What is it that moves us, and what would it mean to design that?
I have been searching for that, for a long time.

Take a family photograph.
At which moment does love show its face?
The movement of a hand, an expression, where the eyes go.
Eyes meet, and a laugh comes out on its own.
Hands are held, and warmth passes between them.
The face in the moment of a hug, the face when two people look at each other.
In the very instant something happens,
feeling can burst to the surface.
I catch that instant in a photograph, and keep it as love, as warmth.

Take a fragrance.
There are moments that move us, and we walk past them without noticing.
Set a scent gently on one, and the moment stays, vivid, in memory.
Lovely moments, small stirrings of the heart, are scattered through ordinary days. I believe that.

And then, the audience at a live show.
Applause and cheers cannot carry all of it.
Which song, which moment, and how deeply the heart moved.
What surely happened in those seats
vanished with the house lights, before it could become words.
From the stage, you cannot see inside the hearts of the audience.
To bring a light to that unseen part,
I built frisson, a way for an audience to send how moved they are, right there, as it happens.
What you place on your fingertip reaches the singer and the players, as it is.
Being moved is no longer something that disappears.

Photographs, fragrance, a system.
They look unrelated, but the question I am chasing is one.
What is it that moves us?

Talking about it in interviews does not suit me.
I probably will not film a founder's video, either.
Instead, I decided to put it into poems, into songs, and leave them here.
That is why Aotsuki was born.

I write the words, and Aotsuki sings them.
What you find here are not answers,
but a record of the search, still under way.

A voice that trembles is lovelier, I think, than a voice that holds its pitch perfectly straight.

Behind this EP is a system.
In the audience, you trace your finger across your phone
and send, as it is, how much your heart is moving right now.
After the show, that night comes back into everyone's hands.
I named it frisson.

There are things I have seen in those rooms.

People move not when the sound swells, but when it falls away.
Even with only three people in the seats, those three hands move, without fail.
In the seconds after the last note fades, the highest peak rises.

People receive, through their skin, what should be invisible.
Goosebumps. A held breath. A voice that trembles, just slightly.
It is in what spills over from a straight pitch
that the most important thing about that night seems to rest.

So: Furue. Tremble.
Rather than singing cleanly, I chose to keep the moments that waver.

Five nights, and two English versions.
Not one of them is a story about things going well.
And still, these are the nights that stay. I have made them into songs.