Soundtrack of a City

Every city has its own music. Some of it is obvious — a busker on a corner, a song leaking out from a café, a car stereo humming bass through a red light. But most of it is quieter, less intentional.

In Tokyo, it’s the vending machine chime, the low announcement on the train, the rhythmic click of crosswalk signals. In New York, it’s the rumble of subways, the shuffle of sneakers on pavement, the faint melody of a saxophone echoing through the night.

These sounds mix together, not polished, not composed, but layered into an accidental symphony. They mark time, give texture, and shape the memory of a place.

At ichinichi.studio, these soundscapes often drift into design. A shirt might carry the static of a radio wave, the grid of a speaker, or the quiet repetition of a rhythm. Each drop is not just visual — it is a kind of listening, an attempt to translate sound into shape.

The soundtrack of a city doesn’t need to be recorded. It lives in us, carried home in the way we walk, the way we see, the way we remember.