Musical Deception [essay]

A Japanese proverb once said “One thousand days to learn; ten thousand days to refine.” What do you think of when you read this quote? People might learn one thing of significance and keep reminding themselves of it for a period of time before they come to realize something else that builds on that learned knowledge.  This process can lead to a development of a new philosophy for the said individual and better their understanding as to why some things appear the way they are.  For me, learning something that horrified me started a road to a new concept that I can have respect for something I do not like, especially if the meaning behind it is unknown.

I had been staying at my grandmother’s house for the summer.  By that time, Dir en Grey had become one of my favorite bands.  I had listened to every song they had released until that point and had watched every music video the band had made.  Kyo’s mournful tone and occasional screeching in certain songs had captured my interest and managed to hold me in a trance whenever I listened to his voice.  I could not understand Japanese, but the translations to the lyrics I had read led me to believe that if there were ever a feeling of love, hate, anger, joy, or pain, Kyo had felt it and was able to put it into words.  Dir en Grey’s compositions convinced me that language was no barrier when it came to music; if a feeling was strong enough, the music could carry the message through.  What I had not realized was that the music I had loved so much could be deceiving.  “Tsumi to Batsu” was not defined as my absolute favorite song by Dir en Grey, but I thought it had an interesting sound.  A combination of Die and Kaoru’s distinct guitar riffs, Toshiya’s strong bass foundation, and Shinya’s firm drumming pattern guided the beat, which resulted in a very rough sounding melody.  The only word I could make out was “sexually” that showed up numerous times throughout the duration of the song in what I assumed to be the chorus. 

The music video for it did not seem very relevant as to what the lyrics might pertain to.  The band members were wearing make up that made them look pasty white and each of them had a different hair color.  The drummer, Shinya sported long golden locks.  Guitarists Die and Kaoru possessed extravagantly bright shades of red and pink.  Bassist Toshiya, however, stood out with very short bright blue hair.  A series of strange angles showed the band dressed up in extravagant leather outfits playing their designated instruments.  Frequently, Kyo’s face was shown as he stared into the camera and belted out the lyrics.  His entire face was white, except for the dark eye shadow that was applied around his eyes and the lip color that matched his red-purple hair.  Over and over again, the camera view alternated between Kyo and the other band members, Kyo sticking his tongue out and licking his lips every now and then.  Occasionally, the camera changed to alternating shots of the individual band members against a blue background as they were staring off into the distance.  Needless to say, the video seemed irrelevant as to what the lyrics could have been implying.  I only really knew a few things about the song.  On the album, Gauze, the kanji for the title read as “Mitsu to Tsuba,” when put into romaji, which translated to “Honey and Saliva.” As someone pointed out, however, the kanji was read as “Tsumi to Batsu” backwards, which translated to “Crime and Punishment.” It was a common belief that “Tsumi to Batsu” was the official title, as I came to find out.  Another thing I was familiar with was that Kyo wrote the lyrics and provided most, if not all, of the vocals and that Kaoru, one of the guitarists, composed the music for the song.

One weekend while my grandmother was working and I was home alone, I decided that the time had come where I should look up the translation to “Tsumi to Batsu.” I had been thinking long and hard about what the song could be in relation to, but had not come up with any reasonable ideas that made sense.  Sitting at my grandmother’s computer desk, I got out her laptop and brought up Google in the browser.  The room was pitch black, except for the light emitting from the screen.  I typed “Tsumi to Batsu by Dir en Grey English translation” into the search engine and hit enter as the song started playing on the media player.  Nothing could have prepared me for what I found when I clicked the first link that came up.  “Every second… I drive it in… If I lick… Your ears… Just drop it,” I read.  Instantly, my stomach churned.  “This can’t be right,” I told myself over and over again as I clicked on numerous links in a vain attempt to find a translation that told me otherwise.  I could not begin to fathom why Kyo would write a song about raping a girl.  Over and over again, the same translation kept popping up on the screen.  “On December 24, another person is trapped/If I lick her all over, a 14-year-old girl/I’ll just try to break your body.” Every website I found claimed that the translation shown was official and was taken from the subtitles for the music video on the Gauze 62045 DVD.  “Show ~ Lie ~ Mad~ Sexual/1 ~Sad ~ Sexually ~ 2 ~ Sad ~ Sexually.” I could not read anymore.  Upon learning the truth, I physically felt sick.

I left my grandmother’s computer running on a webpage titled “Tattered Cloth: Sweet Curry: Gauze” that displayed the most recent result of my search for the translation and literally ran all the way across the house to the bathroom.  I heaved everything I had consumed during the previous hours into the toilet.  “How could I have ever respected a band that would release music about something so horrible?” I kept asking myself over and over again.  “How could anyone write something so awful and disgusting?” The questions just kept piling up, but I kept going back to one issue that just would not stop approaching me: “How could I have listened to that song and actually enjoyed it?” I kept vomiting until there was nothing left in my system to be rid of by the horrid truth: I had been lulled into a false sense of belief that nothing about music could possibly be bad.  I went back to the computer and called up one of the instant messengers and began messaging the close friend who had sent me the first Dir en Grey song I had heard. 

“How could Kyo write that kind of song, Becca?” I typed.

“Hold on,” she typed back as she performed the same search I had about fifteen minutes before. 

“I don’t know,” she finally answered.  “Maybe the translations are wrong.”

I wanted nothing more than to believe her, but I knew they were not wrong: the same translation had been greeting me everywhere I turned in that search.  I started shaking as my grandmother walked in. 

“You look awfully pale,” she said.  “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Grandma,” I told her.  “I’m just tired.  I think I’m going to go to bed.”

I knew I should have told her the truth.  Admitted that I had made an error in judgment when it came to my taste in music.  But I did not want to admit that I had enjoyed a song about rape, even for a moment.  I was disgusted with myself.  That night, I had nightmares pertaining to the lyrics I had read and the nightmares continued almost every night after.  Every night, it was the same nightmare, except the people involved were different.  In one, it would be my best friend and then she would be replaced with Becca in the next.  On more than one occasion, it was not about someone I loved and cared for, but myself.  One person always remained the same, though: Kyo was always there smiling like a mad man and as he softly whispered and acted on the lyrics that made me sick to my stomach whenever I heard them.  Somehow, the dreams always ended with him laughing.  Every night for weeks, I woke up in a cold sweat and a case of the chills that I could never seem to shake off.  Kyo’s villainous laughter echoed through my mind, serving as a timely reminder that I was hopelessly naïve and trusted a band that was known for writing and composing music about things that a lot of people would consider obscene; the Japanese equivalent to Marilyn Manson, some would have said.  Every time I woke up, I was faced with the same nausea that plagued me when I first read the lyrics, which remained vivid in my memory thereafter. 

Several months passed since I left my grandmother’s and returned home.  The shock of being indirectly duped had worn off, but the content of “Tsumi to Batsu” stayed fresh in my mind.  A day did not go by where I did not think about the lyrics and whether or not they had any inner meaning or justifiable reason for being written.  Part of me wanted to write to Kyo, who had written them, and ask why he would write lyrics about such a topic and then release them to the public like he did.  The ponderings always ended in vain: even if Kyo knew English well enough to understand my letter without outside help, what reason would he have to respond to me? I continued to read lyrics to their other songs in an attempt to find an answer for myself. 

One day, it finally dawned on me: Dir en Grey was the band that was not afraid to write about anything.  They had released songs about things a lot of people would never consider to be an element in what they thought was “good music.” A song called “Mazohyst Of Decadence” had been a kind of story about an aborted fetus, told from the unborn child’s point of view to illustrate a view of abortion.  “If Kyo could write lyrics pertaining to such things, maybe ‘Tsumi to Batsu’ is more than I perceive it to be,” I thought to myself.  It was at that moment in my room that I realized that I could still respect Dir en Grey for what they were as a band.  I did not have to like “Tsumi to Batsu” as a song to respect Kyo for not being afraid to write it or any hidden meaning that might be behind it, not visible to the naked eye.

The quote of that Japanese proverb still dwells in my mind.  “One thousand days to learn; ten thousand days to refine.” The realization that I could respect something that strikes me as horrible has caused me to recognize that I cannot truly judge something without knowing all of the details that might be lying behind it.  While the lyrics Kyo wrote for “Tsumi to Batsu” can be defined as immoral and grotesque, the story behind them might be something completely opposite as opposed to what one might assume.  It did not exactly take me one thousand years to figure out that I can still respect something, even if I do not like the image it holds in my eyes; however, the realization took a good deal of time and thought.  Sometimes, things are more than they appear.  It’s up to us to decide on whether or not we can look past what we do not approve of to see what we miss.