How Moondahlia is Crafting Their Unique Musical Identity

Could you share who you are, where you’re from, and a bit about yourselves?

Nayokenza: We’re Moondahlia, and we’re an instrumental band. It’s funny for us to say we’re “from Japan” because neither of us is Japanese, but this project is completely tied to Tokyo. If it weren’t for Tokyo, Lucas and I would never have met, and if it weren’t for Tokyo’s music scene, neither of us would have thought of doing something this different. So even though we’re both expatriates, we think of ourselves as a Tokyo-based band. I’m from Orlando, Florida. My role in the band is production, drums, melodic backgrounds, samples, and layering. I started with music as a kid, playing guitar with my siblings, but honestly it wasn’t good. Then around age 14 I started rapping, and at the same time I got into samplers and manipulating sounds. I spent a long time doing post hardcore and screamo projects. But before that, I initially started to produce by myself because I couldn’t find bandmates who wanted to make the kind of music I was imagining. Later I DJ’d clubs in Tokyo. Places like Trump Room and Beat Café until the pandemic, when I stopped and decided to focus fully on production. Lucas: And I’m Lucas, I play bass. I’m originally from Nice in the south of France. I’ve been playing bass for 19 years now, completely self-taught. Over the years I moved across many genres. Starting with punk, then more metal-oriented, then jazz, funk, and even hip-hop. I came to Japan about nine years ago with my wife, and now we live here with our son. For me, bass has always been my way of expressing myself. In Moondahlia, I can actually bring together pieces of all the genres I’ve touched metal, funk, jazz and use them all in different ways. That’s exciting because it means everything I’ve learned has a place here.

How did Moondahlia begin?

Lucas: I’d always played in more traditional band setups—drums, vocals, guitars, keys. I had never worked with a DJ or producer before. Nayo and I actually met years ago when we worked at the same company. During the pandemic, I started a solo project called Cloud Engineer, where I was making beats and playing bass myself. I released a couple of albums that way. But after a while, I felt lonely creatively. I thought, “This is great, but I’m on my own. There’s no one to tell me, ‘This works, this doesn’t.’” I really wanted a partner who understood what I was doing and could complement it. So last year, I asked Nayo if he wanted to do something together. Nayokenza: At first, at different points, we even had a vocalist and a guitarist. The early name of the project was The View at Midnight. We recorded Tiger Lily and Candle and Flame with vocals, but when we sent them out to playlists and blogs, we kept hearing the same thing: “The music is great, but not sure about the vocals." That was actually the push I needed to stop doing vocals altogether. I realized I didn’t need to sing—I could just focus on production. So we decided to be an instrumental band. We brainstormed new names, and I went crazy. I came up with what felt like thousands over a couple of days. Moondahlia was one of them, and it clicked with both of us. Lucas: The name worked better in Japanese, too. Our old name was impossible to pronounce in katakana. Moondahlia is easier, catchy, and fits visually. We imagined a moon with a flower inside. A simple but strong image. That became the basis of our logo and aesthetic.

What moments have made you happiest since starting Moondahlia?

Lucas: Recently we recorded a live performance. It was the first time I felt, “Okay, this is really coming together.” But my happiest moment was when we switched to working with a new engineer, Simon. He took the time to really understand what we wanted. I explained my bass style, how it doesn’t always fit into traditional categories, but that’s how I wanted it. When he mastered our tracks, I was ecstatic. “This is us! This is how we’re supposed to sound!” After 19 years of playing in bands, it was the first time I felt the sound was truly right. Nayokenza: For me, the best moment was realizing we had an international audience—but that moment really traces back to how “Almaty Afterglow” was made. Last year I dove deep into Kazakhstan’s culture and history, and I wanted to translate that arc from Soviet control to independence, to a modern, cosmopolitan energy into sound. When we released it, we paired a visual MP4 with some test ads aimed at Almaty, Astana, and wider Kazakhstan—and suddenly the exact listeners I had in mind while writing it were actually hearing it. Waking up to new plays from there everyday still feels unreal. That’s why I do this. Lucas: Before finding Simon, we worked with another engineer. The first two songs he mastered were okay, but the next two were disasters. Over-compressed, the bass out of sync, just awful. I was so excited to hear my song polished, but instead I got something I couldn’t even recognize. When we asked if we could work on fixing it, he just quit and gave us our money back. That was really hard. Nayokenza: Yeah, one of the tracks he ruined was Figure 8, which was supposed to be our EP closer—a perfect goodnight kiss. I was livid. I didn’t want to master it myself because I’m not an engineer; I’m here to make music, not stress over technical fixes. That experience made me doubt myself. “Did I send the files wrong? Was it my mistake?” But it also made me realize how important trust is when you hand your music to someone else.

What does music mean to you personally?

Nayokenza: For me, creativity feels almost spiritual. It’s like a gift from somewhere beyond, something that flows into me and then out of me again through sound. When I’m producing, layering beats and textures, I feel like I’m a vessel. It’s not just me, it’s something bigger moving through me. And that’s how I connect with people. I’ve always been kind of shy and not naturally social. I’m not super comfortable hosting a big party where I pat everyone on the shoulder, or hang out in huge groups. I’ve done it before and realized that’s not me. But what I can do is make music and say, “Here—I made this. Take it, make it part of your life.” That’s my way of giving, of connecting with humanity. And honestly, that’s what music is to me: it’s connection, to people and to the universe at large. Lucas: My perspective is a little different. For me, music is where I feel comfortable. It’s like my natural environment. If you put me in front of ten people and ask me to give a speech, I’ll be awkward and uncomfortable. But put me on stage with my bass in front of 200 people, and I feel completely at home. It’s not like, “This is my destiny,” it’s more like, “This is where I feel alive.” It’s funny—sometimes people describe music as a career, or a passion, or a calling. For me it’s not about grand words. It’s about feeling comfortable in my own skin. Music is like old leather. It fits, it’s broken in, it’s familiar, and I could wear it forever without it ever getting old. That’s what music is to me: it’s life.

How has living in Tokyo shaped your music and life?

Nayokenza: Honestly, I've wanted to live here since I was ten years old. My cousin lived in Tokyo, and it became this big fascination for me. Everything else—rapping, producing, DJing—was just the road that led me here. Tokyo was where I first DJed in clubs, where I first learned how to produce seriously, and where I grew up into adulthood. I’ve been here since 2008, so at this point, all of my adult life is in Tokyo. And I owe a lot to this city. Tokyo gave me the freedom to be myself. It was the first place where I felt like I could create without worrying if it was “right” or “wrong.” Lucas: For me, Tokyo was always this cosmopolitan dream in my head—huge skyscrapers, endless activity. When I moved to Edogawa, I found something completely different. It’s very shitamachi—community-based, quiet, full of people who know each other. I’ve lived there eight years, and it feels like home in a way I didn’t expect. Before moving, I imagined Shibuya as a place that never sleeps, full of people at all hours. But in reality, Tokyo has its quiet sides. Sometimes you walk through downtown and it’s completely empty. That surprised me. But I love Tokyo for its balance: the convenience, the ability to find anything, and the kindness of people. Nayokenza: Nightlife is an interesting one. Before COVID, I was out all the time in Shibuya, Daikanyama, and Omotesando. After the pandemic, it all changed—clubs closed, scenes disappeared. But one thing I actually love about Japan is that people do their wild stuff privately. The streets look quiet, but behind closed doors, people are living it up. That mystery is very Japanese, and I like it.

What are your goals for Moondahlia moving forward?

Nayokenza: For me, the goal is sustainability. I want us to reach a point where if we decided to quit our day jobs, we could—but without the pressure of endless touring. I don’t want the lifestyle of being on the road for 18 months out of two years. Both of us have families, and that wouldn’t be sustainable. Instead, I’d love for us to have label support, a team, and enough revenue that we can reinvest in visuals, sound, and production. I want to work with engineers like Simon in person, maybe even travel abroad to collaborate. I want to make music videos that are polished and creative, not limited by budget. For me, Moondahlia should be big enough to fund itself, and any money we make should go straight back into the art. Lucas: My perspective is a little different because I already love my job in education. I don’t need Moondahlia to pay the bills, so I don’t feel that anxiety. That makes me comfortable. I can enjoy the band without thinking, “If this fails, I fail.” But I still want it to grow. I want our music to reach people beyond Japan. The Kazakhstan audience showed us it’s possible. With the internet today, you don’t have to tour constantly to build a following. You can use video, social media, and live performance films. That’s where I see our future: creating multi-camera shows, visually stunning films, things people can watch online and still feel the Moondahlia experience.

What advice would you give to aspiring artists—or to your younger selves—about making a career in music?

Lucas: I’d start by saying don’t go into it with expectations of fame or money. I began playing bass because a girl in high school asked me to, and I had zero expectations. But that decision gave me 19 years of confidence, discipline, and a sense of purpose. Music became the way I learned who I was and what I could achieve. If you want to start, do it because you love it. If you’re happy painting, filming, or making music—even if no one else notices—that’s already success. Nayokenza: I agree, but I’d add one thing—check your ego. I came from hip-hop, and bravado is everything. But in a band, ego kills creativity. The best collaborations come from making sure everyone feels seen and heard. You have to create that safe space, or the project falls apart. And honestly, avoid the clichés—sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll aren’t a career path. They close doors instead of opening them. If you want longevity, you need to stay sharp and ready for opportunities when they come. Lucas: And don’t force yourself every day. Society tells us to be productive 9-to-6, but creativity doesn’t work like that. Sometimes you need to step back. Forcing yourself through sheer discipline only makes you hate the process. Balance is important. You need both discipline and joy. Nayokenza: Yeah. For me, I keep momentum by breaking things into chunks. If I think, “We have to make an EP,” it feels overwhelming. But if I say, “Today I’ll make a beat and lay down some synths,” that’s doable. Then Lucas takes it and adds bass. Piece by piece, it becomes a song. That’s how we avoid burnout. Lucas: On the practical side, you also have to understand the business. People think streaming will make you money—it won’t. It’s merch, ticket sales, and community support that matter. Support your local scene whenever you can, because without it, artists don’t survive. We’re lucky to have day jobs, but many artists don’t. Your scene needs you. Nayokenza: And for those who get stressed by the word “marketing”—think of it as storytelling. People don’t just buy into songs, they buy into your story, your world. Fans want to feel proud when they say, “I listen to Moondahlia.” That’s what builds a lasting connection. And don’t be afraid of looking “cringe.” I see so many people scared of being judged, so they never take risks. But cringe is freedom. Better to take a chance and be a little awkward than to regret never trying. As long as you’re not hurting anyone, if you’re creating from a genuine place, then take the risk. Sometimes you have to tell yourself what Lucas told me—“F**k it, we ball!.” Push through the discomfort, because what’s on the other side might be something amazing.