In the fall of 2001, in the historic city of Nara, a rock band named LOSTAGE quietly came into being. Now, their story unfolds on screen in the documentary A DOCUMENTARY FILM OF LOSTAGE – Hikari no Machi, Watashitachi no -.
LOSTAGE has always gone their own way—selling CDs and records only by hand or mail order, sometimes traveling across all 47 prefectures to share their music, living entirely through it. Since In Dreams (2017), their deliberately “closed-off” approach has taken on an almost uncanny presence in today’s world, where streaming has made instant access to music the default.
To mark the film’s release, NiEW sat down with the band’s driving force, Takahisa Gomi (Vo, Ba), to explore the visceral pulse of LOSTAGE’s music and the uncompromising values behind it—shedding light on a truly radical approach to making art.
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Formed in Nara in the fall of 2001, LOSTAGE is now celebrating its 25th year. Most of their music is not available on streaming services or digital platforms, and they avoid major distribution channels entirely. Instead, their releases are sold exclusively at THROAT RECORDS — the record store managed by vocalist Takahisa Gomi — through its physical shop, online store, and at live shows, with total CD sales surpassing 50,000 copies.
Selling Music by Hand and Online: The LOSTAGE Way
Looking back on the eight and a half years since In Dreams, how do you feel about the band’s activities? It seems like the band’s situation has also changed over time — what’s your take on that?
Gomi: I definitely feel the downsides of keeping our activities “closed off.” But it’s impossible to have everything, right? If you want to gain something, you have to sacrifice something else. There’s no doubt we’ve lost things by keeping to ourselves, but I think it’s fine if someone else picks up what we’ve left behind—we don’t have to do everything ourselves.
If that leads to someone else doing something, making music more interesting, and everyone pursuing their own way, I think that’s the ideal. And if you want to stay closed off, that’s fine too—I still view doing what you want within that space as something worth affirming.
In the documentary, there’s a scene around the time you released CONTEXT (2011) on your own label where you talk about wanting to “make a living from music.” How has your sense of that changed since then?
Gomi: When I think about “making a living from music,” the first question is: what are we even selling? On the surface, people buy concert tickets, CDs, or subscribe to streaming services, and it feels like they’re paying for music itself—but in reality, they’re exchanging money for something else.
For example, they’re paying for the CD as a container, or for the experience of a live show. Strictly speaking, that’s not music itself. So when I say “selling music,” I really mean selling something that isn’t music.
To put it bluntly, I don’t think you can actually sell music. Trying to sell something that can’t be sold borders on a kind of fraud—you say, “Give me money for this,” but since there’s no tangible form, you put it in a container, offer an experience, or use other methods to make it feel like you’re selling music.
You absolutely have to understand that. Music itself can’t be sold, so you have to create a way to sell it through storytelling that makes people feel good, satisfied, and like they’re sharing the same “lie,” and that it was worth it. That, I think, is what it really means to make a living from music.
Sharing the same “lie” to sell something as intangible as music.
Gomi: Maybe calling it a “lie” is a bit misleading. Take Mickey at Disneyland, for example — it’s not real. It’s just a costume. But everyone watching feels moved, excited, or happy. People know it’s not real, but they go along with it. Music is similar in that sense. I think those who sell music, especially, need to be more aware of what they’re actually doing.
This realization came from my own experience — ordering CD presses from a manufacturer, standing at the shop counter, hand-selling at live shows without going through distribution—and constantly thinking about, “What exactly am I selling?” I’m sure this perspective will evolve over time, but misunderstanding what you’re actually selling can be a serious problem.
