredibly challenging. It’s something I’m striving for, and I’ll keep working toward it.
——I hope you’ll reach that point. Do you see collaboration as part of that process?
Masami Tsuchiya: Absolutely. Collaborations bring new perspectives and possibilities. It’s something I value deeply, and it might be key to unlocking the kind of music I want to create. I want to collaborate with people who share this kind of mindset are hard to come by. That said, I’m always on the lookout. There are a few people who come to mind, but first, I have to clearly show what I want to do. I need to present a blueprint or a clear vision, but that’s not easy. I tend to get involved in too many different things, and I know it—it’s unnecessary, really.
——What’s keeping you busy right now?
Masami Tsuchiya: Lately, I’ve been teaching a few people—mostly guitar. It’s interesting because I was never really taught by anyone myself. I basically figured things out on my own. Teaching, though, is a whole different challenge. Explaining things to others is hard. It’s not just about playing but figuring out how to teach someone to play. That’s what’s keeping me the busiest these days. It’s a lot of trial and error to figure out the best way to guide someone. Other than that, I am currently working on my autobiographical book in collaboration with Mr. Eiichi Yoshimura who is known for having released Ryuichi Sakamoto and David Bowie’s books. While we haven’t set a release date or shared further details yet, the book will provide an in-depth look at my entire career. A book is in the works!
——That’s great news! Thank you for sharing it with me today.
What is your ultimate goal as a guitarist and as a person?
Masami Tsuchiya: As a guitarist and as a human being, my ultimate goal is to create something deeply meaningful with as little as possible. I want to move people with just a few carefully chosen notes. Ideally, I’d like to dedicate every moment of the time I have left to making music—to crafting sounds and creating something uniquely my own. It’s not easy, but it’s what I aspire to: a life where I can focus entirely on music. On a personal level, I want to grow into someone who inspires curiosity, someone people look at and wonder, “What drives this person? Why are they so devoted?” It’s similar to how painters in the past lived their lives. Van Gogh, for instance, or Egon Schiele—one of my favorites—were so deeply absorbed in their work that others didn’t understand them. Their focus was so intense it might have seemed like madness. Take Katsushika Hokusai, the ukiyo-e artist, as another example. He lived humbly in a small room, completely immersed in his craft. Van Gogh, too, was far from wealthy, supported only by his brother. Egon Schiele even faced legal troubles for his art. It’s not that I romanticize their struggles, but I admire their single-minded dedication to their craft. I wonder if I could ever achieve that level of focus and commitment. It’s challenging, especially in a city like Tokyo, where the demands of life make it harder to fully immerse yourself in artistic pursuits. But that’s the ideal I strive for.
——To wrap up the interview on a lighter note, let’s play a fun game. Let’s do rock paper scissors. I’ll ask you questions about your own work, if you win, I’ll ask about something unrelated to your work if you lose.
Masami Tsuchiya: Sure, sounds fun. Let’s do it (laughs)!
[We play Rock-Paper-Scissors and Masami loses]
——Question unrelated to your work:
If you could jam with any guitarist in history, who would it be?
Masami Tsuchiya: Django Reinhardt!
[We play Rock-Paper-Scissors and Masami loses]
——Question unrelated to your work:
What is according to you one of the most iconic guitar riff?
Masami Tsuchiya: Hmm, that’s a tough call. There are so many legendary ones. But let me think—if I had to pick just one, it’d be… the whole track “Noa’s Ark” from Django Reinhardt.
[We play Rock-Paper-Scissors and Masami wins]
——Question related to your work:
Could you share a surprising part of your creative process that might amaze your fans?
Masami Tsuchiya: There are so many surprising things, but one that stands out… It was at AIR Studios when Paul McCartney walked in holding a bass. That was probably the most shocking moment for me. I was working on something, and he just casually walked in with his bass. Of course, the studio staff stopped him, but he seemed genuinely interested, carrying his bass like he was ready to play. He couldn’t play. Legally, it would’ve been a nightmare. If Paul McCartney had played bass on that track, the album couldn’t have been released. Copyright issues. Having his name attached to it would’ve caused all kinds of complications. Another surprising moment was with David Sylvian. He used to play guitar, so I asked him to play on my solo album. He was incredibly reluctant and shy about it. In the end, he did play, but he really wasn’t happy about it.
——But that’s not what’s something specific about your creative process that surprises even you?
Masami Tsuchiya: Yes (laughs)! Sorry… Hum… I have this habit—it’s strange but effective. For a month or two, I’ll immerse myself in listening to as much music as possible, anything that catches my interest, but not my own. I’ll listen obsessively during that time. Then, suddenly, I’ll stop. I’ll go cold turkey—no music at all for about a week. After that, I’ll start creating. It’s like resetting myself. The complete silence allows me to reflect and see what’s still lingering in my mind. It’s not about what I want to create, but what I can create. That period of stillness and reflection usually lasts about a week, and then I dive into the work.
——It’s like a creative cleanse.
Masami Tsuchiya: Exactly that! It’s a way to clear out the noise and find something fresh within myself.
——Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts and stories today.
Masami Tsuchiya: Thank you. It was a pleasure.
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Mandah FRÉNOT
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