minimikke osaka music scene — courtesy of MiniM!kke

Written by Marvin Nauendorff│founder of Linguaphile Magazine

I was back in my rural hometown in Germany, mindlessly scrolling through my phone when I stumbled upon it—a simple post on social media that transported me back in time. It was a wedding announcement. Rerere (レレレ), the fierce and soulful vocalist of the rock band edawakare, whose music had carried me through many hardships during my time in Osaka, had married Inui Tomoki, the lead vocalist and guitarist of NEAD. Two musicians and dear friends who had come to define my life in Japan had somehow found each other in that same tangled web of live stages and late-night streets—and I had never even known they’d met before.

What struck me was the realization of how small and tightly woven the Osaka indie music scene truly was. For a moment, I was back in Osaka—feeling the bass vibrate in the walls of a cramped live house as the crowd raised their arms in time to the music. I could hear the echo of distant guitars warming up in a dark venue and smell the faint mix of fog machines and cigarette smoke.

The Warmth of Osaka's Sound

What I noticed first about Osaka's indie music was its warmth—both in sound and spirit. The music felt like a late summer evening, with even the saddest songs carrying a sense of comfort. It was at the Kansai Lovers Festival that I first felt this warmth fully. The guitars, humming with gentle distortion, seemed to have a shade of warm orange, a sound I hadn’t noticed until I heard it live. It was this sound that made me initially fall in love with Osaka's indie music scene.

The Osaka dialect's intonation subtly weaves itself into the melodies of bands like Tetora, Yayuyo, and My Sister Circle, giving the music a familiar, almost conversational tone. It is almost as if the city flows through each note, staying with you long after the gig ends.

While live houses aren't unique to Osaka, it is widely agreed that gigs in the wider Osaka area have a more lively and welcoming atmosphere than anywhere else. As I immersed myself further into the live house scene, I became a regular at venues like Kitahorie Club Vijon, Umeda Zeela, Shangri-La, Shinsaibashi Pangea, Conpass, and more. Through these experiences, I discovered bands like Karera, Neon to Mujuryoku, Kaneyorimasaru, and countless others that captivated me with their distinctive sounds.

First Steps into the Live House

When I first arrived in Osaka, stepping into the "live house" scene felt like entering an entirely new world. My initial encounter was at Live House Bronze in Shinsaibashi. I remember hesitating outside, unsure whether to go in. The venue was hidden away in the busy streets of Amemura, surrounded by vintage thrift shops, music stores and cafés. Eventually, I gathered the courage and walked through the doors, without knowing any of the acts beforehand.

One of the first artists I encountered was Hyuga, whose music immediately struck me as unique. His style combined spoken-word rap with self-produced piano beats, a sound that was far from the typical "Osaka rock" I had expected. His performances were raw and honest, often touching on the live house lifestyle itself. Though I would meet many more artists during my time in Japan, Hyuga remained one of the most impactful. His music mirrored the environment of Osaka’s live houses—personal, unpolished, and rooted in the realities of underground music culture.

huyga osaka music band — courtesy of Hyuga

Live houses in Japan create intimate spaces where artists and audiences come together. After performances, musicians often mingle with the crowd, selling merchandise and talking with fans. Though most of the friendships I made at live gigs were tied to the live house environment, these moments felt immediate and real. Meeting people who shared the same passion for music fostered a strong sense of community and strangely patriotic feeling towards my adopted home. The city’s live houses acted as cultural hubs, drawing people together.

MiniM!kke - The True Hidden Gap

As I continued to explore different venues and gigs up to three times a week, I encountered other artists who took their own paths, carving out distinctive identities. Among them was MiniM!kke, a band I ended up becoming close friends with. I wanted to get to know Osaka's music scene from an insider's perspective—someone who actively participates in this scene but still doesn't quite fit in. MiniM!kke stood out in the rock focused Osaka live house scene for their refined blend of R&B, city pop, and jazz fusion. When I sat down with MiniM!kke for an interview, they were casually gathered in a McDonald's close to their studio. "Our tagline is something like 'a small discovery in music, finding a hidden gem,' and that's what the name MiniM!kke means," Manase, the keyboardist and band leader, explained. This philosophy of discovery was evident in their music, which layered soulful melodies with a touch of elegance that drew listeners into their world. A true hidden gap in Osaka's indie culture.

"All of us met at Osaka University of the Arts and our time there has influenced our music the most," Manase shared. Each member brought different inspirations to the table, and this blend created something fresh and compelling.

"It really depends on the person. As a band, there isn't really one particular influence... All of us have different musical backgrounds when we bring those together, it shapes the band and the genre we're playing now. There are definitely some bands where you think, 'Oh, that’s super Osaka-like.' But MiniM!kke kind of stands out from that. It’s like, 'Whoa, what is this?' It’s different and special, and I think that’s why people are drawn to MiniM!kke—it’s a little unique," Shino, the vocalist, noted.

Manase adds: "There’s definitely a strong presence of rock bands in Osaka and the Kansai region as a whole. The bands here have a lot of energy, and there seems to be more of them compared to Tokyo."

The first time I saw MiniM!kke perform at Umeda Zeela, their strong identity truly shone through. "When fans come to see us, they're there specifically for us, not for the other bands, which makes us happy. But it can also make it challenging to find the right gigs. If our fans are there to see us, they might feel out of place if the other bands are heavier," Tsurusho, the band's drummer, explained as we grabbed lunch together before one of their gigs. This connection to their audience came from the authenticity of their music, which didn’t rely on emulating the scene around them or trying to be better than anyone, but instead embraced their artistic individuality. "Everyone here has a lot of fighting spirit. They’re really fired up. Even though they may be friendly with each other, like when they share the same stage, there’s still this sense of rivalry. It’s like, 'Alright, let's see what you’ve got.'," Manase explained laughing.

MiniM!kke osaka music — courtesy of MiniM!kke

Their journey included experimenting with new sounds. The song Into You from their newest album Palette combined their usual groove heavy genres with hard rock.

"We tried our hand at rock with that one... The album is like a palette of different colors, showcasing the various genres and styles we’ve explored," the bassist Moriko remarked. Even though they dabbled in different genres, they never lost sight of their identity. "We don’t normally have the rock mindset, but we figured our audience might be surprised by something rock-oriented," guitarist Takuto noted.

My connection with the band deepened when I had the opportunity to design the cover artwork for their single "One Summer Love." Working with them allowed me to see firsthand how their creativity extends into every aspect of their work. MiniM!kke doesn't fit neatly into the mold of typical Osaka bands, and that is precisely what makes them so compelling. They aren't striving to be different—they simply embody a sound and style that resonates with listeners seeking something fresh and imaginative.

The Live House as an Identity

After hearing MiniM!kke describe their experiences, I began to understand how crucial these venues are in shaping a band's identity. The live house is an environment where artists can form real connections and thrive. Many big artists started their career in live houses. MiniM!kke now call the same venues their home that ONE OK ROCK or RADWIMPS used to play in. Live houses are known for their small size. The shows often feel like gatherings of friends rather than large-scale performances. As Moriko mentioned during our conversation, "After the live starts and we finish performing, we sell our own merch, talk with fans or new people who came to check us out, and then we often drink with the other bands we performed with."

My own experiences mirrored this. It was in these venues that I made most of my connections in Osaka. Some, like MiniM!kke became friends, while others remained casual acquaintances tied to the context of live gigs.

Connecting Through a Common Ground

My connections within the live house scene often extended beyond the music. For example, I became close with NEAD’s drummer, Kahosuke, and the lead vocalist and guitarist, Inui Tomoki. NEAD was another band I met during my first time at Live House BRONZE in Shinsaibashi. Over time, our friendship grew, and they even ended up playing a small unplugged gig at a non-profit organization I volunteered for.

On my birthday, feeling somewhat lonely in the unfamiliar city, I decided to attend a live house gig featuring Hyuga and NEAD. What I didn’t expect was that I would discover one of my favorite bands that night—edawakare. Their music drew me in instantly, with fierce guitar tones and a vocalist whose voice vibrated with raw emotion. Rerere, edawakare’s vocalist and guitarist, had a unique way of conveying loneliness and hope through their songs, and it struck a chord with me. I bought their CD that night and struck up a conversation with the band members, which eventually blossomed into a friendship with Rerere. Over time, their music became a source of comfort during difficult moments, particularly when I was struggling with overwork and personal challenges. One memory I like to remember is listening to their song, "Flowers," while sitting at night in Tennoji Park. The lyrics mirrored my own sense of isolation, yet there was something cathartic about hearing it at that exact moment. It was as though edawakare's music gave voice to feelings I hadn’t been able to articulate myself.

edawakare music osaka — courtesy of edawakare

One of the most defining aspects of Osaka’s live house culture was the emphasis on physical music—CDs, cassettes, and band merchandise. While digital streaming had become the norm globally, the live houses in Osaka kept physical music alive. Even newer or smaller bands would have something available, whether it was a fully produced album or a DIY single CD they had burned at home and packed in folded paper. For me, purchasing these CDs was a tangible way to take these memories home.

In the span of a year, I collected two boxes full of signed CDs from the bands I discovered across Osaka. Some were from major performances, but many were from small, intimate shows where I happened to stumble upon a band that resonated with me. Each CD represented a moment in time, a connection formed in the dimly lit live houses, and often, a conversation with the artist who created the music.

Live House Will Never Die

Osaka's live house scene is spread across various neighborhoods, each with its own atmosphere. This diversity meant that no two experiences were ever the same. From intimate spaces like Club Vijon and Conpass to larger venues like Janus and Big Cat, each live house had its own personality, shaping the way the music was experienced. Whether squeezed into a basement-level venue or standing in front of a larger stage, the live houses retained their intimate feel, creating spaces where the connection between artist and audience felt immediate and personal.

Exploring these different parts of Osaka, from the hidden alleys of Amemura to the sleek streets of Umeda, became an essential part of my life. Each live house, each neighborhood, carried its own significance—familiar, yet different. And within those spaces, I found moments of warmth and belonging that stayed with me long after the music stopped.