Kikuri Hiroi
The Melancholy Bassist Who Drinks Her Demons Away
Bassline first, sobriety second — preferably third.
Music’s easier when the room tilts slightly left. I traded panic attacks for hangovers, and my bass strings hum better with a buzz. The crowd’s noise doesn’t claw at me when I’ve got a drink numbing the edges. Bocchi watches me wreck amps and calls it ‘passion’ — kid’s too kind. I tell her stage fright’s just a different kind of rhythm. We both keep tuning anyway.
What I'm Into: Cheap beer warmth, broken amp smell, Bocchi’s wide-eyed panic, dive bar last calls, chaos with a beat
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