Clock In by Kigyo

So, this album, *Clock In*, it’s our attempt to map out that landscape we all live in – the Megalink. We’ve poured a lot of late nights into this, trying to capture that specific hum of Tokyo, the one under the neon where everything’s measured by the Ledger, and sometimes just surviving feels like a full-time job. It’s a journey, sure, but it’s more than just Kida’s story of being passed over and finding himself stuck with the Floaters. It’s about how all that ritualized overwork, the polite threats from Section Chiefs, and the quiet ache of the Atmos can start to feel like some strange kind of devotion.

We wanted to pull the sounds of our world into the music – the train chimes, the chatter from packed izakaya, even that distant ring of a fax machine. We layered those alongside the '80s City Pop sheen, that liquid bass and glittering synth, then rubbed it raw with the plaintive indie rock we listen to. It’s a mix of clean digital precision and honest tape hiss because that’s what our days feel like – polished surfaces hiding frayed edges. Musically, we pushed ourselves to find that bittersweet spot where a gospel-tinged bridge meets jazz-laced chords, or where mathy tension makes sense next to a pop-punk burst. It’s about making those daily anxieties and small acts of defiance feel big, almost sacred.

Kida's pilgrimage through the Megalink after his promotion was denied, looking for meaning in the forgotten corners, is the pulse of it. He’s trying to figure out if small acts of kindness still matter, if his beat-up Lucky Umbrella is actually a halo, or if his hanko, that personal stamp, carries more weight than fate itself. We wrote a lot of the lyrics late, after the last train, much like Kida filling his own Overtime Ledger. That line, "Stamp my name on the night, I'm approved by the light," it just sort of… emerged. It felt like the kind of hook you’d want to shout when you’re tired and on your way home, a small act of rebellion.

By the time you get to "Faxfire," with the Floaters and Atmos forming a circle, and Kida burning a page from his Ledger – it’s a release. A kind of catharsis. It’s not about grand gestures; it’s about that quiet, almost desperate moment of choosing your own path. And when he sings, "I clock in to my own life," it’s not an escape, but an acceptance. It’s saying, this is my world, my routine, and I’m going to find my own grace within it.

We think there’s something universal here, beneath the Tokyo office lights. It’s for anyone who's ever felt like a number, but secretly held onto a quiet dream. We tried to make something that sticks with you, that makes you notice the small moments of beauty or defiance in your own everyday. It’s a collection of songs that might just make you feel a little less alone in the grind, and maybe even find a spark to start again.

Late-night office salvation through mellow basslines and bitter-sweet anthems. We soundtrack your after-hours escape from fluorescent purgatory—briefcase optional, emotional release mandatory.