JAPAN 2003 TOUR JOURNAL, PART II |
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JANUARY 14th:
We wake early again for our day’s mammoth haul to Sendai, Japan’s self-proclaimed “Punk Rock City.” Our drive is seven hours of pee breaks and stops to buy candy at every Hello Square. We caravan with BTL and meet up with our new friends in the band Balloons. They’re amazing, like a cross between The Jam and The Minutemen. Once more, many of the Juno gentlemen nurse hangovers and gamble UNO in the back seat on a table fashioned from a cardboard box. Classy.
The club, Birdland, is located somewhere within the city center. But again, like all the cities we’re visiting, it’s difficult to get our bearings. It’s all a fascinating sprawl of buildings, tiny streets and neon. As we unload our gear, a column of diapered men some forty members deep come marching down the street. They chant and carry plates displaying symbolic foods; fish, carrots, daikon radish, etc…they wear wooden flip-flops and white knee-high socks to match their cloth diapers and headbands. Priests lead the procession and bring up the rear waving incense lanterns and praying. It is ballz-cold, overcast and is beginning to lightly rain. The faithful are all shivering and covered in sweat. Their faces are dead serious. “Punk Rock City” indeed! These dudes are tough! The show room is no larger than the living room of a typical Capitol Hill studio apartment. The walls are covered in posters displaying recordings and upcoming shows by bands with names like Monster’s Vomit and Naked Yeggs (my personal favorite). Though Birdland is claustrophobic to a fault it attracts a great mix of punk kids, hardcore kids, straight edge kids, mods, hippies, wet blanket emo kids, and even a few rebel tough guy wannabe biker kids with slick hair and studied sneers. Eight bands on the bill. Something for everyone. |
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We eat dinner at a Chinese restaurant and run into a string of shop windows with video screens featuring the wacky antics of harshed out, dry-permed, gaijin models dressed in terribly unfortunate lingerie. Not one to mess around with innuendo, Sendai likes to get right to the point- ‘sex sold here.’ Back at the club, we only have forty minutes so we opt to play as many of our shorter, faster songs as we can. It is loud, I mean ungodly, horrifically loud. The stage is all of four feet deep and eight feel across. I can touch the ceiling with my open palm. It’s mayhem; a tidal wave of guitars, drums and hissing monitor feedback. But it’s fun, this is by far the most expressive audience of the tour so far. We drive the seven hours back to Tokyo, it is now snowing. We arrive back at the flat some time around 8am.
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JANUARY 15th:
Five hours later we take trains to Club Shelter in Shimokitazawa. Upon arrival we meet the promoter/dotlinecircle label owner, Katoman (www.dotlinecircle.com). He too, much like Ari, Skuko and Takuya, has been instrumental in helping Hiroshi put the tour together. Tonight we’re playing with the Tokyo bands, Toe and Balloons, and with No Knife from San Diego, CA. The No Knife guys invite their friends to come out for the show- fellow San Diego bands, Ilya and The Album Leaf (they’ve just flown in and are slated to begin their Japan tour in a couple of days). Reports from the box office suggest it will be another packed show. Some 200 tickets have already pre-sold and a line is forming outside, three blocks long. The opening band, Toe, is a legendary math-rock trio from Tokyo. It is all about the drummer. He holds his sticks like he’s clubbing a seal, his fists white-knuckling the damn things to beat the life out of the kit. It’s not graceful or elegant drumming. It’s animal. The guy’s such a revered figure in Japan he has his own signature sticks and drum kit. Only in Japan could this happen! I love Japan! Balloons drive a stake through the heart of Tokyo. They play wonderfully. I may have already said this but they really do sound like The Jam and The Minutemen. And then No Knife wows the crowd with some San Diego pop punk meets Radiohead and Sgt. Pepper’s-era Beatles. We go on last. Which means it is late, which means Drunky The Bear is in full effect. Tonight the honor of that title again definitely gets passed to Jason Lajeunesse.
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This is how our final show in Tokyo goes down: JLaj brings a bottle of wine on stage with him and salutes the audience between songs, howling, “Kanpai!” Totally confused, they roar back, “Kanpai!” Our sides are splitting from laughing, which makes this show a very un-Juno-like live experience. Having Lajeunesse with us changes our inner-band chemistry and live show considerably. During the last song he catapults himself into the drums, flattening the whole kit on his way to plowing his face into Greg’s crotch. Later JLaj says to me, “See Arlie, playing the music just wasn’t enough, I needed to get closer in order to really get inside the music. Crashing into Greg was totally spontaneous, I just felt I needed to get closer to him.” God bless Jason Lajeunesse.
By night’s end Club Shelter outstrips all others to become the best show of the tour. The crowd is all smiles and thumbs up. A kid comes up to me and says, “Wow, Juno and No Knife on the same bill? Wow! So good, this show is so good!” He is psyched, which really is the whole point of being here. Post-show, the club throws an after hours party for the bands, promoters and their friends. What ensues is a tame, if not entirely pleasant, low key debauchery. Lots of Americans standing and sitting around talking about how great Japan is, huffing grizzlers and drinking their morning into oblivion. That is until some time around 5am when JLaj and Jimmy of The Album Leaf have a faux-screaming match/drunken, laughing hissy fit outside the club. Wearing a mask and huge sunglasses, Jimmy gets into a taxi cab, rolls down the window and starts barking at JLaj, “Baka Gaijin!!!! You’re crazy! You crazy baka gaijin motherfucker!!!” Pretty soon his body’s dangling half way out the cab and he’s swinging a bag of bottled alcohol around trying to toss its contents on Lajeunesse. Banging on the cab’s windows, with a savage grin Lajeunesse barks back, “That’s right motherfucker! Get the fuck out of here! This town ain’t big enough for two baka gaijin! I’m the only baka gaijin around here and don’t you forget it!!! Lajeunesse is baka gaijin!!! Ha! Ha! Ha! Aaaaaaahhhhh!!!!!” It is, well, pretty much the hilarious, perfect closer to the evening. Oh wait, Guyer, Ari, Hiroshi and I nearly die on our drive home. Guyer and I hold hands in the back of the van and say things like, “Hey man, it’s been cool knowing you. Thanks for the memories…” |
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JANUARY 16th
We sleep in. In the late afternoon, by subway, Shuko takes us sightseeing around Tokyo. This is our last day full day in Japan. We visit an outdoor market, pray and cleanse ourselves with purifying smoke and holy water at a Shinto Buddist Temple in Asakusa (As the whole universe would agree, by this point in the tour we could use it). In Harajuku, we blow nearly every penny we have left at a five-story toy store called Kiddy Land. If you ever come to Tokyo- Go to Kiddy Land. Kiddy Land is oh so fucked-up, 100% perfect wonderful happiness. Imagine wandering through a five-story toy store packed with fashionable, attractive, adult professionals and wacky Tokyo hipsters. It should be noted, strangely, hardly any children are present. In Japan, adults are the largest consumers of toys. Now picture these same shoppers all walking around dazedly searching for their favorite toys while the hardest of hard, American gangsta rap plays over the store’s ceiling speakers. Apart from being the only non-Japanese people in the store, I also notice that we’re the only people bobbing our heads and nervously laughing along to the crazy violent, misogynistic lyrics. The shit is off the fucking Richter scale! I mean 4-fucking-real off the motherfucking scale! WE’RE IN A TOY STORE!!! But apart from us, not a single customer seems phased. Because no one understands a word of it. It is beyond surreal. Beyond hilarious. Beyond happening but certainly, it is.
Miu and Ari arrive in time to have cheap, conveyor belt sushi with us. Dish after dish, an embarrassing glut of sushi comes around on little plates. You pick up the pieces you find appealing and allow everything else to roll on by. Guyer finds himself in conversation with some random lady from a Common Wealth Nation- Australia maybe, I can’t quite make out the accent. She’s an architect, here in Tokyo studying Japanese and hoping to find a job with one of Tokyo’s large design firms. Upon learning we’re a band she seems both intrigued and slightly repulsed. Very odd. Good luck!
Then in Omote-Sando, we meet up with Ryu and Balloons at a Mexican restaurant called El Torito. This place is all wrong. Fun but just all wrong. Japan-Mexico is not right. The Blasstwolicks, Balloons and various Juno members decide to ramp their drinking up to the next level. I don’t drink alcohol, so I entertain myself putting a sombrero and my cop sunglasses on Shuko and hand her the maracas. She’s not amused but my god, we are. Photo-ops galore. We show each other all of our weird and ridiculous purchases from Kiddy Land. I went ape-shit buying Ultra-Man figures and monster-movie dolls. Around 11 pm we head to the baka gaijin district, Roppongi. After an extended survey of the surroundings, I decide that Roppongi, much like New Orleans and Amsterdam, is basically Disneyland for sinners. Shuko calls her Canadian friend, Jesse, to come meet us. She says he knows every seedy inch of this district. Being fellow Canadians, Lajeunesse and Jesse hit it off immediately. Jesse first takes us to some bar with a name I can’t remember. No need, the only memorable thing about this place is the sign we see upon entering: “DUE TO PROBLEMS WE HAVE HAD IN THE PAST- NO US MILITARY PERSONNEL ALLOWED INSIDE PLEASE- THANK YOU, THE MANAGEMENT.” Way to go boys, USA #1!!!
Oh brother, inside it’s an ugly, touristy-bar-crawler kinda joint. We watch soccer on a wide screen television in between satellite news coverage of the impending war in Iraq, (G.W. Bush and company, if there is indeed a hell- may you all burn in it). While some lady zings darts past my face, I look away from the television screen to spy two thoroughly grizzled working broads eyeballing us from their perch at the bar. Rough. I can’t help but think they look like a set of blown out tires propped up on stools. From Croatia to Detroit to Tokyo, bless their hearts, I sometimes think they’ve got more guts than anyone on earth. Helluva way to earn a buck. Like swallows migrating to better climes, we enter into a speechless, Vulcan mind-meld, rise en mass, put on our coats and soon leave. “Bottoms up, ladies!” The Canadian, Jesse, next delivers us to Bar Quest. Holy shit. It is now around 2 am. The dance club swarms with enormous Italian bouncers in black Armani suits. They work to keep an eye on the Russian mobsters, while bottle-blonde euro-trash chicks in sunglasses and crazy-tight outfits pitch their low budget lap dancing skills and high-dollar tabs of ecstasy. DJ’s work in short shifts blasting bad beats. With suit jackets and ties flailing, drunk American and British businessmen do that dance, (you know the one). Harsh ponytail dudes in leather pants and ribbed turtlenecks strut, staring at themselves against the mirrored walls. It’s hotter than a goddamn rap video up in this motherfucker. Come about 4 am the debauchery gets much more expensive and a whole lot worse. With a $12 beer in one hand and a grizzler in the other, Drunky The Bear comes out of hibernation. Once again the honor of the title goes to Lajeunesse, it’s his last night in Tokyo- he’s gonna make it his right, if not his responsibility, to give the Juno Japan tour its proper final dose of vice. Our boy goes full tilt, he’s leaving Tokyo in a blaze of glory. Or maybe on a stretcher, it’s 50/50 all the way. So before I know exactly what’s going on, I’m loaning Drunky The Bear $30 bucks for a prospective lap dance from a Czech girl. After a few more $12 beers, Jesse aka, “The Canadian hustler/broker/dealer” steers him away from the Czech and redirects him to an Australian-Sheila selling ecstasy. Good God! With the lap dance now a distant memory, Drunky tries to haggle over the price of the drugs. But he’s no match against the dazzling power of her tight, low cut, white blouse. Gold cranes flap their embroidered wings every time she shoves her massive breasts in his face. Drunky’s powerless, he limply barters but wins no concessions. When he wavers on making the deal, The Sheila wraps her arms around his waist, caresses his ass and gives his balls the reach around. All in plain view, this fast becomes a grand tutorial in timeless sales techniques. We all stand wide-eyed and motionless, committing every grim, fantastic detail to memory. The Sheila cinches the deal when she suggests, “Look mate, buy this and then maybe I’ll take some too. Then maybe we can go somewhere, just you and me…. have a good time all by ourselves, huh? How’s that sound? Blah blah blah…” Bullseye. BAM!!!!! DEAL’S CLOSED! Gabe turns to me and says, “Ohmygod, is this really happening? I’m naïve, you know I’m naïve, right? Is this really happening?” He’s actually astounded. Really, truly astounded. “Yes Gabe, it is.” The Sheila takes Drunky’s money, passes him the goods and says, “I’ll be right back. I just have to go over to a café around the corner. A girlfriend of mine’s getting off work and I promised her we’d meet up. I’ll grab her and we’ll be right back, mmm-kay?” Off she goes with two enormous, greasy, ponytail guys sporting bulky leather jackets, shiny shirts and blousy slacks. A real tough guys’ parade… replete with sunglasses at night… cell phones attached at the hip… braided belts…sculpted facial hair… they’re sucking every last clichéd inch of the proverbial nine yards. Drug money in hand and arm in arm with the tough guys, Sheila, The Australian Golden Crane prepares to take flight; distressed denim jeans, tragic footwear, pink thong and all. After gathering her belongings, the ponytails survey the room one last time and the whole fucking nightmare circus pulls up stakes and leaves town. Gone. Guyer, God bless him, grizzler dangling against his lower lip, screams, “What are you stupid?!!! She just played your ass! AAAAHHHH! AHMAGAWD!!! Do you really think that shit is real?! Do you really think she’s coming back?! Did you happen to notice those two Russian dudes she was with?! You got hustled! That shit ain’t real and you ain’t getting fucked! Arrgh, unbelievable taste!”
But Drunky The Bear couldn’t give a flying fuck at a rolling donut. And frankly, I'm backing him 100 per cent. He knows- good or bad, the experience is everything. The random opportunity, the chaos, the idiocy- is fun, that simple. He knows the odds. Sometimes things go wrong. Sometimes things go right. It’s his last night in Japan; the situation's relatively safe, and so far everything’s been so very stupid but good. Awwww hell, real ecstasy, bad ecstacy, fake tits, real tits, lame disco bar, irresponsible behavior vs. disapproving friends, mobsters, hustlers and lap dancing prostitutes…who cares? Why should Drunky care if he gets stiffed on the evening’s promise of sex and drugs? This tour has been astounding. What could be bad? In Roppongi, Juno receives a reprieve from all things bad… even the bad things. |
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By 5 am Shuko is near collapse. However, Ari’s in a dance-frenzy with two French guys, Shio (Balloons guitarist) is asleep at the bar, Ryu’s vanished, Jesse’s making deals with the hoods, and Lajeunesse is whacked out of his mind. He’s taking photos of himself with some 6 foot tall Japanese girl, (she’s got Charlie’s Angels hair, black stiletto heels and more make up than Mary Kay). Gabe chain-smokes and does suave shoulder-shrug dances while watching a boxing match on the enormo-tv in the corner. Greg’s gripped, just thoroughly gripped; transfixed by the whole scenario of lap-dancing birds, swindlers and jiggy, bad dancing. Guyer? God love him, Guyer sits huffing his final grizzler and curses Fate for entrenching him in this fantastical hell; surrounded by all that’s nasty and hilarious in the ways of the world.
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JANUARY 17th:
Ari and Shuko drive us to Narita in the afternoon. Ari’s band mates, Ryu and Miu make the long subway ride to see us off at the airport. Much respect. Despite our best efforts not to, everyone gets choked up when we have to say our goodbyes. We all have so much to be grateful for with these people. No turbulence on Singapore Airlines this time. Upon arrival at LAX, I'm delirious and lucid all at once; half dead and depressed to be back in the U.S.A. We suffer a short but arduous layover at LAX’s Customs and Immigration station. Go figure, we all look like the undead. The United Airlines flight back to the Northwest is about as joyous as a dead dog in the road. Arriving in Seattle, I feel like we’re a million miles from home. Good people and excellent shows, this has truly been the best tour of our lives. For more than a month I had some kind of weird jet-lag hell/time-zone insomnia. Standing still, the walls breathed in and out around me. My neck and back felt broken all over again, and my eyes burned like I’d been maced. And yet, paradoxically I felt more alive than I had in months. I felt strangely calm. Everything was perfect for a while.... We’d like to give our much-belated thanks and respect to all of the Juno listeners in Japan. Without your enthusiasm and faith in our music we couldn't have participated in such amazing shows. Thank you for your encouragement and patience. We would also like to thank our friends (and their bands), and the promoters who helped get us to Japan. Thank you for playing with us, putting us up in your homes, promoting our shows and showing us your beautiful country: Hiroshi (www.facehandshy.com), Ari & Shuko (http://www.canal-wt.com/~mikewatt/) -congratulations on your wedding!, Katoman (www.dotlinecircle.com), Takuya (www.stiffslack.com), Ryu and Miu (Blasstwolicks), and everyone in Balloons. Thanks for reading. Take care of each other.
We send you much goodwill, thank you- |
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