The Microphone and the Willow World

I am a voyeur at heart - I want to know what goes on behind closed doors and drawn curtains...what is whispered into cupped ears and what those plain white envelopes contain...here in Japan, I am constantly intrigued, tantalised by the private bubbles people place around themselves in what is otherwise a very crowded, busy place.

On trains they tap, tap, tap little messages into their mobile phones, whole train carriages of Japanese folk from salarymen to obaasans (grandma's) furtively tapping away for the length of the journey. Walking down the street short curtains section off ramen joints from peering eyes. A breeze might lift a curtain and you may catch a glimpse inside - though the scene is pedestrian, men standing around a bar, eating noodles and drinking beer, the fact that it is shrouded from the street lends the scene an exotic air.

Walking down the streets of Gion and Pontocho, in the geisha (or geiko) districts of Kyoto, this very Japanese tradition of privacy and mystery is magnified. Narrow stone paths lead off the main streets and looking down you can see a wooden door, with a stone lantern and water feature. It seems to beckon you, come closer, but you know that to open such a door requires a certain amount of money and a level of prestige, neither of which you possess. You feel certain that it is down these alleys that you may discover the 'flower and the willow world', where geiko dance the ancient dances of this land and entertain with witty conversation and elegant ceremony.

Since arriving here I have indulged a growing fascination for the world of the geiko, surely bestowing on this group all my wayward and hopelessly romantic notions of Japanese culture - perhaps it was this fascination (and a desire for more piles of yen) that led me to try my hand at the peculiarly Japanese phenomenon of hostessing.

It certainly feels like hostessing is a modern form of the 'flower and the willow world', though perhaps it may be seen as some sort of monstrous offspring! There are hundreds of these bars around Japan, catering to all sorts of tastes and predelictions. Essentially salarymen come to these bars after a long day at the office to drink copious amounts of Suntory Whiskey or Sho-chu (rice spirit) in the company of women (often 'western' women) who light their cigarettes, pour their drinks and engage in conversation.

Many companies bring clients to such bars, to celebrate a deal or as part of negotiations and the binding factor in these interactions is that of the karaoke machine. As faces redden and ties are loosened, these stiff salarymen become consummate performers, belting out Japanese love songs or 'Jazz-u' ballads. As in all interactions in Japan, heirarchy is strictly observed. The underlings will sing first, with little attention given to their heartfelt performance by senior members of staff. But when it comes time for the president to warble out 'Sakura' or 'Sukiyaki' or some other Japanese standard, a hush falls over the table. When he finishes, applause erupts and much kow-towing ensues. Generally the boss falls asleep 5 minutes after this event and the celebrations continue around him. It seems that karaoke is a major vehicle for business development in this country, rather than being the realm of pissed 20-somethings in Moonee Ponds, as it so often is in Australia.

My mama-san employed me on the strength of my confession that I sang professionally. She agreed to give me nights off for gigs, if I increased the number of songs that each party sang (she charges them on a per song basis.) Over the past two weeks I have sung endless versions of 'the titanic song' 'greatest love of all'. 'hero', Barbra Streisands 'Memories' and more, all at the request of my clients. Many duets have been sung and more than a few times I have been obliged to sing songs I might never have heard in my life before, including Japanese songs. (My reading of hiragana continues to improve!) Evidently this approach is working, because now Mama announces to each client that I am 'ohh bigg-u jazz-u sing er' and usually I am singing 'Summertime' about 2.5 minutes later!

The place is small and the clients respectful - It is an excellent place to improve one's Japanese. Many of the other girls who have been working for a year or so speak excellent conversational Japanese. Many clients are learned men who love to chat about Japanese history, politics and the social structure of their nation, so I feel I am gaining some valuable insights. Still, it can be a tough gig when Mama sits you down with 3 men, two of whom are talking business and one who wants to engage you in conversation, when neither of you can speak the other's language. Invariably it goes along the lines of 'Where do you live?' I say 'Imazato ni sunde imasu'. (I live in Imazato). 'AAAAAHH! You speak Japanese?' me: 'Scoshi' (A Little)...'Australia...kangaroo...gold coast.... etc for up to an hour and half.

In other news, we had a gig on Wednesday at this amazing jazz bar - very cool and spacious, kind of NY in the 70's vibe. 3 bands, we were the headliners. The other bands bought no one and we managed to rope in 11 people to come! We played really well and the other band ended up getting up and jamming with us for a couple of songs. The promoter and owner really dug that, and so they let us keep the money for al the tickets we had sold and are going to give us a headline on a big weekend night. yay!

Music to the people

Taking music from the shoebox to the people - reminding us that the tunes aren`t there just for study and progress but to share around - to deliver something sweet or sad or funny or sexy to the people, creating worlds that grow with melody and chord and then fall away with the last fading note.

Our gig on Saturday was beautiful. A full house of Japanese and Gaijins who sat and really gave us their attention. We hadn`t played to a crowd like that as a duo in a long time. We were really nervous the first set, all the expectations we had of ourselves surfacing...What is it about music,about the journey of becoming a musician that creates such sensations of joy and frustration, of ease and effort?

People were so receptive - they were sending out this wall of support that lifted us up. Everyone stayed for the second set and more came and then we were out there, playing from the heart and clowning around, laughter and smiles, wistful feelings in the sweet love songs and a rousing finish with everyone joining in our last song `I`d love to have a beer with Duncan`!

After the gig we headed over to Karaoke with our new friends - a bunch of Aussies. What is it about the people of our nation, we just draw toward each other overseas like strange attractors. All really fantastic types, creative and vibrant, all with tales of returning to Oz for 3 months a year and then back to Japan to make wads of dough. We realise this is possible and it`s a very exciting prospect.

Karaoke in Japan is a complete experience. You pay for a block of time and get this huge room, with a stage and massive screen and comfy couches. Alcohol and food is part and parcel of the experience and then you are left to create as much noise as you want.

That night we had the full gamut of musical genres. Pete, a solid guy with an endearing smile unveiled an impressive falsetto that lent itself nicely to a variety of tunes including `black dog`, `under pressure`, `sweet child O`mine` and the top gun theme `danger zone`. I went down the road of boyband classics and tributes to recently departed 80`s popstars with selections such as the backdoor, I mean backstreet boys, wham and Laura Branigan`s `Gloria.` Ryan of course styed true to his George Michael Fetish with a beautiful version of `Careless Whisper`.

Really, it was a quality night of entertainment.

This week sees our first gig at a jazz bar in Osaka, a potential move from the shoebox to a spacious 6th floor pad and our first visit to an outdoor bath house. Yay.

By the way I am desperately missing you all - bit of a heartache today...

Some Pics for your eyes to feast upon!

Japanese Kids make us want to have a huge brood and dress then all in identical sailor outfits....


Kyoto in the winter...did I mention that I hate winter? Just look at it!


This is the kind of suggestive Hentai I find really appealing...what will happen next is that this girl will be rogered by a huge monster with tentacles...hmmm


Can I just say I love the way the Japanese have adapted our language. To me it is a far more jolly language in the hands of these guys.


This is just down the road from our place. There is a soupy old canal underneath it with a few junks floating up and down. It's like bladerunner at night.

Can I just say I am ecstatic! It has taken me 6 weeks to figure out how to get pics up and now I am going to go crazy...now we just need a camera of our own..

Repression breeds Strange Desires

There is no pretty way to put it - The Japanese have an obsession, one that lurks in a dark corner of their over-worked, mild mannered countenance. I always wondered why everybody buys these little paper slips that they put over their paperback novels, so nobody can see what they are reading. I was thinking, there is no shame in reading a bit of Wilbur Smith, or jumping on the Dan Brown hype-wagon...but now I think I understand.

The Japanese (men?) have a completely ravenous obsession with pornography. I'm not talking about your average Jenna Jameson flick, with slick nubile limbs flailing and teflon titties jiggling against Ron Jeremy's frighteningly hairy gut. No, no, no, I am talking about the kind of hardcore porn that you would need to order from GErmany or Bulgaria...I will spare you all the grit (hi mum and dad!) but put it this way...We went down to the local video shop to accompany a post-hangover curry (more on that later) and for the first time I noticed another section behind a flimsy Japanese style curtain. We pushed through and we astounded by this enormous array of porn. It was at least twice as big as the regular video shop, in fact it would put any Club X to shame. Mind you, this is just your average video shop, not a speciality store. Thousands of titles, all for rental, many crossing boundaries not only of taste but even what I consider universal morality!

Wanting to further our understanding of the cultural mores and codes of Japan, we picked up a sample, purely for research purposes. It was actually an amazing piece of experimental film making. It had a sort of fetish edge to it, with lots of latex and corsets. The editing and sound were fantastic, but the weirdest thing was that all the full on hardcore action was blurred out. So even though these actors were getting down and jiggy for real, you couldn't see anything! In fact even when she was just standing there, posing in the nude, there was a little blur over her monde de venus! It was just so strange, thinking back to what we had seen on the covers of some of the other vids, that they allow that sort of...shit, but not a clear view of the divine canvas.

We're not sure if this is only the rentals, but thinking back to the phantom penises of the hentai, I think it's the law! Anyway this film was just an hour long and was very cool. In one scene she had a pink latex cat suit that came all the way over her head and there was one hole for one eye and part of her mouth. First there were all these hands shining the suit up as she stood impassively and then a man in a white mask came and ripped it off her...ace.

The final scene was like a Warhol film. There was an empty theatre with all these stage lights and a black plastic wrestling ring type thing. Facing the stage was a chaise lounge with a masked middle age woman dressed all in feathers. These body builders came in and were posing for her. The music was like blippy electronica. Then they carried in the girl, who was wearing a huge pink ballgown and mask. Some regular sexy action ensued and then the stood her up and attached these ropes to her dress. The dress was then lifted up towards the ceiling by these ropes, completely enveloping her upper body. At the same time a group of masked, suited men preceded to take off the older woman's feathers one at a time...Lots of wide establishing shots, very unlike western porn aesthetics!

But I mean, mixing young sexy girl porn and middle age porn is a bit trying, wouldn't you agree?

I'll leave it at that today! Oh, I got a cool second hand bike, retro style and also blue, for half the price of the other one...happy riding days are here again.Here are a few pics of some Hentai, which is Japanese erotic cartoons...they may give you a little insight!

Some Engrish for fun

Some t-shirts I have seen:

Semen SpitSTAR

Kindness has nothing to do with you

My dog barks happy talk


Popular Brand of Chocolate biscuits:

Chunky Collon

Cursed Bicycle Thief

Having not a lot of yen but an adventurous spirit, we get a lot of joy out of exploring the backwaters of Osaka by bicycle. Whenever we have some free time (still quite often at this point!) we jump on our saddles and zoom around.

This is a land of cycles - and when riding around you really get the asian nation vibe - people ride in every which way and pedestrians must give way to cycles, even if that means leaping out of the way of a tipsy cool kid on his bmx.

There is a 3 tier bicycle ranking system that organises the populus according to age, coolness and speed.

The first is the ubiquitous single gear push bike with a basket on the front. It comes in a variety of colours, with ice blue being the most popular. These bikes can be belted around if you are in a hurry, but most often people just cruise on them.

The second is a mini bmx/mountain bike cross over. Often these bikes fold up so people can take them on the train and they are always decked out with pegs at the back, so sexy j-lo types can get a dink with their equally hip 20 something boyfriend. Hairspray seems to be a compulsary accoutrement to this kind of pedaling machine.

Finally there is the mumma of all bikes - the MAMA CHERRY! The mama looks like the ubiquitous pushie, but it is totally decked out for cruising comfort. It will usually have a steel contraption at the front where these obaasans can mount their umbrella`s, ensuring　protection from rain, hail or typhoon. Usually these bikes have these strange muff attachments over the handlebars - htey kind of slide their hands in and grasp the handles. My guess is they are to protect obaasans hands from the sun, but I can`t be sure it isn`t some fashion statement.

The Mama cherry will often have two baskets and a child seat, for ferrying around little `uns. Some even have a motor for pure cruising comfort. The ultimate accessory to a mama cherry is a sunvisor hat with an extra big visor bit that you can pull right down over your face - shielding your whole face from the sun. I don`t know why sunglasses haven`t taken off here, but I guess a visor can offer a lot more protection!

Anyway the reason I am rambling on about bikes is that my beautiful ice blue pushie, with the brand `BROAD` was stolen last night outside Tennoji station. Now let me tell you, there were at least 400 other bikes in the vicinity, but they took mine. The locks here are flimsy little things that come with the bike and obviously these hardened bike thieves laugh their evil laugh as they snap them from the bike with their huge, sweaty hands.

I hope my bike isn`t scared...And that it remembers the good times we had together, for a whole week - the ride up north where we found that vast housing block and I thought of a movie I wanted to make...the time we hit Korea town riding cross-town...and last night our last night alltogether, Ry,me and the bikes, finding that Shinto　temple that was having a big ceremony. The gravel there was nice and crunchy and you could really get some speed up...

Oh well - off to buy another bike...booo

Many paths lead to Soba

Many job offers - 240,000 yen a month to do 32 hours a week cruisey ALT in a elementary school...unknown dollars to work full time at a new Thai Massage spa opening up...holding out for this proof reading and re-writing job...or keeping the job I have - just 10 hours a week, not a lot of cash but lots of time for practice and yoga.

We are enjoying myself, but when I hear about gigs and parties back home, I do stop and say - I can't remember why we came here!

i guess it was change...
I know we needed a change.
I think we wanted something completely different...
the slurping of the salary man on his steaming soba confirms my suspicions

My first earthquake

A chilled out Sunday night, Ryan cooking pasta to fulfill our longing for hearty Western fare...Without a creak or whisper as a warning, our tiny cupboard of an apartment began to sway like we had launched into an ocean swell...Well what followed was a hearty round of expletives and a lot of frantic dashing around. We ran into the bathroom, then remembered the gas was on, so Ryan dashed out to turn off the stove, but then the swell became the open sea and the light in the living room was swinging wildly and casting chaotic shadows across the room, so he dashed back to the bathroom, his heroic turn saving our dinner from burning.

They tell you to stay inside, but we are on the 1st floor of a 7 floor apartment block - if it was gonna come down where would you rather be? I was fighting the urge to dash outside, but that flight instinct which has always been my first defence kicked in and I was out the door. By the time I got outside it had stopped and there were a fair few neighbours in the street.

Of course the Japanese reacted with an amazing display of nonchalance - a couple of women tittered nervously, but most were stoic, tunring back to their shopping or bike riding just as soon as the earth returned to its usual solid status. We were thinking `hell, was that a small one and we are just big wusses?`

Trying to calm down, even as a small tsunami of anxiety gathered power within, we ate our tasty Italian fare and headed off to the bath house. Sitting wrinkled and naked with the local lads, Ryan discovered it had indeed been a fairly decent sized quake.

The tv had a lengthy news bulletin, which consisted of the same footage of an outside webcam shaking,and another of an ocean that looked as flat as a bowl of seaweed soup, as they spoke about the `tsunami alert`.

Getting ready for bed hours later, I said to Ry, `Maybe we should wear clothes to bed just in case...` before I could finish the sentence the apartment was again on the open seas and the swell seemed bigger than before. It certainly whipped up our inner tsunami`s and we were shouting at each other `Let`s get the fuck out!`
`No stay in the bloody bathroom.`
`Oh buggar, what are the neighbours doing?`
`Shit - I`m naked - where`s my shorts?`
`What are they doing?`
`Bolting - Let`s go!!!`

We dashed outside and followed the flow of neighbours down the stairs. I had chosen a sweet, pink towel to wear on this occasion of imminent disaster, which the neighbours thought was hilarious. This time there were a lot of neighbours in the street, but only from our building (is there something we don`t know?). The kids looked scared and some people had gone a little pale. The old guys lit up fags.

The street was still shaking when we got out, but it felt a hell of a lot better to be outside than in a tiny apartment. After this one, we stayed outside and saw a neighbour come out with a bag and her child, get on her bike and ride away. That certainly did little to quell our nerves.

We had a crappy nights sleep, punctuated at 5.30am with a little aftershock that had us up on our feet before we were even awake...I guess we are really green gaijins when it comes to the earth saying hello.

A Life in the Day of a Blog

A callous on the eye lid is evidence of the toil of nod and the crunch of blink. Viscous lumps that tell of long hours spent careering around upon special rapids to and from this place to that. Mild at first but rapidly becoming full blown, these things appear and understandably so with all that nodding of and blinking as if there was a seed in their eyes. And now there's one lodged in mine and I find myself joining the ranks in the land of shinkan half sleep. Jaws drooping into collars pulled ajar, the boozy blush across every face gives the game away and you understand why; this land of half sleep is densely packed with the stuff of thoughts unfinished and the worry of hope. And so commuting, eating, sleeping and working are one. A single verb.

I feel myself drifitng off again although there is always something to keep you in this world - the flare of subway light that saturates sight, the hiss of pneumatics and the tip-toe of honorrifics. An old man offers a child a seat next to a man reading hentai. Everyone else is asleep. Or are they? Perhaps after all these years they've learnt to see through those heavy lids, fooling you into thinking that they were in their personal world and not, as it were, part of yours.

Ryryry

Note to Self

There is no jazz bar called 'Live House' in Kobe. There are however hundreds of 'Live House's.

Very frustrating.

More evidence of my slow but sure slide into senililty.

Ryryry

The festival of lights

There is a light sprinkle of August rain and the sky is heavy, a watercolour in shades of grey. We ride our bike up a wide avenue strung with round paper lanterns, they stretch up the hill to the temple above. Parking our bikes next to a stall selling flowers and paper prayers that you tie onto trees, we climb a steep stone staircase to the heavy temple gates.

The lanterns inside the temple grounds have been handpainted by local children and are adorned with prayers written in a child`s deliberate rendering of the kanji script. There are lots of people everywhere, but the vibe is quiet, not somber but serene. The only sounds are the faint ringing of temple gongs up the mountain and the trickle of water from the pond at the entrance. We follow the trail of people and reach the cemetary.

It is an unbelievable sight, one of those sights you know will be with you your whole life, one that will rise up with a tide of nostalgia in years to come.Dusk is slipping away behind the forest canopy and a huge cemetery of smooth vertical columns climbs high up the side of the mountains. Strung between the stones in neat rows are literally thousands of paper lanterns, flickering candles dancing in the dim light. The sky is full of black crows, huge wings flapping, their mournful cries filling the sky.

People gather around a stone fountain, filling bamboo cups and buckets with water, which they use to clean the headstones of friends and relatives. Some carry fruit, scrolls and incense, which unfurls in an aromatic fog which is carried on the breeze.

We stand at the base of the mountain, watching the lights of the lanterns dance in the gathering wind and we silently recall our own lost relatives and friends, carried away like the incense smoke, dissapating into the ether. We send prayers and messages of love, which are lifted by poweful black wings to the heavens above.

We climb up among the stones on the perimeter, where the graves of the forgotten mingle with the roots of the forest. I wish I had bought a bamboo bucket, to clean the stone of one who will not be tended to by family or friend.

A steady rain begins to fall and we make our way back down the mountain, lingering at the bottom as night settles over the town and the rain begins to snuff out the flickering lanterns.

A song

teach me to be like the grey bird
still in the reeds, near the bank with the trees
he stands silently

teach me to be like the grey bird
still in the reeds, water on stones
well he knows, he knows
what it means

stepping lightly he goes,
moving slowly he shows me
this moment, this moment