Sanity Checks

There is a friend of mine who often shares this rather violent theory: “Alcohol, cigarettes, drugs, and sex. The commonality between them is that they are all unhealthy activities that lead to death feel good!” Regardless of the scientific basis of this claim, the forcefulness of the wording and content lends it a certain persuasive power.

There are countless songs that explore such decadent themes. In fact, in genres like rock and hip-hop, which inherently carry a countercultural essence, the more wholesome the content, the less “rock” or “hip-hop” it might seem. Observing the rise of political correctness and internet shaming, I’ve thought that the relationship between perpetrator and victim is not simply two sides of a coin but rather like a Möbius strip, seamlessly interconnected. This seems somewhat analogous.

As a band with the overarching goal of creating new music, we must also seek unprecedented themes on the emotional front of our compositions. Instrumental music, often considered lacking in this aspect due to the absence of lyrics, is a significant misconception. The lack of words does not equate to a lack of emotion. Even if there were an extremely silent person who never spoke, it wouldn’t mean they had no feelings. There are even instrumental love songs out there. The saying “Speech is silver, silence is golden” often applies—lack of words actually broadens the scope for imagination.

Whether in design, writing, photography, or even food presentation, the amount and extent of blank space are crucial. I view this blank space not as leftover space but as the recipient’s realm, a canvas for imagination. Within this blank space, infinite possibilities exist. Lyrics, much like the perspective in a novel, often create a divide between the personal and the public. Without words, you can freely traverse between these realms. Thus, instrumental music is not devoid of words; it is music with the wordless part left as blank space. The brief phrases or sentences given as titles and the wordless story created by the music allow for personal interpretation.

As for our musical themes, we strive to explore new emotional territories. Familiar themes like first love or iconic movie scenes may not require this approach, but to share something akin to forging a new path, it must be verbalized. So, let me share the theme of “Sanity Checks,” as I communicated it to the band members, as an example.

In a nutshell, the theme is “cosmic horror.” Here, “cosmic” can be replaced by concepts from mathematics, philosophy, or physics.

How do you define “yourself”? It’s said that the human body consists of about 60 trillion cells, which are almost entirely replaced every two and a half years. This turnover doesn’t compromise the continuity of “self.” But what if you gradually replaced each part, like in the Ship of Theseus? Is having a consistent brain sufficient for self-continuity? What if the brain was gradually replaced by a computer—at what point would it stop being “you”? If the continuity of self-identity is based on uninterrupted consciousness, can you be certain you wake up as the same person after anesthesia? If self-identity is defined by relationships with others, would a computer that behaves exactly like you walking around town be considered you? Neuroscience suggests that consciousness might merely be observing the outcomes of bodily and brain activities. Consciousness is like light passing through a film, observing the various information processed by the brain.

Do others experience qualia—the subjective sensory experiences—like feeling hot, cold, sleepy, or lethargic, just as you do? If humans have qualia, what reason is there to believe computers wouldn’t? What happens to the perception of time after death, when there is no observer? What about the world before this universe existed and after it ends? Different universes and the outside of a world containing multiple universes…

Thinking about these things can evoke a sensation of one’s “self” being stripped away, like peeling off a scab. It’s a fear rooted in the neocortex, distinct from the primal fear engraved in our cerebellum when our ancestors crawled the earth like mice. There’s a threshold of intellectual probing that feels perilously close.

In “Sanity Checks,” we expressed this fear through our music, questioning the existence of everything, including oneself. Delving into such thoughts might be mentally unhealthy, but as my friend’s theory suggests, there might be pleasure to be found in it.