On their debut EP, the San Francisco alt rock / indie soul band transforms people-pleasing, existential anxiety, cultural hybridity, relational impermanence, and the fear of being perceived into songs that refuse easy resolution.
There is a particular kind of vulnerability in asking a question you suspect may not have a satisfying answer.
Do You Like Me Now?, the debut EP from Sakai, is built around exactly that tension.
The title sounds almost confrontational at first.
Then it becomes sadder.
Then more complicated.
Because the question is not really about popularity.
It is about perception.
Who are you when other people are looking at you?
How much of yourself has been shaped by the need to remain acceptable?
Which behaviors feel intrinsic only because they have been repeated for so long?
And if you finally begin dismantling them, what remains?
For Marié Sakai, the songwriter and vocalist at the center of the San Francisco-based project, those questions became especially urgent during the spring of 2025.
“I dedicated the spring of 2025 to intense self-work,” she says.
That period coincided with the writing of the songs that would eventually become Do You Like Me Now?
“One part of that self-work was unpacking which aspects of my personality that I always assumed were immutable are actually learned behaviors that could slowly be unlearned.”
People-pleasing was one of them.
The title track became a direct confrontation with that instinct.
From there, the phrase expanded into something bigger.
It described the emotional reality of releasing music itself.
“Releasing music is an inherently vulnerable act that leads to being perceived, whether I want that or not.”
For a debut project, the title feels especially apt.
This is the first formal introduction.
The first invitation.
And also the first surrender of control.
Once the songs leave the room, people will make their own judgments.
Sakai seems less interested in escaping that reality than examining what it does to a person.
The Fear of Being Seen
Across the EP, there is a recurring contradiction.
The desire to be understood.
The fear of what understanding might expose.
Marié does not attempt to resolve it into a clean lesson about self-love.
“It feels more human to acknowledge the complexity that arises with being perceived than to over-simplify it.”
She wants authenticity.
But authenticity comes with risk.
“I have a deep desire to be seen for my authentic self, but I know it can be difficult to show that, for a fear of how debilitating a rejection of my authentic self might feel.”
That is perhaps one of the most contemporary tensions inside the record.
Visibility is increasingly treated as inherently desirable.
Be seen.
Post more.
Share more.
Explain yourself.
Make yourself legible.
But being perceived is not neutral.
It can be intoxicating.
It can also be terrifying.
“It would be lovely to be the kind of person who was so self-assured that external validation or invalidation was irrelevant,” Marié says, “but it feels disingenuous to pretend that I’m immune to the judgments of others.”
That refusal to pretend may be the EP’s most important gesture.
The record does not arrive at self-acceptance by erasing insecurity.
It allows insecurity to remain part of the architecture.
Music From the Liminal Space
Sakai’s sonic world is similarly uninterested in choosing one side.
The project draws from indie rock, soul, jazz, funk, blues, and traditional Japanese music.
Those influences are not simply aesthetic references.
They reflect Marié’s own background.
She grew up listening to records with her father.
Led Zeppelin. Pink Floyd. The Doors. Janis Joplin. Tracy Chapman.
Those artists gave her a foundation built around dynamic instrumentation, expressive singing, and lyrical directness.
Another part of that foundation came from Japan.
Marié was born there and returns periodically to see family.
“Nowadays when I go vinyl shopping, I always look for Japanese jazz fusion or enka.”
That mixture does not feel like an exercise in genre fusion for its own sake.
It is biographical.
“Pulling from these disparate influences feels sincere to me and helps to represent my background, the liminal space of being mixed Japanese.”
That phrase—liminal space—could describe the EP as a whole.
Between identities.
Between wanting and withdrawing.
Between confidence and doubt.
Between delicacy and impact.
Sakai’s music lives there comfortably.
“Orange Tree” and the Sound of Impermanence
Nowhere is Marié’s Japanese musical influence more explicit than on “Orange Tree.”
The song began after she attended a shamisen and koto recital through a local Japanese community center.
The experience stayed with her strongly enough that she began studying koto herself.
“I particularly like the Hirajoshi scale, because it has a dramatic, melancholic quality to it that often feels missing from Western music.”
Days later, she encountered an 8th-century Japanese poem.
The connection felt immediate.
“It simply felt correct to combine my lyrical interpretation of the poem with the sonic influence of the Hirajoshi scale.”
That meeting between old text and contemporary songwriting gives “Orange Tree” a sense of emotional distance.
The song is concerned with impermanence.
The way a relationship can matter deeply even if it does not last.
The idea that regret and gratitude can coexist.
That something ending does not necessarily invalidate the time it existed.
The track also gave Marié an opportunity to return to flute specifically for the recording.
Once again, the band’s musical choices are not ornamental.
They are emotional.
Tradition enters where it helps tell the truth.
Digging Until the Real Question Appears
On “Out,” the conflict shifts inward.
The song explores existential anxiety, avoidance, and the fear that the source of disappointment may not be the outside world at all.
“What if I’m sorely disappointed?”
Then:
“What if it’s me who’s the disappointment?”
The song originated through a process of writing deeper into a journal entry.
Marié describes the method as “getting to the bottom of it.”
A morning brain dump became the starting point.
Then came additional exercises designed to push sideways and downward into the same emotional material.
“Writing laterally and deeper into the topics that came up in my journal entries allowed me to unearth the deeper truth behind what initially just started as a nondiscerning brain dump.”
That movement toward specificity is what creates catharsis.
The overwhelming emotion becomes something examinable.
Something structured.
Something with shape.
That process seems central to Sakai’s songwriting philosophy.
Feelings do not become manageable because they are simplified.
They become manageable because they are explored carefully enough to reveal what is actually underneath them.
Collaboration Without Losing the Core
Although Marié begins much of the writing herself, Sakai is emphatically a band.
Alongside her are Audie Bethea on guitar, Brendon Daugherty on bass, Caroline Carter on drums, and Ryan DiCenzo on keys.
The EP also carries contributions from guitarist Conner Currie, whose harmonics helped define “Wanted.”
For Marié, collaboration is not about polishing something that already exists.
It is about allowing the song to become something impossible to make alone.
“I strongly believe in the power of creative collaboration, that the range of experiences and the friction of different tastes is what allows us to make something that none of us would be able to create on our own.”
That friction has also changed her personally.
She has become “less precious” with her work.
More comfortable with critique.
More capable of distinguishing between what is negotiable and what belongs to the emotional foundation of the song.
That distinction matters.
Collaboration does not mean surrendering every instinct.
It means learning which instincts are essential.
Marié describes the process as understanding what she needs support exploring versus what she is “married to retain” in order to protect the song’s emotional center.
That is an unusually precise description of healthy collaboration.
Openness without vagueness.
Flexibility without losing authorship.
The Band Finds the Dynamic
Sakai’s arrangements often move dramatically.
A delicate moment can suddenly widen.
An intimate phrase can lead into something far more forceful.
Those changes are not always planned at the songwriting stage.
“While I might have a rough idea of dynamics during the writing phase, they tend to emerge really organically during the composition and arrangement phase with the rest of the band.”
The group is developing what Marié calls a shorthand for their “collective dynamic preferences.”
That shorthand allows them to establish an initial arrangement quickly.
Then comes refinement.
“We go in with a fine-tooth comb to ensure the dynamics and storytelling support each other.”
Every choice faces the same test.
Does this support the emotional core?
“If it doesn’t, it’s gotta go.”
That principle helps explain why the EP’s genre shifts do not feel decorative.
The band is not layering influences to demonstrate range.
The arrangement earns its place by serving the emotional narrative.
Capturing the Room
The recording process reflected that same commitment to emotional immediacy.
At Tiny Telephone Recording in Oakland, the band tracked simultaneously in the live room while Marié sang from a vocal isolation booth.
She was concerned that recording the instruments one by one might sacrifice something important.
“I believe this helped with a warm, organic quality that I feared we would lose if we tracked everything one at a time.”
That sense of collective performance remains inside the recordings.
Additional work took place at Women’s Audio Mission in San Francisco, where Marié worked with engineer and mixer Danielle Goldsmith on vocal overdubs and punch-ins.
The smaller setting created a different kind of freedom.
Without the self-imposed fear that bandmates might be waiting for her to finish, Marié could take more time.
“I find that sometimes it’s easier to get an emotive vocal take when I don’t feel the time pressure.”
She describes Goldsmith as having a “warm, gentle demeanor.”
That atmosphere mattered.
“I felt at ease with her to settle and take my time.”
The result is an EP that carries both sides of Sakai’s identity.
The energy of a band playing together.
The intimacy of a voice allowed enough space to become emotionally specific.
No Bow on Top
Perhaps the most revealing thing about Do You Like Me Now? is what it refuses to do.
It does not tie everything together.
It does not transform insecurity into confidence by the final chorus.
It does not make relational ambiguity more comfortable simply because listeners might prefer clarity.
“Definitely,” Marié says when asked whether leaving emotions unresolved was intentional.
“It feels more sincere to retain emotional complexity rather than simplifying for the sake of trying to put a bow on top.”
That choice is also an act of trust.
“I trust in a listener’s ability to hold that complexity.”
And ambiguity creates space.
“If things are too spelled out or on the nose, it takes away opportunity for audience engagement.”
The listener gets to enter.
To interpret.
To place their own relationship inside “Wanted.”
Their own fear inside “Out.”
Their own need for approval inside “Do You Like Me Now?”
The songs become specific enough to feel true and open enough to become somebody else’s.
A Debut That Does Not Pretend to Be Finished
For Sakai, the EP is an introduction.
But not a conclusion.
When asked what listeners should understand after spending twenty minutes inside Do You Like Me Now?, Marié does not offer a branding statement.
She offers a promise.
“We are just getting started, and we have so many more perspectives to share.”
Then she reduces it even further.
“But above all, that we are human.”
That word matters.
Because almost everything on the EP returns to the difficulty of being one.
Wanting connection.
Fearing rejection.
Performing confidence.
Questioning identity.
Carrying culture.
Misunderstanding yourself.
Learning which parts were inherited and which were learned.
Trying to get closer to something honest without pretending honesty makes things simple.
Sakai’s debut does not solve those contradictions.
It gives them a room to coexist.
In Conversation With Sakai
MUNDANE: Do You Like Me Now? is such a vulnerable title. Was there a specific moment in your life that crystallized that question and inspired the EP as a whole?
MARIÉ SAKAI: I dedicated the spring of 2025 to intense self-work, which also coincides with when I started writing the songs for this record.
Part of that self-work was unpacking which aspects of my personality that I always assumed were immutable are actually learned behaviors that could slowly be unlearned.
People-pleasing is one of those aspects.
The title track of this EP was a direct attempt to tackle that, and it felt like an honest title to use for the entirety of the project.
Releasing music is an inherently vulnerable act that leads to being perceived, whether I want that or not, so it felt fitting.
MUNDANE: Your music blends indie rock, soul, jazz, blues, funk, and traditional Japanese influences in a way that feels incredibly natural. How have your cultural background and musical upbringing shaped the sound of Sakai?
MARIÉ SAKAI: That first chunk of influences comes from the CDs I grew up listening to with my dad—Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, The Doors, Janis Joplin, and Tracy Chapman.
Those instilled in me a love for dynamic instrumentation and soulful vocal delivery and lyricism.
Otherwise, I was born in Japan and return to see family every few years, so I grew up being exposed to Japanese music in various forms over my lifetime.
Nowadays, when I go vinyl shopping, I always look for Japanese jazz fusion or enka.
Pulling from these disparate influences feels sincere to me and helps to represent my background, the liminal space of being mixed Japanese.
MUNDANE: “Orange Tree” was inspired by an 8th-century Japanese poem and incorporates the Hirajoshi scale. What drew you to reconnect with those traditional influences, and how did they transform the emotional landscape of the song?
MARIÉ SAKAI: I attended a shamisen and koto recital for my local Japanese community center last summer.
I became so enamored that I now study the koto, and I’m performing in this year’s recital.
I particularly like the Hirajoshi scale because it has a dramatic, melancholic quality to it that often feels missing from Western music.
Days after the recital, I encountered the poem, and it simply felt correct to combine my lyrical interpretation of the poem with the sonic influence of the Hirajoshi scale.
MUNDANE: Across the EP, there’s a recurring tension between wanting to be seen and fearing what people might see. Why do you think that contradiction resonates so strongly today?
MARIÉ SAKAI: It feels more human to acknowledge the complexity that arises with being perceived than to over-simplify it.
I have a deep desire to be seen for my authentic self, but I know it can be difficult to show that for fear of how debilitating a rejection of my authentic self might feel.
It would be lovely to be the kind of person who was so self-assured that external validation or invalidation was irrelevant, but it feels disingenuous to pretend that I’m immune to the judgments of others.
MUNDANE: “Out” explores existential anxiety and self-doubt with the question, “What if I’m the disappointment?” How do you turn emotions that difficult into songs that ultimately feel cathartic rather than overwhelming?
MARIÉ SAKAI: Deep examination and “getting to the bottom of it.”
For this song in particular, I took my morning’s journal entry and then did a couple different writing exercises to expand on it in specific ways.
I owe a debt of gratitude to Pete Covington for his workshop on this topic.
Writing laterally and deeper into the topics that came up in my journal entries allowed me to unearth the deeper truth behind what initially just started as a nondiscerning brain dump.
That allows me to hit a catharsis point.
MUNDANE: Each member of the band has spoken about leaving their own imprint on these songs. How has collaboration changed the way you write compared to creating music on your own?
MARIÉ SAKAI: While I do still create music on my own, I adore the process of working with my bandmates.
I strongly believe in the power of creative collaboration, that the range of experiences and the friction of different tastes is what allows us to make something that none of us would be able to create on our own.
Working with them has also helped me become less precious with my work and more open to critiques and plussing.
It’s also forced me to better articulate what I need support on for exploration versus what I am married to retaining for the sake of staying true to the emotional core of a particular song.
MUNDANE: Your arrangements often shift between delicate intimacy and explosive emotional release. When you’re writing, do those dynamics emerge naturally, or are they carefully constructed to mirror the story each song is telling?
MARIÉ SAKAI: While I might have a rough idea of dynamics during the writing phase, they tend to emerge really organically during the composition and arrangement phase with the rest of the band.
We’re developing a shorthand for our collective dynamic preferences, which helps us work quickly to get an initial arrangement up.
After that, we go in with a fine-tooth comb to ensure the dynamics and storytelling support each other.
Everything comes back to the question of whether a choice supports the emotional core of a song.
If it doesn’t, it’s gotta go.
MUNDANE: The EP was recorded at Tiny Telephone Recording in Oakland with additional sessions at Women’s Audio Mission. How did those recording environments influence the final sound of the project?
MARIÉ SAKAI: At Tiny Telephone, Sakai tracked simultaneously in the live room with me in a vocal isolation booth.
I believe this helped with a warm, organic quality that I feared we would lose if we tracked everything one at a time.
The time at Women’s Audio Mission was only me and our recording and mix engineer Danielle Goldsmith, cranking out vocal punch-ins and overdubs.
I find that sometimes it’s easier to get an emotive vocal take when I don’t feel the self-imposed time pressure of fearing that my bandmates are getting bored waiting on me to wrap up.
Danielle has a really warm, gentle demeanor, and I felt at ease with her to settle and take my time.
MUNDANE: There’s a striking honesty throughout Do You Like Me Now? that refuses to offer easy answers. Was it important for you to leave certain emotions unresolved instead of tying everything together neatly?
MARIÉ SAKAI: Definitely.
It feels more sincere to retain emotional complexity rather than simplifying for the sake of trying to put a bow on top.
I trust in a listener’s ability to hold that complexity, and I also believe that if things are too spelled out or on the nose, it takes away opportunity for audience engagement.
MUNDANE: As Sakai introduces itself to the world with this debut release, what do you hope listeners understand about the band after spending twenty minutes inside Do You Like Me Now?
MARIÉ SAKAI: That we are just getting started, and we have so many more perspectives to share.
But above all, that we are human, and we hope to share the kind of music that helps other people get in touch with their humanity too.
The Question Stays Open
There is no triumphant answer to Do You Like Me Now?
That is what makes the title work.
The obvious ending would be independence from the question.
A declaration that approval no longer matters.
That identity has been solved.
That insecurity has been conquered.
Sakai does not give us that.
Instead, the EP does something more credible.
It examines why the question exists.
Why people-pleasing can feel like personality.
Why authenticity becomes frightening the moment another person gets to judge it.
Why a relationship can matter even if it was never permanent.
Why disappointment can point inward.
Why different cultural traditions can coexist inside one person without needing to resolve themselves into something simpler.
And why being seen can feel simultaneously like the thing we want most and the thing we fear.
That complexity extends to the band’s music.
The indie-rock foundation does not cancel the Japanese influences.
Soulful vocals do not require straightforward arrangements.
Jazz, blues, funk, folk traditions, distorted guitars, flute, Hirajoshi scales, and grand piano can all belong in the same emotional vocabulary if they serve the song.
The first Sakai EP is therefore less interested in telling listeners exactly who the band is than establishing how they intend to search.
Collaboratively.
Curiously.
Without simplifying things that do not feel simple.
There is something fitting about a debut ending there.
A question rather than an answer.
Because the most promising part of Do You Like Me Now? may be precisely what Marié says at the end:
They are just getting started.
