OGRE YOU ASSHOLE Meets Pegio Gungi: The Genius of Natural Intelligence Over Artificial

Has Music Transformed into Just “Information”?

Since when has music, which should fundamentally be a “creation,” come to feel like mere “information”? This issue likely extends beyond music itself; perhaps it’s not entirely accurate to say it has “turned into” something else. It might just be that we have become so accustomed to viewing everything as quantifiable “information.”

Nonetheless, it’s increasingly clear that musical creations are circulating as formulaic content, with only those that thrive in the competition for attention and sales being remembered, while many exceptional “creative” works slip into oblivion. This reality is becoming harder to ignore. If I were to reflect on my own susceptibility to these trends, I could only respond with uncertainty.

How can we salvage these works? More specifically, how can contemporary creators reinvigorate “creativity” in their expressions? Furthermore, how can we, as audiences—who often are creators ourselves—truly uncover “creativity” within them?

If discovering valuable insights requires us to look beyond naive critiques of capitalism, then what we need may be a different level of thinking. In this article, I will explore this idea through the lens of “natural intelligence.” Pegio Gungi, a professor at Waseda University and a Ph.D. in science, discusses this concept in his book Natural Intelligence (2019, Kodansha).

An absolute external presence that cannot be seen or heard, entirely unpredictable yet sensed, and that must be embraced when it manifests. To await something emerging from this complete externality and to find a way to coexist with it—that is the essence of natural intelligence.

——Pegio Gungi, Natural Intelligence, p. 9

Natural Intelligence differs fundamentally from AI (artificial intelligence), which, despite its remarkable advancements, constructs a “perceptual world” based solely on its utility and values. In contrast, Natural Intelligence patiently awaits to embrace the world, striving to keenly sense the “external.”

However, the “external” in this context does not refer to some unknown information that has yet to be learned but will be learned in the future. It signifies a thorough externality unrelated to such ways of knowing; creativity is inherently an unquantifiable endeavor achieved solely through what “comes from” that external.

Let us question once more: In a time when AI-like thought processes are rapidly proliferating across all fields, is the act of creation and the existence of art destined to be subordinate to some purpose or convenience? Absolutely not. The act of engaging in creativity with “Natural Intelligence” fully activated will surely draw in a vastly different and rich “external.”

The rock band OGRE YOU ASSHOLE is currently one of the most self-aware practitioners of this “Natural Intelligence” in their creative activities. In an interview at the time of their EP Outside the House release last year, they mentioned being greatly inspired by Pegio Gungi’s work It Comes (2020, Igaku-Shoin). Now, about a year later, their new album “Nature and Computer,” released for the first time in five years, was also inspired significantly by that book and other works by Gungi.

Manabu Deto, a member of OGRE YOU ASSHOLE, shared the following in an email during the planning stage of this article:

“There’s a sudden sensation of ‘I’ve done it’ or ‘I understand’ while creating, but I’m not quite sure what it is. However, it feels like it comes from the outside.”

What exactly is “Natural Intelligence”? Furthermore, what does “external” mean in the context of creativity, and what does “completion” entail in the process of making art? In this valuable roundtable discussion, we will hear from Daito, fellow OGRE YOU ASSHOLE member Takushi Katsuura (Dr), and Pegio Gungi.

Creativity and Reality Emerge from an External Source Beyond Mind and Body

I’d like to ask Deto and Katsuura first: How did you come across Professor Gunji’s works?

Deto: At first, I think I came across a review of Yatte Kuru somewhere. It seemed like an interesting book, so I picked it up, but within ten pages, I thought, “This might be something extraordinary.” Before I even finished reading it, I recommended it to the rest of the band. I felt that it articulated things we had been thinking about in a very clear way.

Katsuura: I read it shortly after, and I felt exactly the same way as Deto. I started to think that the strange sensations I had experienced before might have been related to the “coming” experience described in the book.

What kind of experience was that?

Katsuura: I remember when I went to see Lee Perry’s concert years ago. At first, I thought it was nice music, but then suddenly a massive wave surged from the stage. It wasn’t a metaphor; it was a real “wave” unlike anything I had ever experienced before. It felt like something deep within me, neither my mind nor my body, was suddenly grabbed and I was floating in the sea, riding that wave.

So you felt a “wave” that was not just a cliché, but had a physical reality?

Katsuura: Exactly. It was an experience that went beyond just finding the music interesting; I thought, “This must be what true ‘groove’ feels like.” If I were to describe it simply, I’d say it was a hypnotic state, but for me, it was a profound event that made me realize there’s a whole other world beyond what I had previously understood rationally.

Ideto: You shared that experience with a look of astonishment back then, right?

Katsuura: I’ve been working as a psychiatrist alongside my band for some time now. A few years after that experience, while talking with a patient who had an eating disorder, I suddenly realized that I could listen to various patients’ stories with a sense of reality that I hadn’t felt before. When that patient said, “I eat to fill the void inside me,” it struck me. I thought that maybe that “void” was the same place where I had felt the “wave.”

To borrow a phrase from Gunjii, my experience of touching the limits of my previously “artificial intelligence”-like way of living made me aware of an external reality I hadn’t anticipated before.

Gunji:

That’s a very interesting episode. While the mechanisms behind eating disorders like bulimia and anorexia are still not fully understood, one hypothesis proposes the following:

Humans see their own reflection through mirrors, which gives them a first-person perspective of their face and body. However, they also construct a third-person body image by viewing their profile through double mirrors or by looking at photos taken from behind—essentially layering fragments of their image.

When the link between these first-person and third-person images is disrupted, individuals may look at their first-person reflection after dieting and losing weight, but if their third-person image remains unchanged, they might feel compelled to lose even more weight without being able to control that urge.

Expanding on this hypothesis, I believe it could also effectively explain the out-of-body experiences reported by epilepsy patients during seizures. In such cases, there might be a runaway first-person image observed from a specific coordinate, and to keep that image unified, a perspective of viewing oneself from above may arise.

Katsuura: I see.

Gunji: On the other hand, there are experiments in the field of neuroscience known as out-of-body experiments. These are quite simple: a person’s back is filmed from behind with a camera, and the subject watches this footage through a head-mounted display. In this situation, when someone touches the person’s back, they may feel as if their body is leaving their physical form.

However, when I attempted to recreate this in the lab, I found that it lacked a sense of reality. I wondered if there might be a fundamental difference between the image presented through these logical procedures and the actual experience of out-of-body sensations. In other words, the reality referred to here might also be something that comes entirely from an external source.

Katsuura: That is very interesting.

The Moment of Completion: When Does a Work Truly Finish and What Gaps Remain?

Gunji: I believe that the practice of art also relies on something that comes from the outside in the same way. It’s not simply about saying, “This is why the expression turned out this way”; rather, art serves as a device that invites us into an experience of sensing the external.

In other words, it’s crucial that a collection of first-person expressions isn’t just parallel but instead has an “opening” that allows it to extend into the external realm. I realize I’ve taken quite a roundabout way to get here… [laughs], but listening to OGRE YOU ASSHOLE’s music in preparation for this discussion made me feel that very sense of “art” in that context.

Deto: That’s great to hear. When I’m making music, there are moments when I suddenly think, “Ah, I’ve got it,” and I feel that relates to what you just mentioned. It’s not about having a completed vision in mind and actively working towards it; rather, it often comes unexpectedly while I’m simply playing the synthesizer or experimenting with sounds. It’s a sensation that can’t easily be put into words.

I can’t quite explain why I consider that moment as “complete,” but there’s definitely a sense of satisfaction. In Kato’s book Where Does Creativity Come From? — The World of Natural Expression (2023, Chikuma Shobo), he discusses how being thoroughly passive can lead to an active state of creation. I wonder if that state is somewhat similar to what I’m experiencing.

Gunji: As long as we live with self-awareness, it’s challenging to be completely passive; we inevitably maintain some active attitude. I believe it’s within this contradictory situation that creative acts become possible.

This idea doesn’t involve reaching a profound “enlightenment” through special training; rather, it can often occur in everyday situations. In that sense, the song “Outside the House,” which sings about a passive state of “waiting,” captures this feeling well.

Deto: That makes sense. I can’t articulate it precisely, but during live performances, I often find that when unexpected troubles arise instead of sticking to a pre-planned blueprint, the performances feel more genuine.

That’s why I intentionally include ambiguous parts in songs I’ve practiced many times. It’s as if I’m playing an unfamiliar piece, which brings me closer to the state you mentioned, where something emerges that can’t be measured by the usual concept of “high-quality performance.”

Katsuura: I get that. I’ve always disliked “skilled music” as a premise (laughs). When I listen to music that highlights the players’ technical abilities, I feel like “nothing is happening here.”

I used to have the desire to play the drums exactly as I wanted, but I’ve realized it’s impossible to play perfectly when my body is involved. Recently, I’ve come to find it interesting precisely because I can’t play exactly how I envision. In the past, I would try to eliminate any muddiness in the band’s rhythm during performances, thinking of it as noise, but in recent years, I’ve come to believe it’s better not to force everything to fit perfectly.

Gunji: I also create sculptures, but I’m at a stage where I can’t quite say, “I shouldn’t focus too much on technique,” so I recognize it might come off as presumptuous (laughs).

I believe a true artist is someone who can pinpoint the moment they think, “Ah, this is done.” In contemporary art, influenced by postmodern theories, there’s often a notion that the creative process involves continuously delaying that sense of completion. However, I believe there are still creators who experience a definitive moment of realization: “Ah, it’s finished.”

Even if outsiders perceive it as incomplete, the creator undeniably reaches that point of clarity: “This is complete.” I think that’s what enables them to carve out an “opening” in their work that connects to the external world. The objective reality of what that means is something that can’t be captured within an artificial intelligence-like framework.