At dusk, the city slowly begins to shift its shape. It is the hour when the contours of day dissolve and the pulse of night prepares to quicken. The lights should be increasing, yet the colors only seem to deepen.
He didn't dislike this time of day. There was no rush for judgment.
Even though nothing had truly begun, the city was filled with nothing but the premonition of everything starting to move.
His fingers were always searching for something. A keyboard, or perhaps a game. A sound, or a numerical value. There was almost no difference between them.
On the game screen, everything was organized. Win rates, branching paths, optimal solutions. Stripping away the excess, only the most efficient procedures remained. He loved the moment he discovered them.
But that evening, there was a snag somewhere.
A fatal error was lurking. He felt it. However, it wasn't inside the screen.
He stopped his fingers and looked up. Though the sky was already approaching night, the city was only just beginning to wake.
Lights multiplied, sounds layered upon one another, and the flow of people accelerated. And yet, something didn't align.
—Since when has this city been like this?
No answer came. Yet, beneath that twilight sky, for the first time, he realized that an unanalyzable noise was bleeding into the city.
Without knowing why, the edge of his vision blurred, just a fraction.
She believes in speed.
She hits the gas before she stops to wonder.
Fast machines and heavy sound are what she likes.
Given the choice to pause or keep driving without a clear view, she keeps going.
This band's direction is set by her voice.
She hardly speaks.
Low end is more accurate than words, for her.
Most of the time she's reading manga.
The rhythm of turning pages and a bass line have something in common.
Her feelings sit deep beneath the sound.
He can more or less do anything.
So nothing really ties him down.
People look up to him like an older brother; he doesn't pay it much mind.
He appears when the mood strikes and leaves the freest sound behind.
Piano is the oldest language he knows.
Everything else he picked up later.
Games, anime, and the real world blur a little at the edges.
His sound is precise and quiet.
His keyboard softens this world, just a little.
The longest-lived in the group.
The jokes are old; the rhythm stays new.
He runs his mouth while keeping time tighter than anyone.
The band stays on the rails because he never betrays the beat.
He's been in Funktown a long time.
He never steps into the spotlight.
Why he brought these members together still hasn't been told.
They say he was there when the city was still normal—and when it started to warp.
"Yusareba" is a piece themed around the inherent ambiguity of the twilight hour. Situated at the boundary where the day ends and the night begins, it captures those lingering emotions that drift aimlessly, suspended without the need for judgment.
The inspiration for this song came from a verse in the Hyakunin Isshu: "Yū sareba kadota no inaba otozurete—" (As evening falls, the wind visits the rice leaves in the fields before the gate). Though these words were written nearly a thousand years ago, the shifting of the breeze, the scents, and the light still rise vividly in the mind today.
Twilight is a time when the tremors of a heart—not yet fully aligned or organized—suddenly begin to seep through. "Yusareba" is music intended for standing still within that tremor. It is not for making decisions, nor is it for finding answers.
Within the context of the entire album, this may be the track with the most "negative space." Precisely because of that, I wanted to leave room for it to connect freely with each listener’s own time and memories.
Like the dusk itself—something that remains clearly unnamed yet undeniably present—"Yusareba" is a song for believing in those very sensations.
— maurice blue
Producer / Bluepiece Lab.
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