Cryptographer Akira Takahashi, whose stories have always been thought-provoking and inspiring, has contributed an essay to our “Liner Notes from the Margins” series. I’d be delighted if many people took the time to read it.
Japanese / English
Recently, I had the pleasure of getting to know Akira Takahashi, a cryptographer, through a friend, and have been deeply inspired by the stimulating conversations we’ve shared. He has kindly contributed an “offbeat liner note” for us.
A little about Akira: he’s an expert in cryptography, privacy-enhancing technologies (PET), and information security. He currently works as a senior research scientist in the AI and cryptography division of one of the largest investment banks in the U.S., conducting cutting-edge research in the field.
His writing, grounded in deep technical expertise, is full of insight and intellectual stimulation. I hope many readers will take the opportunity to explore it.
Review: Eiko Ishibashi – Antigone
When I was invited to write the liner notes for Antigone, I felt deeply honored, yet also a bit at a loss. As a researcher in cryptography, reviewing academic papers for journals and conferences is already part of my routine. But reviewing music is a whole different (and slightly intimidating) beast. Still, the opportunity to help introduce this masterpiece feels incredibly special. So, over the two months in which this album became part of my daily life, I jotted down personal reflections as they came to me, sprinkled here and there with a bit of cryptographic jargon.
There is much to say about Ishibashi’s worldview in Antigone, but one recurring theme throughout the album is the idea of “boundaries” separating one world from another. Take, for example, the “sleep in between those dust-covered keyboards” in Mona Lisa; the “river” dividing this shore and the other in The Model; or the “Date Line” separating today from tomorrow, and the “Kármán line” marking the boundary between Earth and outer space in the titular track, Antigone. These brought to mind a foundational concept in cryptography: the definition of security. Roughly speaking, as illustrated in Figure 1, a cryptographic algorithm or protocol is said to be secure when a distinguisher located on the boundary between two worlds cannot reliably tell which world they’re in. This so-called indistinguishability notion lies at the heart of rigorous security proofs. In cryptography, the distinguisher is typically modeled as a computer. But if we wanted to model part of what this album conveys, we might just as well replace the computer with a human being. It may sound like a strange analogy, but at the end of the day, this is just a stylized model of that universal experience of being on the fence. I suspect many listeners will find themselves reflecting on their own dilemmas and ambivalence as they engage with the lyrics of this album. I, for one, tend to be rather indecisive. As a trivial example, on a recent flight, I was asked whether I’d like the chicken or the pasta for my in-flight meal, and my fumbling response visibly flustered the cabin attendant. People who can decide instantly in those situations always seem so composed and admirable. But Antigone gives even ambivalent folks like me a sense of reassurance (though I do still owe the flight attendant an apology).
Figure 1: Conceptual diagram of a security definition. Typically, π denotes a real-world cryptographic protocol, while ε represents an idealized protocol that describes the security requirement. The symbol A refers to an adversary or distinguisher, though in this context, it may just as well be interpreted as the central figure of Sophocles’s tragedy.
As listeners dive into the lyrics, they may begin to glimpse Ishibashi’s critical take on the zeitgeist. I must admit, right off the bat, that I’m not particularly attuned to current events. I always tell myself I should be more aware of what’s going on outside my own bubble, but the problems of the real world are often far too complex for me to fully grasp, as opposed to the cryptographic problems I tackle everyday. Still, just by going about daily life, fragments of the outside world inevitably find their way into my mind: through conversations, passing encounters, and moments on the street. So when, amid the album’s beautiful tracks, I come across phrases like “the blood shines,” “the intense sound is flying,” “genocide,” or “culpable disregard,” it feels like reliving the fragmented way we absorb the world as everyday citizens. I can’t say for sure what each of the album’s provocative phrases specifically refers to, but there’s no question that Antigone invites listeners to draw connections to current affairs and historical events through a chain of associative thoughts.
The titular track, Antigone, is my personal favorite. One phrase in particular— “the lost password for the future,” which appears twice—struck me as especially poignant. From an information security perspective, it makes perfect sense in today’s world, where password-based authentication is being phased out in favor of biometric authentication and hardware security modules. In general, secure authentication depends on highly random secret strings (see Figure 2, left). But passwords generated by the human mind tend to be quite biased, no matter how hard we try to be unpredictable (see Figure 2, right). So it’s only natural that authentication systems are moving away from human-generated secrets in pursuit of fewer human errors, but in a way this also reflects a broader distrust in humans themselves. Ishibashi, in contrast, dares to say “take back” the password in Antigone. Interestingly, it feels almost like a reversal of the prevailing trend in information security. If we, as humans, were to reclaim the password, how truly random could our imaginations become? To me, Antigone poses that kind of question, indirectly but provocatively.
Figure 2: A visualization of randomness on the complex plane. The left diagram shows a uniformly random distribution, while the right diagram depicts a biased one. If we were to take back “the password”, which kind of situation would result?
Since this is a liner note, I’d like to offer a few modest “commentaries” on each track.
The A-side opens with October, which seems to introduce the album’s overarching perspective, surveying events both from the heights of “a skyscraper” and “the corner of that guy’s room” without distinction. It’s as if Ishibashi’s mind functions like “the control tower”, constantly receiving signals from all over the world, unbounded by geography or time. This came to mind as I listened to the track’s noise, reminiscent of restless radio transmissions.
If the first track evokes the brain during daytime, actively absorbing external stimuli, then Coma evokes a nighttime brain; unconscious, yet still tethered to society and inner fluctuations. The music video, which feels like being immersed in a chaotic dream, is also captivating.
Trial is slightly startling. It may resonate with anyone weary of the words flooding news and social media. Particularly striking is the latter half, where bass, drums, and saxophone gradually build a quietly simmering sense of anger.
Then comes Nothing As, a contemplative piece that stands in sharp contrast. Jim O’Rourke’s lyrics seem to offer subtle guidance for maintaining inner calm in an information-saturated world.
Mona Lisa initially puzzled me. I would never have expected phrases like “Air Ionizer” and “notification of payment” to appear alongside a title like Mona Lisa. But once set to music, these elements somehow melt into harmony. To me, music feels like a kind of magic that weaves together such seemingly unrelated elements. The music video, featuring an elderly woman singing karaoke at a community center, is not to be missed.
On the B-side, Continuous Contiguous presents a cascade of images: a blond woman in snug “sportswear” elegantly jogging down the West Coast, followed by a sudden shift to “the wilds of fractal patterns” and to cramped rows of “silicon” memory cells. If you ever visit San Francisco, it might be interesting to trace how all the elements mentioned in this song are contiguous.
The Model sustains a sense of tension for over eight minutes. Interestingly, some lyrics that sound completely unintelligible (at least to my ears) are clearly printed on the inner sleeve, while others, like quotes from Foucault that are quite audible, are nowhere to be found in the text. Regardless of those intriguing tricks, listeners may find themselves immersed in the delicate drumming that continues in parallel.
Finally, the titular track Antigone, which I highlighted earlier, is my personal favorite. I’m not entirely sure why. Despite the heavy, somber tone of the album artwork, this piece closes the album on a strangely comforting note—perhaps that’s what makes it resonate with me so deeply.
I’m sure there’s much more to discover as I continue listening to Antigone, and I look forward to savoring those moments slowly, over time.
To Eiko Ishibashi, and to all the collaborators and contributors who brought this extraordinary work into the world, I offer my sincere applause and deepest respect.