A small station remains at the end of the abandoned line. Trains once ran from here into the city. Now, only rusted rails and a steam locomotive are left behind.
He visited this place for the first time in ages.
Twenty years ago, this city was far more rational. Production and consumption were in perfect equilibrium; everything was predictable.
There were no hardships, yet there was no freedom.
Coming from the outside, he brought an anomaly into that balance.
Emotions. Laughter, tears, and rage.
Inefficient, irrational— and yet, the very thing that moves people.
The catalyst was music. Rhythm sways the body; melody and harmony give expression to the soul. When words overlap, emotions are shared.
Of course, what emotion yields is not always beautiful.
Envy, resentment, vanity, pride. And a profound melancholy.
He registered them all into the system. Building frameworks of ethics and rules to ensure they wouldn't spiral out of control.
It was an endless labor. To face raw emotion is, at times, akin to madness.
But— it seems he has reached the limit. This city is no longer small enough for a single man to control.
What is happening now is not a mere error.
This is a rebellion of the heart.
He had one more request for his friend.
Just one single preparation: "Form a band," he had said.
He left the station behind. He did not look back.
Over the rusted rails, only the wind races by. As if an invisible train had just passed through.
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.
The first sound that came through was very quiet.
Yet beneath it, there was a kind of warmth that felt almost painful to touch—and that sensation naturally overlapped with the word “Melancholy.”
This piece wasn’t born from looking back on the past, but from the feeling of reaching toward emotions that haven’t fully faded.
The impulses and restlessness of youth that linger even as time passes—
I tried to capture those echoes just as they are in sound.
In the lyrics, sharp emotions gradually begin to soften and change shape.
Even so, there was a quiet desire to affirm that the sincerity of those days was real.
In the arrangement, the horn section in the interlude acts as a small turning point.
Rather than adding more layers, I placed it within the space, allowing the introspective atmosphere of the piece to emerge more clearly.
“Melancholy” sits slightly on the outskirts of Funktown.
Holding onto emotions that are still unsettled, it moves quietly toward the next moment.
I hope this piece lets you touch that space, even just for a while.
— maurice blue
Producer / Bluepiece Lab.
Single
