Inside a Hardcore Punk Band: A Record of "Discrepancy" and "Tension"

In the mid-1990s, I was active in Osaka as the drummer for a hardcore band called HOLOCAUST.
At that time, crust punk dominated the city's underground. Bands advocating for anti-war, anti-nuclear, and anti-authoritarian causes gathered at a dark, cramped live house called Umeda GUILD, where they unleashed destructive sounds in a space thick with the smell of sweat, cigarettes, and damp concrete.
However, we in HOLOCAUST were somehow different from that movement. I was personally influenced by 80s Japanese hardcore—LIP CREAM, POISON ARTS, GAUZE, and the various bands active across Japan in real-time back then.
I wanted to create a sound that mixed that speed, sharpness, and the urge to 'just charge forward' with the structural complexity of metalcore.
But the reality of HOLOCAUST was always at odds with my ideals. Whether we were writing songs, in the studio, or performing live, I felt in my heart that something was 'off.' The difference in commitment among members, the gap between my ideals and reality, the frustration of wanting to do more but being unable to...
—these feelings were always swirling deep within my chest. During live shows, that discrepancy became even more blatant.
When other bands played, the crowd would go wild, moshing, diving, and crashing onto the stage. But when it was HOLOCAUST's turn, the audience would just stand there.
I watched that scene with a somewhat cold, detached gaze.
'What the hell...'
Back then, I felt that a live show not getting the crowd excited was a 'failure.'
I was chasing naive ideals—to be more aggressive, more flashy, more 'hardcore.'
But looking back now, it wasn't that they were bored; they were actually 'tense.'
The sound of HOLOCAUST emitted an unstable energy, on the verge of bursting, never quite coming together. Perhaps the audience instinctively sensed that danger and couldn't move.
Unlike the 'explosive live show' I was seeking, HOLOCAUST's performances were 'shows that felt like they might explode but never did.'
It seems that the tension of that unfinished, runaway energy sounds fresh to my ears today.
But at the time, I couldn't see that charm. That was because external evaluations and my internal reality were completely out of sync.
Even after a show at Nagoya Huck Finn, when members of ASTRAY, who had invited us, told me,
'You guys are much better than before,'
I thought to myself,
'What are you talking about...'
Within me, the distance between my ideals and reality continued to widen.
And after finishing the live set recorded on the B-side of our Italian vinyl release, I told the members:

'My time as a drummer is over.'

Those words weren't directed at the band, but were a declaration to myself.

For me, HOLOCAUST stopped at that moment.

Looking back now, the true nature of the frustration I felt is clear.
It wasn't dissatisfaction with the band or anger toward the members.
It was all intense self-loathing directed at myself.
I couldn't become the person I wanted to be.
I couldn't create the band I wanted.
I couldn't realize the live performances I envisioned.
That regret and frustration are burned directly into the sound of HOLOCAUST.
And ironically, that 'unfinished, runaway sound' is being appreciated 30 years later.
The parts I felt were 'not good enough' back then seem to resonate strongly with listeners today.

HOLOCAUST was a band that kept running while remaining unfinished.
It wasn't crust, nor was it mainstream hardcore.
It was a one-of-a-kind hardcore born from conflict and frustration.

This is the truth I have finally been able to put into words after 30 years.

In the early 1990s, I was working in Osaka as a drummer for a hardcore band called HOLOCAUST. In Osaka at that time, crust controlled the underground of the city. Anti-war, anti-nuclear, and anti-power bands gathered in a dark, narrow LIVE house called Umeda GUILD, where the smell of sweat, tobacco and moist concrete was mixed, making a destructive sound. But we, HOLOCAUST, were somewhat different from that trend. I myself was influenced by Japanese hardcore in the 80s -- LIP CREAM, POISON ARTS, GAUZE, and bands from all over Japan that were working in real time at the time. That speed, sharpness, and the urge to "push in front" of me, and I wanted to make a sound that mixed the constructivity of the metal core. However, the reality of HOLOCAUST was always out of line with my ideal. Whether I made a song, went into the studio, or did a live performance, I felt something was wrong somewhere in my heart. The temperature difference between the members, the gap between my ideals, the irritation that I wanted to do this more, but I couldn't... they were always swirling deep in my heart. The gap was even more obvious during the live performance. During the match against the van, customers storm, mosh, dive, and snow crumble onto the stage. However, when it came to HOLOCAUST's turn, the audience stood still. I was looking at the scene with somewhat cold eyes. "Why are you doing that?" At that time, I felt it was a "failure" that the live performance didn't get excited. He was pursuing such a young ideal, more aggressive, more flashy, more "hardcore-like." But now that I think about it, it was more "nervous" than white. The sound of HOLOCAUST gave off an unstable energy that seemed to be coming together and was about to burst. The audience may have instinctively sensed the danger and could not move. Unlike the "explosive live" I was looking for, HOLOCAUST's live performance was "a live performance that didn't seem to explode." On the contrary, it seems that the excitement of running wild without completion can be heard freshly in my ears. But at that time I didn't realize the charm. This is because the external evaluation and the internal feeling were not completely meshed. Even when ASTRAY members called me after the live performance in Nagoya Hackfin and said, "It's much better than before, you guys," I was thinking in my heart. 　"What's wrong with you?" Within me, the distance between ideal and reality continued to widen. And after finishing the live performance on the analog B side of the Italian version, I told the members. "My activities as a drummer are over." Those words were not directed at the band, but at myself. For me, HOLOCAUST stopped at that moment.

Looking back now, I can see the true nature of the irritation I had. It wasn't frustration with the band or anger towards the members. It was all a strong self-loathing to myself. I couldn't be my ideal self. I couldn't make my ideal band. I couldn't achieve my ideal live performance. This frustration and irritation are directly imprinted on the sound of HOLOCAUST. And ironically, that "sound of running wild unfinished" is now being evaluated 30 years later. It seems that the part that I felt at that time was "unmade" sometimes resonates strongly with current listeners.

HOLOCAUST is a band that continued to run unfinished. It was neither crust nor royal hardcore. It was the only hardcore created by conflict and irritation.

It's the truth that I finally got to put into words after 30 years.