What an amazing city Tokyo is.
It has that Asian buzz which I've also been
lucky enough to encounter in Hong Kong and Bankok. If you've seen Blade Runner
you'll have a feeling for the swathes of humanity always on the go underneath
vast expanses of neon.
What makes Tokyo different is an all pervading
sense of shy politeness and formality. Especially when the Japanese are spoken
to one on one.
The flight from London is a long one. 12 hours with a
complaining back is no-one's idea of fun.
John had looked smug getting on
the plane. He'd managed to secure the only seat with 2 empty places next to him
and was looking forward to his usual gallon of red wine and a kip. Martin
promptly changed places, sat next to John and fell asleep for the whole flight.
Plan scuppered and grumpy Honest face all the way!
We'd been told by the
Japanese Camp Commander, I mean promoter, not to do a "Paul MaCartney". The
entry procedure is almost as frightening as being an "alien" entering the US.
We'd ordered Cas not to put on the entry form that he is a criminal and so he
sailed through. Martin, however, always looks like he's woken up in a hedge. The
customs official put on her special face mask for him and so it was down to his
undies and everything exposed.
The "procedure" took a long time. We were
about to give up and resign ourselves to Steve Metcalfe on drums when the
arrivals door slid open and out stepped our 7 foot, swedish grizzly
bear, carrying his half drunk bottle of port, and wondering why they had
searched him.
Luckily we had a night's recuperation before the first
show. It was spent in the usual bar hopping way.
There was, however, one
factor in Japan which is different from everywhere else. The lavatory.
I
don't want to go into too much detail but the hotel loo was very warm and came
with a wide variety of buttons to press which performed a multitude of
functions. I made a posting on facebook about how I wanted to take it home and
managed to upset a huge number of Boys fans from all around the world, who told
me I should not mention such things (which of course I'm doing again now).
However, I challenge anyone who has experienced the technological marvel of the
modern age which is a Japanese loo not to want one.
Gigs are great fun.
The period after a gig when the partying can start is great fun. The hours
before a gig are a pain in the arse. We try to pass some of the time by having a
run through of the songs in the hotel (which we generally need to do anyway as
we are all going down with Altzeimers in our old age). Overall, this time is a
no-mans land when nothing can be done. I usually end up pacing around being
generally grumpy and drinking a lot of water as my mouth goes dry.
Japan
has another great advantage over, say, Spain and Italy, where the reprobates
don't go out until one in the morning on a thursday. On every night we had 3
support bands and were on ourselves under strict supervision from the
Commandant, I mean promoter, at 8-30 pm.
Brilliant!
The reaction
at every gig was fantastic. During the shows the audiences behaviour was in
stark contrast to the rest of the time. They really let themselves go. Its such
fun to look out at a sea of genuinely smiling faces, grinning away from
beginning to end of the set.
We played our usual encore and they wanted
more. Under pain of being buried up to the neck we were ordered out by the
Commander to play a second encore and, of course, had nothing more rehearsed.
Before playing First Time we heard a lot of requests for I Call Your
Name so, saturday afternoon, we rehearsed a version from memory and played it
that night as a second encore. This time we were ordered out for 3 encores so
First Time got its regular double outing.
We did a lot of autograph
signing after every show. I think the entire audience lined up politely each
night, waiting their turn to have T-Shirts and CDs signed, a photo, and then a
long hand shake and bow with foreheads practically on their toes. I gather the
longer and deeper the bow the greater the honour and we had some long deep ones.
You have to love these people. Their politeness and shyness is
disarming.
Saturday night a GBOB business colleague of Matt's took us out
for what was one of the best meals any of us have ever had, let alone one of the
best meals in Japan. A very traditional place with a private room, table on the
floor, Doc Martins off, and a little hatch for the chef to pass through a never
ending stream of raw protein, beer, saki and some Japanese version of gin and
tonic.
Afterwards it was off to a brilliant area of dark alleyways with
hundreds of bars. none of which could hold more than 5 drinkers. One of them was
called Punk & Art where the TV screen, showing manga cartoons, was bigger
than the seating area. As he looked up and saw us the barman just said "no!" and
that was us set for drinks until the early hours. Luckily he put on I Call Your
Name so we could hear where we had gone wrong and correct it for the following
night.
A young Japanese couple passed by and saw us as we were spilling
out of the bar. "We are so sorry to have disturbed you" they said. It turned out
they had caught a 7 hour train from northern Japan to see us so it was an honour
and hardly a disturbance, to meet them.
The night ended after a few more
of these bars, a lot of vodka, and conversations with many Americans, Japanese
and Australians all enjoying one of the worlds most fun places on a saturday
night. I think bed was at 6 am, 8 hours after we finished playing.
We
went back to the same area the following, Sunday, night and everything was shut
except for one bar with a guitar playing samuri warrior. After getting him to
play us some Kinks and Troggs, John had a go at some Stones. This really
offended the Samuri who ripped his guitar back and stormed out with shouts of
"huh!". It could have been a lot worse. He didn't get his sword out and set
about John.
Prior to this we'd been out to dinner, kindly arranged and
paid for by the promoter, Tetsuya, who is actually a really nice guy if a little
bossy. He doesn't like Steve Metcalfe, but that's another story.
Halfway
through the meal a guy from one of the support bands bent over double and
started crying uncontrollably. We asked his friends what was up and they told us
that he could no longer contain his joy at being in our company. "I'm so happy"
was all he could say through his tears. This went on all through the meal.
Eventually Martin said "I'm going to give him a hug" and so our hairy,
Swedish man-mountain got up and threw his arms around the diminutive japanese
guitarist who almost disappeared from view in the embrace. The restaurant
erupted in cheers so Martin had clearly caried out the correct local
etiquette.
The night ended in another great bar which, after an impromptu
gig from John and myself murdering Brickfield Nights among others the barman
played alternate Beatles and Ramones tracks. Heaven. I even remember our crying
Jap smiling at one point.
I looked at my watch at 6-30am and realised I
was due on the airport coach in an hour, so staggered back to the hotel, had a
go at packing and, miraculously managed to include everything (except the
lavatory).
It was such a great trip but the most significant point was
struck home as Cas and I were strolling back to the hotel to drop guitars off
after the Sunday night gig and were chatting. 10 years ago we played in Japan
which was our first time together for 18 years. Japan was the reason we got back
together but we weren't very good. 10 years on, though we say it ourselves, we
have the ability on our night to be exceptional.
I'm so delighted to have
had the chance to play 3 great shows in Japan as a thank you for getting us back
together. As before, Japan gave us so much more than we gave them.
Duncan Reid