On to Osaka

It's the morning after the gig in Osaka at the Royal Horse Jazz Club, opening for Global Jazz Orchestra. A morning after to remember. My ears are still ringing. The Royal Horse was a long narrow space with a bar at one end and a stage more suited to combos than big ensembles at the other. Low dark wood coffered ceilings, moody club lighting, lots of pictures of artists who've played there, a couple large Matisse prints and a poster portrait of a smiling MLK. An evening of contrasts, but before I forget, a couple notes and notions about Tokyo's famous youth culture and I'm sorry, I haven't retained the name, the commercial district dominated by kids shopping their brains out [Harajuku, pictured here. - M.]
Another great idea from Mark, although he was scooped by several kids who'd already been there and in strolling the circuit of several blocks, we encountered them and I marveled at their nonchalance about the whole deal which made my head spin and brought me one of my groovy ocular migraines which Mick had the proper name for of course and which I of course can't remember. For this geezer, incredible data overload, visual and auditory. Blocks of throngs of kids sporting styles which defy description, but I'll try: Samurai goth? faux hooker? Little Bo Peep clones? The dominant costume for guys seemed to be really spikey hair, sometimes with a top knot in traditional Japanese warrior style, and Japlish messages on garments, sometimes seeming to be bad translations of something which probably made sense in Japanese, and sometimes phrases or sentences right out of MadLibs. Non sequiturs abounding. Girls mostly sexy sexy sexy, certainly heavily made up, many in semi-grown-up Jon Benet whatshername beauty-queen child victim style, always wearing high heels, often looking both older and infantalized at the same time. I'm sure there is a scholarship in the literature of contemporary anthropology about this, so remember, just notes and my general ignorance here, but these kids seemed to be incredibly dedicated to shopping for just the right thing for just the right image, and to the senior citizen here, it looked like decadence. Shops were crowded, selling mostly clothes, accessories, and sweets. Primary color graphics heavy on that cutsey Japanese Hello Kitty infused sensibility Advertising everywhere, shop spaces spilling out into the pedestrian allees, Wares-hawkers blaring into megaphones, passing out promotions, obviously employees selected for their voices, grating, hard to ignore, and hard to believe anyone would want to listen to the pitch and timbre they achieve, but hey, what do I know, it must be working. One larger store with a rack of sale merchandise out front with a bunch of sales people whipping the crowd into a frenzy to buy the severely marked down items. There were a few gaming parlors in the mix, and when the door opened for someone entering or exiting, the already deafening cacophonous blast kicked up several decibels. How anyone could sit in there, "banging on them pleasure machines" and find the fulfillment or fun they seek--I obviously don't get it. Even in my own generation, I've never particular gotten it, what is hip, but what it is hereabouts is astounding to me.

A group of us chaperones decided to look for food--something other than the sweet crepes and sugar vehicles for sale to the kids. We took a walking turn out of the madding crowd and less than a half a block away came upon a well kept path and the Shinto gate similar to what we had seen often before. A short walk and we were in serenity, solitude, a landscape including meditation sites, ponds, fountains, everything I personally find moving and soul-restoring in the Japanese traditional aesthetic. At the end of the winding path uphill and steps there was a closed gate and a rather large and lighted building which seemed to be some sort of a meeting space. Unable to go further, we turned back and pursued food. A two minute walk separated aspects of Japan as different-seeming as dichotomous poles: minimalist, elegant, spare, harmonized in unity with nature VS. the ueber-cosmetic teetering on high heels, in your face, excessive, jarring, grating consuming compulsively unnatural. Whoa. It amplifies the notion of sight-seeing to an exhausting level. I literally couldn't take another minute of it and would have stayed in the Shinto landscape the rest of the evening if I hadn't been starving. This morning I started thinking that like so much of social convention, it can also be seen as recycled fragments of traditional Japanese forms such as the geisha, Noh, Kabuki, and the Bunraku. There is excessive masking, make-up, operatic discord and near-fanatical lavishing of attention to detail, certainly in ruling class custom and entertainment, with focus on the female even if cross-dressed. So as Harry Truman is supposed to have said, "The only thing new is the history you haven't read."

Ah, back to yesterday morning. Instruments and luggage on a truck, we walked to the train station and rode the bullet train from Tokyo to Osaka, a trip comparable to SF -- LA, but in about two hours, including two very brief stops in en route cities. Yes it is fast. At one point the brightness through the window traveling west, with the power poles' shadows falling on my lap, there was a strobe effect which I had to shut out fearing a second consecutive day of migraine. The track must be immaculately engineered and maintained, cause it was one of the smoothest rides I've experiences in any conveyance of any sort. Precision in ensemble music, precision in laying track, and in their technologies in general. Lots to admire and learn from here.

Osaka sounds and feels different in the street, but I couldn't explain what I mean. The voices sound different, even. Regional accents? Dunno. Everywhere in Japan one drives as in England, on the left. Most pedestrian traffic sorts follows suit. Escalators in Tokyo reserve left lane for normal standing and the urgent ones pass on your right. Osaka, for some reason, reverses this on the escalators. (?)

The hotel room in Osaka is quite similar but about 3/4 scale of the already pretty tiny room we had in Tokyo. There is a huge underground shopping area connecting hotels, station, street-level buildings, and it is thronged as are streets above. Hot, humid, slightly low-ceilinged and claustrophobic, I found. We had a nice meal in one of the noodle shops. Cost about $8 without a drink, and the waitress was exceptionally accommodating and instructed Eva on how to properly eat the dish she ordered. Good feelings.

The gig at the jazz club had the best and the worst rolled into one experience. The room was really difficult for us. The sound check wasn't a sound check in the sense that there was no one in evidence checking mike levels and doing enhancing adjustments at a board. Tuning was problematic. Much of the band had a hard time hearing rhythm. A sinking feeling came over me. I tried to stay encouraging. The kids were playing too loud, the vibes was miked too loud, oh geez what to do. Apprehension. Not many people there for an audience. The other band seemed not to be in attendance. The signs were not good. We began playing to a sparse house, and each number seemed to get a little better. Mike had to play the piano. Samara had injured a finger and it was doubtful that he would/should play much, if at all. Yet, the set finished strong. The "trio" played with delicacy and grace. The set and encore were well received. The featured band were even louder than we were and had the characteristic Japanese precision and excellence. More about them etc, later.

Chuck