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Japanese singer-songwriter NISHIOKA is not just creating music, he is preserving memory.Through his ongoing project “Fumetsu no Kizuna” (Unbreakable Bonds), he transforms untold family history into music, books, and lived experiences. At the core of his work is the story of his grandfather, who served aboard the Imperial Japanese Navy aircraft carrier Zuikaku during World War II.
In an era defined by information overload, NISHIOKA’s focus on what was never spoken stands apart. His work asks a simple but profound question: what happens to memory when no one is left to tell it?
We spoke with NISHIOKA about silence, legacy, independence, and why his music resonates far beyond Japan.
Q: Your work centers around the idea of “inheriting memory,” which feels rare among contemporary artists worldwide. What led you to pursue this theme?
NISHIOKA:
My grandfather served aboard the Imperial Japanese Navy aircraft carrier Zuikaku during World War II. According to the materials and family accounts we have, he was involved in the war from the time of the Pearl Harbor attack
And yet, he never spoke about it to me. Not once.
As a child, I never questioned that silence. But as I grew older, I began to feel that the silence itself carried meaning There were memories that were never passed down. Words that were never spoken. And I realized that if no one gives them form, they simply disappear.That’s when I felt that I had to turn them into something into music.
It’s not about telling history as knowledge.
It’s about creating a way to feel memory.
Q: “Fumetsu no Kizuna” extends beyond music into books and live performances. Why did you choose a multi-layered approach?
NISHIOKA:
Because music alone isn’t enough.Sound can reach emotion, but it fades over time.
Books can preserve words, but they cannot fully capture lived experience.
Live performances create shared moments, but they disappear the moment they end.Each form is incomplete on its own.That’s why I combine them.
By layering different forms of expression, memory no longer depends on a single medium, it becomes something that can endure.I am trying to build a structure where memory can survive even after I am gone.
On October 25, 2025, I performed my song “Fumetsu no Kizuna” originally written in 2016 as a requiem at a memorial ceremony for the Zuikaku, held at Kashihara Shrine in Nara, Japan. It was the first time I had performed it live in several years.
At that moment, I faced a clear reality.There were no surviving crew members left. Looking at the people gathered there, I could feel that a complete generational shift had already taken place.Unspoken memories. Disappearing words.
If left untouched, they will inevitably vanish with time.
That realization was undeniable.
And I also felt that this is not unique to Japan.
The same thing is happening all over the world.
That is why I released not only a Japanese version, but also an English version titled “Unbreakable Bonds.”
This project is an attempt to help people feel memory—and reconnect with how they live and carry that forward.
Q: You’ve achieved success on international charts. Why do you think your music resonates across language barriers?
NISHIOKA:
To be honest, I don’t fully understand why my music has reached listeners overseas.
But I’ve come to believe that language is not essential when it comes to music and emotion. For example, I often listen to songs in languages I don’t understand.
Still, I can feel that something is “good,” or “powerful,” or “right.”
There are many elements in music that go beyond words.
Even if a song is in Japanese, if the sound or the feeling resonates, people will listen.This isn’t something unique to me.Any artist can reach beyond their own country. We now live in a time where that’s possible. So instead of focusing on trends or markets, I believe artists should create from their own personal experiences, family, loss, struggle. Ironically, the more personal something is, the more universal it becomes. People don’t respond to language first, They respond to atmosphere, emotion, and truth.
Q: You operate independently rather than relying on major labels. Why is that?
NISHIOKA:
It’s not that I’ve intentionally avoided major labels. The truth is, I don’t fully know what I should rely on, so I’ve continued working based on my own decisions. Of course, if there is an opportunity to collaborate, I’m open to it. However, when dealing with something as sensitive as war and family memory, I believe it should not be shaped entirely by commercial decisions. Large systems prioritize efficiency and scalability. But memory is neither efficient nor scalable. It is fragile.
And because of that, it needs to be protected.
Q: What do you hope listeners take away from your work?
NISHIOKA:
I don’t want to give answers, I want people to start asking questions.
What does it mean to inherit something you never experienced?
What do we carry from the past into our lives today?
And what happens when those memories disappear?
If even one person begins to think about those questions, that is enough.
Q: How would you define your music in one sentence?
NISHIOKA:
A journey to leave proof that we lived.
Q: What is the first goal of that journey?
NISHIOKA:
Every year on October 25, a memorial ceremony for the Zuikaku is held at Kashihara Shrine in Nara, Japan. Currently, around 150 to 200 people attend, including relatives and invited guests. My first goal is to expand that number to 1,000 people.
If this project brings more people to that place, if 1,000 people gather there and engage with memory, that number itself becomes something visible. Not just a statistic, but a moment recorded in history. And when that happens, it will stand as proof that I was here. Not only through my work, but through the people who gather, and the atmosphere that exists there.
A Bridge Between Generations
NISHIOKA’s work serves as a vital reminder that history is not merely a collection of dates, but a tapestry of individual emotions and silences. Through his interview, it becomes clear that “inheriting memory” is an active process; one that requires intentionality and creative courage. By refusing to let his grandfather’s silence be the end of the story, NISHIOKA has created a space where others can explore their own connections to the past, proving that the most personal stories often hold the most universal truths.
As we move further away from the events of the 20th century, the role of the artist as a custodian of memory becomes increasingly critical. NISHIOKA’s independent approach and global reach demonstrate that technology and art can work together to ensure that “unbreakable bonds” are not just remembered, but felt. His mission to expand the Zuikaku memorial highlights a future where legacy is defined not by what was lost, but by who shows up to remember it.
