The Revival of Crescendo

If we go by Western beliefs, turning 50—or even approaching it—is when life truly begins. It’s the age when all the trials, errors, highs, and lows of the earlier years have shaped you into someone who can see life with calm and clarity. It’s a state of mind that’s steady, grounded, and hard to shake.

I saw that exact steadiness in the eyes of Nut Chatichai Manitayakul, better known to most people as Nut Crescendo. And I heard it, too—in the deeper, more serious tone of his voice. Sure, his signature humor, cheeky charm, and playful banter are still there, but something new has emerged: a quiet confidence I’ve never quite felt from him before, even though we’ve been friends for years.

Nut ordered an espresso and a can of Coke, then casually poured them both over ice. A few quick stirs, and he took a satisfied sip. From downstairs, the sound of drums and a slightly offbeat mic-check by an older student drifted up through the glass walls of the café on the second floor of the Faculty of Agro-Industry. It didn’t bother us, though—if anything, it set the scene just right.

The noisy freshman orientation downstairs reminded me of the day we first became friends. Same kind of racket, just a different time and place.

After catching up on life, exchanging hugs, and quietly noting the physical changes we’d both gone through over the years, it didn’t take long for the old jokes and shared memories to resurface. It’s funny—no matter how many years have passed, the connection is still there. We always seem to run into each other during major life transitions, like some kind of unspoken kindness pulling us back together.

Today was no exception. I’d arranged to meet Nut to talk about something big: his return to music with Crescendo.

So… why the comeback?

Funny thing is—he didn’t really answer that question directly.

Instead, Nut took a quiet detour back to the time he first left the band. “It was pretty normal, really,” he says. “We fought. There were tensions, disappointments, grudges. Emotions ran high. When I left, it hurt—physically and emotionally.”

The physical part? His voice was wrecked.

“I have to admit, throughout my time with Crescendo, I wasn’t someone who had trained as a professional singer. I wasn’t a technical guy. I was more of a soul-first kind of person. I sang the way I felt. I’d just follow my emotions and pour them out through the mic.”

He never approached singing with the precision of a trained vocalist—and he doesn't see that as right or wrong. It’s just how he was built.

“But the thing is,” Nut continues, “I was part of a band that, in my view, was made up of fighters. Crescendo wasn’t the kind of group that held back to support the vocals. They weren’t a backing band—they were always charging forward. As the singer, you had to match that energy instantly, without hesitation.”

Crescendo is known for their explosive live shows and real-time improvisation. That made performing with them exhilarating… and exhausting.

“That kind of life,” Nut says, “wasn’t easy to keep up with.”

So how exactly did they improvise?

“It was nothing like the CD. Nothing like the cassette. Nothing like the studio recordings,” Nut says with a laugh.

“When they felt like playing something, they’d just launch into it—right there on stage. A jam would happen out of nowhere, in the moment.”

No cues. No prep. Just raw musical instinct.

“That’s how it always was with Crescendo.”

Was it because the others were formally trained musicians?

"Yeah—pretty much," Nut says. "I wasn’t a music major or anything. I didn’t have formal training. So I had to rely on instinct, personal flair, and a whole lot of trial and error. I picked things up by watching, listening, copying—whatever worked."

And for a while, it did work. He kept up. He held his own. But the better he got, the more the band pushed the envelope musically.

“They kept leveling up,” he says. “And I had to keep up with them.”

But there was something else creeping in—something quieter, harder to detect. Burnout.

“Don’t forget, singing for a living—especially in this industry—usually means performing late at night. Most concerts don’t end before 10 p.m., sometimes midnight. Your eating schedule is all over the place. Sometimes you eat late, sometimes you skip meals.”

Over time, his health started to deteriorate. He developed acid reflux without realizing it—and worse, vocal issues.

“It’s what they call ‘Singer’s Nodules,’” Nut explains. “Little lumps that form on your vocal cords. Normally, the cords come together cleanly when you sing. But when nodules develop, they keep the cords from fully closing, and that affects your voice.”

There were two options: surgery or medication. Neither guaranteed a full recovery. “It’s like breaking your leg and then having to relearn how to walk,” he says.

At first, Nut didn’t even realize what was happening. His voice just got raspy. He was with GMM Grammy at the time—a label known for demanding top quality from their artists. One day, he was scheduled to perform, but when he got on stage, his voice was completely gone.

“I figured I was just sleep-deprived,” he says. “So I tried to fix it myself. I took this anti-inflammatory drug for swollen vocal cords called Danzen, tried all kinds of treatments, just hoping to bounce back.”

But nothing worked. His performances got worse. Eventually, it all collapsed—his voice, his confidence, and his place in the band.

“That was one of the big reasons I had to step away,” Nut says quietly. “I felt like I had let everyone down—the band, the label, and most of all, myself.”

That was about ten years ago.

Was it hard to walk away—especially from something you loved so deeply?

Nut didn’t give up—not completely.

“Even after I left, I still wanted to prove to myself that I could sing,” he says. “I joined another label, released a few singles, and even did some soundtracks for TV dramas.”

But there was always hesitation. He avoided live performances, unsure if his voice could hold up. So he stuck to studio sessions and recording work. For about four or five years after leaving the band, he continued to release music under his full name, Nut Chatichai, focusing on projects where he didn’t have to test his voice in front of a crowd.

Meanwhile, the band moved on. After Nut’s departure, Crescendo launched a show called Next Crescendo to find a new lead vocalist. Eventually, they found someone: “Nong Keng”, the band’s fourth frontman—good-looking, great voice, and full of potential.

But even with fresh talent, things didn’t last. The band eventually disbanded around six years ago.

A decade apart. A long road of healing.

Between the moment Nut left Crescendo and the moment we sat down for this conversation, nearly ten years had passed. Ten years filled with both physical and emotional recovery. He kept trying. Kept healing. Kept facing the quiet kind of loss that doesn’t always make headlines—but reshapes your world.

One of those losses cut especially deep—he lost his father.

“That changed everything,” Nut says. “It grounded me. It brought me closer to reality, and to spiritual truth. I began to let go of a lot of things.”

And that, he says, is when dharma started to pull him back—not just to peace, but back toward the very people he once left behind.

“There was so much anger in my heart,” he admits. “But I realized something: anger can only exist when there’s also love. If you didn’t love someone, you wouldn’t be able to hate them.”

So when fate brought him back into the orbit of his old bandmates—at a time when everything had changed—he was finally ready.

“Dharma had already done its work.”

So what brought everyone back together?

The funny thing is—there was never a real plan to reunite the band.

“It wasn’t something I had in mind,” Nut says. “It just happened naturally.”

It started with P’Ek. He’d opened a coffee shop, and Nut would stop by maybe once a year—just to say hi, out of nostalgia. They’d chat like old times, no tension, no awkwardness. One day, P’Ek casually suggested they make some music together.

“I said sure—send it over,” Nut recalls. “And then… nothing. We lost touch again.”

Then came a surprise encounter with Champ, Crescendo’s guitarist. They hadn’t spoken in a long time either. Things had ended on a sour note between them, too.

“But when I saw Champ, he also asked me to collaborate. So we did. We recorded a song under the name Natty and the Champ. No pressure. Just put it up on YouTube and moved on.”

More time passed. Then came another unexpected meeting—this time at a funeral for someone they both knew. That’s when Nut ran into Norathep, another key member of the band.

“By then, all the negativity was gone,” Nut says. “When I saw him, I just hugged him and said, ‘We never know if we’ll still be around tomorrow. Let me hug you, man. Whatever happened between us—it’s over.’”

Norathep hugged him back. That quiet, unscripted moment became the beginning of something new: they started talking again—first in real life, then slowly reconnecting on social media, like old friends finding their way back.

Were you the one who brought the band back together?

From Nut’s point of view—sort of.

“It happened little by little,” he says. “When I reconnected with P’Ek, our drummer—the first member to ever leave Crescendo—I could feel how much he still missed being part of the band.”

P’Ek was the one who came up with the name “Crescendo” in the first place. For years, he had to watch others continue under that name—while sitting on the sidelines. Nut picked up on that quiet longing.

“I told him, ‘If you want to do something, just do it. I’ve got time, I’ve got energy—I can give this one more full push. If you want to go for it, go.’”

In Nut’s mind, it wasn’t about making a full comeback or committing to anything long-term. “I just thought of it as a kind of final masterpiece,” he says. “One last project before we all go our separate ways again.”

P’Ek then told Nut to reach out to the other members—to see how they felt about reuniting. Nut agreed, but...

“Well, the truth is—I’m a bit salé,” he laughs.

In Thai music school slang, salé means someone who’s easygoing… maybe too easygoing. The kind who never rushes into anything. “I kept putting it off—‘I’ll call next week, or maybe the week after,’” Nut admits.

But then, something unexpected happened.

“Out of the blue, that same night, Ekapong—P’Ek—called Norathep. Just like that. And the next thing I knew, they’d already made plans to meet the next day.”

Nut was caught off guard. He hadn’t even had time to mentally prepare. Still, he showed up at Ekapong’s house as planned—and was surprised to find the others deep in conversation. They were already talking seriously. Decisions were being made.

“I just sat and listened,” Nut says. “Everyone had their own thoughts, their own energy. I didn’t push. I let it all flow naturally. I just wanted everything to land as softly as possible.”

That was his true wish—not necessarily to reignite a band, but to reconnect, to clear the air, to end things on a good note.

And that’s how Crescendo came back together—with the full original lineup except for Nut himself.

So this time around, is the band going easier on you—musically speaking?

“I think so,” Nut laughs. “Everyone said, ‘Nut, just sing the way you’re comfortable with—whatever works for you. If we need to drop the key, just say so.’”

That got him thinking. He went back and listened to the old tracks—and finally realized why his voice had suffered so badly the first time.

“When I first joined Crescendo, I never actually checked to see if the keys of the songs matched my vocal range. I just tried to match the original singer—who had a wider and higher range than me. I ended up straining for years, trying to hit notes that weren’t really right for me.”

No wonder his voice gave out.

“So this time,” he says, “we agreed to drop every song down one key to better fit my range.”

Problem solved? Not quite.

“Once we started rehearsing, people began complaining,” Nut chuckles. “Like, ‘When are we going back to the original keys?!’”

Turns out, changing the key messes with muscle memory—and the musicians weren’t thrilled. “Champ and Norathep were the first to grumble about it,” he says, still laughing.

But in the end, everyone gave in. Because this time, it’s not just about perfect sound—it’s about harmony. Not just in the music, but among the people playing it.

“This reunion feels a lot more… generous,” Nut says with a grin.

Over the years, Crescendo’s sound has evolved with each vocalist.

“Totally,” Nut says. “Back when Bee was the lead singer—the original frontman—our style leaned heavily toward soul and funk.”

Then came Rick, the band’s only female vocalist. “Her era had more of a world music vibe,” Nut explains. “That was just her nature, and the band followed suit.”

When Nut took over, the sound shifted again—this time toward jazz-rock. “It got a bit heavier,” he says, “but still had that jazzy improvisational thing going on.”

And now? For this latest chapter, the band’s taking a new approach—one that’s more refined, more thoughtful.

“We’ve talked a lot,” Nut says. “This time, nobody’s really pushing for overly complex stuff. We’re aiming for something that’s just… cool. You know? Like Toto. Their music sounds smooth, even simple—but it’s actually super challenging to play.”

Instead of flexing technical tricks, the band is choosing to focus on subtle, well-crafted composition. The goal isn’t to be flashy or eccentric—but to create something mature, elegant, and lasting.

“In the early days when I joined, the music was full of quirks. We were known for having strange time signatures—like 7/4 instead of a basic 4/4. That became part of our signature sound,” Nut laughs.

“Those songs were tough for me to sing, I won’t lie. But hey, they were happy, so I was happy too,” he laughs again.

In short, the new Crescendo is all about cool over complicated, finesse over flash. Grown-up grooves.

So… are we getting a new album this year?

“Well, Norrathep said we have to finish it within the year,” Nut laughs. “That countdown started from the night we played at our friend’s café near Tha Prachan—June 23, 2025. So technically, that gives us one full year to wrap it up.”

He pauses. “Honestly, I think that’s too long.”

From Nut’s perspective, if everyone really focused, stayed sharp, and committed to rehearsals, they could finish it in a month or two. “But you know how life gets,” he shrugs. “Everyone’s got their routines, responsibilities. Getting the whole band together regularly isn’t easy these days.”

Still, he’s optimistic.

“I really think it’ll happen. I believe we’ll hit that timeline, and fans will definitely get to hear it.”

In fact, there’s already a song out—“Chuang Nueng Haeng Thoramarn” (A Moment of Suffering). It’s a love song, and it’s up now on the band’s YouTube channel: @crescendothailand

“It was kind of a test run,” Nut explains. “We wanted to see what it would be like working together again, so we didn’t do any promotion. That’s probably why the views are still low.”

When it’s time to release, will it be one single at a time—or the full album all at once?

“That’s something we’re still figuring out,” Nut admits.

One thing that makes Crescendo special is their commitment to live studio recording—where the entire band plays together in the same room, in real time.

“That’s our charm,” he says. “That raw energy… that chemistry—it comes through when we record live. Most other bands don’t do it like that. But that’s part of what defines us.”

Of course, it’s not easy.

Live recording takes a lot of preparation. Every member has to be ready. Every part has to gel. In contrast, recording instrument tracks separately is more manageable and easier to control—but something’s missing.

“You lose a bit of that feeling,” Nut says.

Right now, the band is still searching for the right balance. But for Nut, the answer is clear:

“In my heart, I still want us to record live—just like we used to. That’s who we are.”

What’s it like being an independent artist these days?

“It’s got its pros and cons,” Nut says.

On the bright side, there’s complete freedom. “You can create what you want, take on the projects you like, and make all the decisions yourself.”

But there are trade-offs—especially when it comes to promotion. “Back when I was with a major label, there was funding to support everything. You could go big with the production, the marketing, the whole package. As an indie artist, that’s something you have to handle yourself—or go without.”

One of the biggest challenges, he says, is navigating copyright and licensing when you’ve previously worked with labels.

“There were always issues—especially when it came to performing live. That’s something I dealt with a lot over the years.”

So for now, Nut is keeping things simple: finish the music first. Whether they sign with a label or stay independent can come later.

“These days, we’ve got plenty of platforms—YouTube, streaming services, social media. You don’t have to be with a label anymore to get your music out there.”

And besides, Crescendo isn’t exactly unknown.

“We’re not some no-name band trying to break through from zero,” Nut says with a grin. “We’ll let the music take shape first. Once the songs are done, everything else will become clearer. We’re learning and adapting as we go.”

How did your journey as a singer begin—and why go through so much just to stay close to music?

“I studied fine arts,” Nut says, “but what I held more often than a paintbrush was a guitar.”

He remembers one of his teachers telling him he should switch to the music faculty. But he never did.

“I was kind of stubborn. A bit like a cat—you pet its head, it backs away; you pull its tail, it walks forward.”

For Nut, everything he did—painting, music, literature—was about one thing: feeling. Expression. Emotion.

“I never thought of it as ‘music’ per se. I didn’t analyze it. When I played, I didn’t think, ‘This is a chord,’ or, ‘This is the structure.’ I just felt it. I’d get completely absorbed in the melody, the lyrics, the strumming—and stay in that space.”

He wasn’t concerned with understanding the components or techniques. It wasn’t academic. It was emotional.

“I’d mix everything together—art, sound, words—and let it out. However it came out, that was me. That’s what I loved.”

And he’s been in that state ever since.

Did you have a band back in your student days?

“Before Crescendo, I was in a band called 4 Monkey Season,” Nut says. “All of us were music majors, and like most kids, we had that dream—to have a band of our own.”

Their big break came when they got the chance to play at the very first Live in a Day music event.

“That was the moment I started taking singing seriously. We had an absolute blast. It was wild and fun and full of energy—and I made so many friends that day.”

Several other bands who played that same show went on to become big names, like Playground and Poomjit. For Nut, it was proof that this wasn’t just a hobby anymore. It was real.

“That day made me feel like—hey, maybe I can be a real musician.”

Soon after, 4 Monkey Season released an album under an indie label called Music Mark Two. Unfortunately, the label eventually shut down, and the album flopped. “It tanked completely,” Nut says with a grin.

But there was one small win: a song he had written for that album, called ‘Pror Kho Sutthai’ (The Last Wish), somehow ended up being included in Love Is Volume 1, a compilation album from the now-legendary Love Is label—founded by Boy Kosiyabong and Sukie after the closure of Bakery Music.

Why would a new label like Music Mark Two take a chance on a brand-new band like yours?

Nut laughs. “Do you know the band Styrene Jungle? The one with Oh Futon as the lead singer?”

That band was Music Mark Two’s very first signing—and they had done some impressive work. Then came The Waiter, a band from the famous Saxophone Pub. And after that, it was 4 Monkey Season.

“They discovered us from our performance at Live in a Day,” Nut says. “That show really opened doors for us.”

It wasn’t fate—it was the work you kept showing up for.

Looking back, Nut believes everything had already been set in motion—even if he didn’t know it at the time.

He was about to sign a solo artist contract with Music Bugs, a record label at RCA. But before heading in, he stopped for a coffee at a little shop next door.

Inside, he saw the entire Crescendo band—every member—sitting together.

“And they didn’t have a vocalist,” Nut says.

At that point in his life, Nut had already finished his master’s degree. He was preparing to apply for a teaching position at Ramkhamhaeng University and figured that his music journey was more or less done.

“I thought, maybe I’ll just make music on the side. I’d already accepted that. I was ready to settle down, take a steady job, and keep music as a hobby.”

He remembers the day clearly. Sitting upstairs at the label, flipping through pages of the contract—it was long. Too long. So he asked if he could bring it downstairs to the café and read while having a coffee.

“They said no,” Nut laughs. “It was company confidential.”

So he went downstairs empty-handed, just to grab a drink—and there they were: Crescendo, mid-discussion, wondering what to do next.

Norrathep, who had previously produced Nut’s old band 4 Monkey Season, recognized him immediately. He invited Nut to sing at a one-off gig at Overtone, a well-known live venue.

During rehearsal, Nut was blown away. “They were so good. It felt like I’d stepped into another dimension.”

But then, on the night of the show, the unexpected happened: their former vocalist showed up.

Nut didn’t perform.

“I was stunned,” he says, laughing now at the twist of fate. “But then, after that night, the band reached out again and invited me to become their official vocalist.”

Just like that, everything changed.

“I walked away from Music Bugs without hesitation. This just felt... more fun.”

But didn’t you have a release under Music Bugs? I think I remember something...

“You’re right,” Nut says. “I did. I was in a band called The Answer.”

They recorded two tracks—one original, and one cover of a Big Ass song. “The label told us to do everything ourselves,” Nut recalls. “And since I wasn’t exactly a trained musician, I kind of stumbled through it till it was done.”

In the end, he never signed the contract. Crescendo showed up first—and changed everything.

“I think the band wasn’t really looking for someone overly skilled,” Nut reflects. “What they wanted was someone they could work with—someone who could take direction. Someone younger. Someone open.”

He grins. “Basically, someone whose cup wasn’t full. So they could pour into it.”

“They’d already had strong personalities in the band before—really talented people—but it was like having two tigers in the same cave. So maybe they liked me because I didn’t come in with ego. I was weird, a bit crazy, but easy to work with.”

His official welcome came on stage at “Fat Show Nuea #1”, the first northern edition of the iconic Thai indie music festival.

“There was a lot of hype,” Nut laughs. “Crescendo had already teased that there’d be a new lead singer, so people showed up just to see who it was.”

They didn’t play any new songs yet—‘Jai Klang Khwam Jeb Puat’ (The Heart of Pain) hadn’t been released. So Nut had to sing all the classic Crescendo tracks from the previous lineup.

“Of course, they were hits. The crowd knew them by heart. And then they saw me... and slowly started walking out,” he laughs again. “But honestly, I didn’t take it personally. That’s just how it is.”

And to top it off?

“I stepped on the jack cable and unplugged my mic mid-song.”

But the band didn’t flinch. No one got upset.

After the set, Norathep, the band leader, came over, hugged him, and said:

“Welcome to Crescendo.”

What’s it like working with one of Thailand’s top-tier bands?

“Within Crescendo, we had one golden rule,” Nut says.

‘Whatever’s going on in your life—Crescendo comes first.’

That meant everything else came second.

Relationships. Family. Even your health.

“The work had to take priority,” he says. “Figure out the rest later.”

That kind of mindset helped the band stay laser-focused. But over time, it also caused problems.

“I played by their rules, and honestly—I did pretty well,” Nut laughs.

Things really exploded when the song ‘Jai Klang Khwam Jeb Puat’ (The Heart of Pain) became a nationwide hit.

“It got so big, I actually started to look good,” he jokes. “Too bad we didn’t have view counters back then like YouTube has now. But I knew how huge it was—wherever we played, people would sing every word.”

The success pushed Nut to reinvent himself.

“I fixed my front teeth,” he says, laughing. “I’d chipped them when I smashed into the mic during a gig at Brick Bar.”

He also started dressing better, paid attention to his look—hair, clothes, grooming.

“It was a bit painful, though,” he admits. “Because deep down, you know me—I’m kind of a weirdo.”

He laughs again, fully aware of his own quirks.

That stretch kept the band going strong for another two to three years. But it also taught Nut a humbling truth:

“When you have a big hit, the next thing that follows is... songs that aren’t hits.”

And eventually, that’s when the label switch happened.

What made you switch labels?

“In most cases, it started with someone reaching out first,” Nut explains. “And usually, it came right when we were already starting to feel a bit… unsatisfied with the label we were with.”

He pauses. “To be fair, they were doing a good job. Really. But at the time, we were hoping for more—more support, more momentum, something bigger.”

In hindsight, he sees it differently.

“That place? It was probably the best fit for us all along. But back then, we were chasing something better.”

Money wasn’t a huge motivator for Nut personally, but he admits it likely mattered to the rest of the band.

“More gigs should mean more income. And we’d always had hits—every era of Crescendo had its big songs, even with different lead singers.”

That success gave them confidence.

“If the core musicians were still together, what was there to worry about?” Nut says. “We figured we could go anywhere and make it work.”

So the band moved from Sony to Spicy Disc, with one key condition:

“Keep the same budget for the masters.”

They released the album RAW, which they believed had something for everyone—radio-friendly tracks, technically impressive songs.

“But none of them took off,” Nut says. “Not a single one.”

When the hits stopped, so did the shows.

“It was a crisis,” he says bluntly. “Suddenly, the steady stream of gigs disappeared. And when the money dried up, the tensions started rising.”

The band hit a wall. Creative blocks. Fights.

“We even started talking about adding a female vocalist,” he says. “Ideas were flying everywhere. It felt like we were grasping at anything.”

Eventually, P’Ek, their longtime drummer, announced he was leaving.

“That was a big blow,” Nut admits. “There were songs only the four of us could play together. Without him, we had to cut a bunch of them from our live sets.”

The replacement drummer could only cover certain tracks—and just like that, Crescendo entered a new transition phase.

That’s when a producer came along and introduced them to Khun Fahmai, the head of Sanamluang Music, under GMM Grammy.

So… was it the right move this time? It’s a major label, after all.

“Honestly?” Nut says. “It was even more off the mark than before.”

Back in the day, when the band made albums under indie labels, they’d record 10 to 12 songs live—as a group—in just two or three days. No endless takes. No layers. Just:

“Done. Here’s the master.”

It was rough. Real. And it worked.

“Thing is, there are plenty of Thai bands who can record live. But very few actually do it,” Nut explains. “Why? Because it takes an insane amount of focus. Everyone has to be sharp. You have to rehearse hard. You can’t mess up—or if you do, you all agree to live with it.”

The Crescendo way was to record 4–5 full takes and then vote: Which one is the take?

Once that decision was made, whoever messed up on that version... well,

that’s your scar for life.

Nut laughs, “Because that version goes on the record forever.”

It became part of the band’s identity. Their signature. Their rhythm.

But at a big label?

“None of that was allowed,” Nut says. “Everything was done track by track. And we couldn’t just go in with ten songs ready to go, either. They’d only let us start with one or two—and only if they believed those tracks were guaranteed hits.”

Then those demo tracks had to go through the whole building—marketing teams, producers, decision-makers—before anyone could greenlight the next step.

That shift broke the band’s rhythm.

“The whole system changed, and it just didn’t suit us,” Nut admits. “We lost the ‘live’ feel in the music. The recordings didn’t sound like us anymore.”

From production to performance to behind-the-scenes business—it all felt wrong.

“I was already burned out by then,” he says. “Then out of nowhere, this one song we barely believed in—‘Glap Ma Pen Meuan Derm Dai Mai’ (Can We Go Back to the Way We Were)—blew up.”

It was a TV drama theme song, and it wasn’t even part of their album.

“I didn’t even like the song at first,” Nut says honestly. “But it got huge. And to this day—I still have to sing it.”

So despite the disconnect, Nut had to acknowledge that the label’s system worked.

“They had structure. Culture. Strategy. Their market was completely different from ours—but it worked for them.”

The disconnect, however, was real. Crescendo’s core audience—the fans from their early days—were from a totally different circle:

Scrubb. Slot Machine. Crescendo.

That crowd didn’t carry over when they joined Grammy’s Asoke camp, where the landscape was more like:

I-ZAX. Zeal. Different vibe. Different venues.

And then came the wall.

The gigs started happening in front of new audiences—audiences that didn’t know Crescendo’s earlier hits.

And they couldn’t play those hits, either.

“Our older songs were under Sony,” Nut explains. “If we wanted to perform them, we had to pay steep licensing fees. So we couldn’t even play ‘Jai Klang Khwam Jeb Puat.’ None of our classic tracks were accessible.”

They tried to fix it. They rearranged songs from Grammy’s own catalog and made them their own.

“But in the end, we became this weird band with no real songs of our own onstage. And that,” Nut says quietly,

“was the beginning of the decline.”

Eventually, Nut decided to leave the band—even before Crescendo officially left Grammy.

After leaving Grammy, you completely disappeared. Was it as painful as it sounds?

“I became super introverted,” Nut says. “I quit social media entirely. I was gone from the public eye for a solid 7–8 years. At first, I thought I’d never come back. But the reason I’m here now—well, it’s the same reason I mentioned at the start of this interview.”

What was it like spending all that time alone?

“Have you ever gone to a meditation retreat for a week? The first 3 days are pure torture. By day 4 or 5, it starts to feel better. And by day 6 to 8—you feel grounded. You can live with it. That’s exactly what I went through.”

He uses a Buddhist term for this inner process: “Sanyojana” (mental fetters).

“The first 3 years, I couldn’t cut those ties. I’d avoid people everywhere I went, scared someone might recognize me. It was like breaking up with someone—you don’t want to answer awkward questions about why your partner isn’t around anymore.”

By the 4th and 5th year, he started to find peace.

“I found things I truly wanted to do. I turned to the spiritual path. Believe it or not, I kept the Five Precepts for five years straight. No violations. Well… except for the occasional mosquito or tick,” he laughs softly.

“But nothing beyond that. Not even Precept 3. Not even Precept 5. I really think that was my landing point. Back then, I had no intention of ever making music again.”

How did you support yourself during those 7–8 years?

“I picked up odd jobs—backing vocals, making music for TV dramas, writing ad jingles. And weirdly enough, every time I was close to running out of money, some work would just appear. Back then, royalties weren’t nearly as good as they are now. But today, with all the streaming platforms and better revenue sharing, I can actually sustain myself as someone who doesn’t have a family to support.”

You held your sadness close to yourself.

“When my dog died, I shut down completely. I didn’t speak to anyone for 6–7 months. No one could reach me. I was the definition of super introvert. But I wasn’t really suffering—it’s just that I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. I didn’t see the point.”

And why come out now?

“Because I’m back to working again. Before I fully land on my next chapter, I want people to know who I am—and what I’m about to do. So I can move forward with clarity and purpose.”

Six years with Crescendo—and the flaws you had to face.

“I think it happens to everyone,” Nut says quietly. “When you go from nobody to somebody, something shifts. Doesn’t matter if you were a good person or not—you start feeling proud. You start building an ego. I did, too. Maybe not a massive one, but it was there.”

And today, he sees it clearly.

“That ego? It had no value. It wasn’t pure. In fact, being a nobody is probably the best thing you can be.”

Looking back, Nut admits he didn’t make the most of his success.

“We had this golden goose, and we didn’t take care of it. We just lived like rockstars—reckless. If we couldn’t sing one day, no big deal. We just wanted to feel something. We lived like artists who needed everything our way.”

But that mindset came at a cost.

“We didn’t grow. We didn’t build. And eventually, it all collapsed.”

He now accepts his role in that fall.

“Everyone’s human. Everyone had some part in it. Love, greed, pride, delusion—it was all mixed in there. When you become somebody, you don’t think you’ll ever fall. When you feel strong, you think you’re invincible. We forgot impermanence. We forgot the truth: don’t be arrogant.”

There’s one question you still haven’t answered: why sing—why fight so hard for it?

Nut pauses. Then smiles.

“Because singing is the one thing I do best,” he says. “Better than studying. Better than flirting. Better than getting my heart broken,” he laughs.

“When I hold a guitar and sing, I don’t care about anything else. In that moment, I’m free.”

For him, singing is more than a skill.

It’s how he connects to the world.

“When I sing, I don’t feel awkward. I feel natural. I feel like the world and I are the same thing. That’s where my joy comes from. I’ve never tried to compete with anyone through it. I just sing because I love it. I never thought it would lead anywhere—it just… kept leading me forward.”

The stage is mine—but only for a moment.

“When I step onstage and grab the mic, that’s my world. I sing like nothing else matters. But the moment I step off… I go back to hiding in the corner.”

“To perform is to live inside your own world—and offer that world to others.”

It won’t be long now. Or if it is—maybe not that long.

To borrow the words of Rong Wongsawan: “If it must wait, then let it wait. But it won’t be too long.”

And judging by just the one track they’ve released—

‘ช่วงหนึ่งแห่งทรมาน’ (A Moment of Suffering)—

this isn’t just a comeback.

It’s a Crescendo.

© 2025 Khaoyai Connect. All rights reserved.

No part of this content may be copied, modified, or distributed in any form without prior written permission.