“I don’t get it. You’re paying money just to stare at a screen?”
“Why don’t you just watch a video at home!”
“Their voices sound so weird.”
These are usually the first reactions I get when I tell people about vocaloid concerts.
Vocaloid is the eccentric music subgenre nestled within the broader umbrella of Japanese EDM. The name comes from the software, which is used to synthesize people’s voices.
Companies will hire someone to lend their singing voice to the program, then will then package it into a voice bank. People can purchase these voice banks and use them to create songs by tuning the synthesized voice. The companies will assign these voice banks personas, giving them names and appearances and personalities to differentiate them.
Many people are familiar with the more popular vocaloids, even if they don’t understand the software – like, for example, Hatsune Miku.
Vocaloid is a fairly recent invention, having only been around since the early 2000s, but since then it has expanded incredibly – nowadays incorporating languages beyond Japanese, like English, Mandarin and Spanish.
As these vocaloids are synthesized voices, at concerts, they appear as holograms, which utilises fascinating technology consisting of layered screens and multiple projections to give them a 3D effect.
But at the end of the day, yes – the vocaloids are being projected onto a screen, and people pay hundreds or thousands of dollars to see them.
Pictures or videos online will show a room full of people screaming at cutesy anime girls singing in robot voices. And that’s it – that’s a vocaloid concert.
Sort of. Because as cool as the holograms are to see in person, that’s not the main reason why I like vocaloid concerts.
The thing about being a vocaloid fan, at least for me in the US, is that there is no physical community. In Japan, you can find merchandise at stores, posters for events and even cafe collaborations, which makes sense as the country is vocaloid’s home turf. However, there is nothing of the sort in the States.
Vocaloid isn’t something you stumble upon while out and about with your friends; rather, it’s a discovery you make while traversing the interwebs.
I found it by accident when I was feeling particularly adventurous on Youtube. It was as simple as clicking on a video with a pretty thumbnail. One video led to another, and suddenly I was very deep in a super niche music genre from the opposite side of the world.
What makes vocaloid so unique is that it’s created entirely by the fans for the fans. Because anyone can buy voice banks, the people who compose the songs – whom the community has dubbed producers – are also fans from the community.
Since fans are making the songs, they tend to lean away from mainstream music conventions and trends, instead embracing the weird and unconventional. Producers aren’t afraid to experiment and push the limits, combining genres together like rock and jazz. You’ll just as easily find a poppy song about first love as one talking about the current global mental health crisis.
It’s just fun to see what people create when they don’t have to worry about boundaries or expectations.
As great as it is for vocaloid to kick aside the mainstream, it does make it difficult to find other vocaloid fans. I’ve encountered some very rarely, but I’ve never been in a situation where the majority participated in and liked vocaloid.
And so, when I walked into a stadium in Tokyo this summer to see Hatsune Miku, it felt invigorating knowing that every person there was a vocaloid fan too.
While the internet excels at providing accessible ways for people to connect, it’s still isolating. Most of my experience as a vocaloid fan have been listening to the songs in my room or during breaks. It’s always been a solo activity for me, and in a way, it felt like I was the only person who knew about it. None of my friends, family, or classmates have any connection to these songs.
Being confronted with proof that it wasn’t just me – that we were all listening to the songs the whole time? It was magical.
I didn’t know any of people around me in the stadium, but when we were belting out the same lyrics, bathed together under the neon lights, I felt that community.
But this experience goes beyond vocaloid concerts; we always aspire to feel that inclusion, I think it’s the reason we go to concerts in the first place. We want to share and indulge in something we love with others, to feed off of our pooled excitement.
Since vocaloid fans don’t have many other outlets for this, the energy at a concert practically skyrockets through the roof.
What makes vocaloid so unique is that it’s created entirely by the fans for the fans. Because anyone can buy voice banks, the people who compose the songs – whom the community has dubbed producers – are also fans from the community.
Since fans are making the songs, they tend to lean away from mainstream music conventions and trends, instead embracing the weird and unconventional. Producers aren’t afraid to experiment and push the limits, combining genres together like rock and jazz. You’ll just as easily find a poppy song about first love as one talking about the current global mental health crisis.
It’s just fun to see what people create when they don’t have to worry about boundaries or expectations.
As great as it is for vocaloid to kick aside the mainstream, it does make it difficult to find other vocaloid fans. I’ve encountered some very rarely, but I’ve never been in a situation where the majority participated in and liked vocaloid.
And so, when I walked into a stadium in Tokyo this summer to see Hatsune Miku, it felt invigorating knowing that every person there was a vocaloid fan too.
While the internet excels at providing accessible ways for people to connect, it’s still isolating. Most of my experience as a vocaloid fan have been listening to the songs in my room or during breaks. It’s always been a solo activity for me, and in a way, it felt like I was the only person who knew about it. None of my friends, family, or classmates have any connection to these songs.
Being confronted with proof that it wasn’t just me – that we were all listening to the songs the whole time? It was magical.
I didn’t know any of people around me in the stadium, but when we were belting out the same lyrics, bathed together under the neon lights, I felt that community.
But this experience goes beyond vocaloid concerts; we always aspire to feel that inclusion, I think it’s the reason we go to concerts in the first place. We want to share and indulge in something we love with others, to feed off of our pooled excitement.
Since vocaloid fans don’t have many other outlets for this, the energy at a concert practically skyrockets through the roof.
When I express it like this, I hope it allows others to understand a little better why vocaloid concerts are so special and bridge the divide and otherness people usually associate with it.
I left the concert in a dreamy daze, coming down from the high of the music and rush of elation.
I thought of the people I was lucky enough to chat with, and hearing about how far so many of them traveled to get there – from spending 8 hours driving down or flying in to Tokyo for the weekend.
I thought of the people who handed out stickers and candies to cheer people up as we waited in the sweltering heat to get into the stadium.
I thought of how many people were smiling, myself included, as I wandered around before the show started.
Even if people tease me for going to vocaloid concerts, or say I’m wasting my money when I could just watch a video, I will still go to them. Because I want to meet my community and to relish that sweet feeling of belonging I get when the music starts.
