In Tokyo, there are two legendary spots where electronic musicians and vintage synthesizer geeks love to spend their time: Echigoya Music in Shibuya and FiveG Music in Harajuku. Both are packed with rare, old-school equipment and the occasional new release, and both share something in common: they’re almost impossible to find. If you don’t already know they exist, you’d never guess that these world-famous underground synth shops are hidden inside generic, crumbling buildings.
I used to visit both often. For years, I studied modular synthesizers, fascinated by their endless sonic potential. The beauty of modular synthesis lies in its combinatory nature—how small, simple elements can be reconfigured into something entirely new every time you patch them differently. However, I spent countless hours moving modules around—for the sole purpose of moving them around. I was obsessed with how different configurations changed the visual aesthetics of the synth, even adding artsy blank panels to make the setup look even cooler.
But I wasn’t making much music. My tinnitus didn’t help—harsh sounds fatigue me quickly, making long creative sessions difficult. The result? I had visually stunning synths but not many tracks to show for it. And the few I did make… weren’t particularly good.
Yet, in this failure, something else emerged.
Echigoya Music is located on the top floor of a nondescript, almost abandoned-looking building in Shibuya, near Tower Records. The shop itself is small, cramped, and overflowing with cables and gear from floor to ceiling. One afternoon, I went there just to kill time, but as I was heading up in the worn-out elevator, I noticed something I had somehow overlooked for years. Beneath Echigoya, there was something called the Ancient Egyptian Museum. It almost sounded like a joke. The building is narrow, so it seemed like an odd place for an Egyptian museum. But my curiosity got the better of me. They charged something like 10 bucks for entry… but I went in anyway.
And honestly? It was… kinda cool!
Rather than a traditional museum, it felt more like a cabinet of curiosities, filled with Egyptian-inspired artifacts. How much of it was genuine? No idea. But the atmosphere was surprisingly immersive.
And that’s when it hit me!
🔸 Rearranging synth modules
🔸 Artsy blank panels
🔸 Cabinets of curiosities
I saw grids of elements that could be connected, recombined—visually modern yet ancient at the same time. This became the foundation of Kura Curiosa.
I don’t do much music anymore—my ears just can’t handle it—so I sold my synthesizers… to Echigoya! But this entire journey had a profound impact on my artistic career.
What About You? Have you ever experienced a creative failure that led you somewhere unexpected?
