Not Very Noise: Garage Intro

Oct. 30,2123 - Friday

"I went to that university," I told my partner as we drove past an old dilapidated cluster that used to be called Adenauer. But I did not bother retelling why I dropped out, besides, we were cruising through where I got my real education from — the streets. Looking out the passenger window, Shin Rukuban District has changed significantly, but not enough decades for me to forget the memory landmarks of the places where old friends have met, dined, and shared bottles together. Back then, the city's rules were less restrictive on our youth. Then a few wrong mentions of "I think we're close" later, we arrived at our destination. Unsure where to park or what is even allowed nowadays, the familiarity of the place I spent my teenage years in doesn't provide the same feeling of freedom. Is this the price of the advertised citywide security, I wondered.

Along the street is a particular address, the only one that we have access to enter tonight - at least in these parts of the city. As soon as I stepped out of the vehicle, like hidden leaf shinobis from a childhood series - under a streetlight, two silhouette figures passed by the driver's side. Synchronicity was at work, so with just a nod, we followed them. Beyond the street light, around a corner, they pushed a curved heavy gate aside; it opened without a sound and, like a well-oiled machine, had no screech when I closed it. I redirected my gaze and realized we were now on the premises of a quiet uprising - Not Very Noise, a 9-unit residence of bedroom multi-creatives. We were lucky to speak with a few of them tonight.

We walked towards the front door but did not enter it. Instead, they immediately set up the stacked up chairs, formed a circle, and sat. With excitement, I brought a bottle; they responded the same way, each has their own bottle to share. For a moment, I waited for a table, but they comfortably did not set one up; the floor pavement provided all the space we needed. Just like that, a garage mood set and the setting were established in seconds. It's not a "who's got the booze" kind of greeting, but rather an equally grounded knowledge-sharing where alcohol does not obstruct your line of sight to whoever has something to say.

In a give-and-take scenario, we strive to make it a habit to do the prior first. So, I began by sharing what we do as creative pulse detectors, explained how we operate, and what we stand for. While some of the NVN knows me by my old version - I reintroduced myself with an updated patch, an Artifindr. Before long, some of the fog dissipated, they started rewarding me with the same level of transparency, I started asking them about their craft.

We nestled ourselves in the quasi-circle, the atmosphere around us became a gallery of openness and expression. It was then, under the gentle glow of street lights diffused through the veil of a passing drizzle, that our conversation began to contour around the genesis of Not Very Noise. The night was young, but the souls we engaged with had a story, stemming from the pandemic's solitary hours. A story of resilience and unyielding passion that birthed this haven of creativity amidst the stifling echo of silence that had enveloped the world outside.

Over classic beers, the words flowed, each sentence a note contributing to the melody of their journey. A group of friends, "not really, just professional" (says one of them) — bound by the common strings of musical notes and the urge to resonate the silence with their symphony, congregated to shape 'Not Very Noise'. The narrative of their assembly was not just about coming together, but a testament to their defiance against the constraints that sought to muzzle their expression. In the face of towering rental fees for equipment and venues skeptical of their avant-garde blend of Math-rock, Post-rock, Shoegaze, Hardcore, and Indie production, their resolve solidified, carving paths through the dense fog of adversity.

Just outside the gate, a sudden heavy downpour tries to drown their voices, but I hear them loud and clear, the countless training hours I spent listening to self-help podcasts finally paid off.

The house ethos is a poem of rebellion, echoing the punk roots of yesteryears. Their DIY spirit isn’t just a choice but a creed, a commitment to authenticity that rejects the shackles of commercial sponsorships, misogyny, and machismo. It was about preserving the sanctity of their craft, about the respect for venues left cleaner than found, about the audience standing , immersed, not seated, detached. Their daily grind of on-the-net jobs is not a detour but a means, a way to bootstrap their dreams without letting the essence of their vision be tainted by the allure of corporatism.

For them, the process of birthing events is akin to crafting a narrative. Each note played, each band invited was a word, a sentence contributing to the narrative that was Not Very Noise. They actively seek the like-minded, the rebels with a cause, and those who carry the essence of raw, unfiltered music in their veins. It wasn't just about a mutual appreciation of genre but a shared philosophy, a shared vision of an elevated scene. The absence of sponsorships wasn’t a lack but a statement, a testament to their unwavering commitment to the unadulterated essence of their genres. Their low-key stature was not a shadow but a filter, sifting through to find the audience that sought the marrow of music, not just the superficial hum.

The interaction wasn’t just about the music but the conversation it initiated, and the thoughts it provoked. It was about fostering a culture of engagement, of discourse. Their consistency was not just a routine but an inspiration, urging the seeds of creativity in others to sprout, to defy the potholed concrete and reach for the sun.

As they navigated through the fog of challenges brought by city curfews and tourist traffic, it was clear - the fog wasn’t a hindrance but a companion, a filter that only let the genuinely curious through. They believe that if an audience likes the kind of music they offer, they would inevitably find pulses of the events they organize. Their aspirations were not confined to the now but were echoes that sought to resonate through the days to come, inspiring more bands, and attracting foreign acts to the rhythmic heart of the city.

In the delicate dance of camaraderie, Not Very Noise extends its rhythmic hands beyond the fog-laden boundaries of the city. The quiet yet compelling pull of their ethos beckons bands of similar cadence from outside, inviting them into the embrace of the city's cold, rhythmic heart. The exchange is simple, a mere sharing of gate tickets, a gesture embodying camaraderie over commerce. The financial arithmetic might sketch losses in red, but the gains in trust and shared passion etch a narrative far more significant.

When the digital drumbeats of social media beckon promotion, Not Very Noise sidesteps the clamor of 'send to all' culture. Each invitation is a carefully chosen note in their symphony, a personalized message sent out into the digital void, hoping to resonate with hearts tuned to the same frequency.

In the realm of social media where ‘likes’ masquerade as support, Not Very Noise orchestrates a reminder that true support transcends digital applause. It’s about marking one's presence in the flesh, breathing in the music, and being a part of the reverberating scene. It’s about the tangible solidarity, the one where every clap, every nod, every foot tapping to the rhythm contributes to the collective energy.

The bands emerging from the creative womb of Not Very Noise envision a future where they wouldn’t have to be their own opening act. They are the torchbearers looking towards the horizon, eager for the day when the next wave of talents would step onto the stage they've set. Their eyes are set not only on nurturing the local seeds but on weaving a rich tapestry with threads from beyond the city, a dream ensemble where local and guest bands create a harmonious 50-50 symphony.

Not Very Noise isn’t about the glamour of labels or the allure of spotlight. It’s a humble dwelling where like-minded souls converge, united by a love for the same genres. The invitation to bands, an out-of-pocket gesture, is a testament to their dedication, a hallmark of their DIY spirit. They aren’t merely creating music; they are nurturing a community, a haven for those who seek refuge in the authenticity of indie sounds, far removed from the orchestrated clamor of commercial strings.

Their narrative is a homage to the essence of genuine camaraderie, a tale of resonating with the like-minded, of creating a realm where the music and the spirit of community are the heroes. The echoes of their chords are an invitation, a call to the hearts that beat to the same rhythm, to come, to share, to resonate, and to elevate the scene together into a melody that transcends the transient fog, forging a legacy that would continue to reverberate. Their journey had been an anthology of events, each one a reflection, a manifestation of their essence. Yet, as I sought to delve deeper into how these projects mirrored their ethos, the silence was a whisper, a promise of more tales waiting to be told. As the night draped around us, the anecdotes shared were not just stories but a voyage through their evolution, their maturation not just as artists but as harbingers of a subculture that defied the mainstream, that defied the superficial.

The visual aesthetic was not just about the appeal but a narrative. The street graphic style was not just a design but a statement. The affinity for furred animals, the love for Japanese culture, anime, and the robust gaming culture were not just interests but facets of their identity. I sought to delve deeper into their visual identity but perhaps these questions are meant for the other NVN house residents who were not present in this particular meeting. Perhaps it's an opportunity for more notes to be played, more words to be said.

Outside the gate, the rain stopped, signaling safe passage back to our vehicle. The conversation was a mind tour through the alleys of their experiences, each anecdote a footprint on the sands of their musical odyssey. The night may have ended, but the melody of our conversation carried the promise of more notes, and more music awaiting in the heart of Shin Rukuban District. We wrapped up the night, having a sense of being reconnected to the local servers of the net, more music awaiting beyond the fog.