"Relative deprivation" is a concept in sociology, which refers to the common phenomenon of people's dissatisfaction not being correlated to the reality of oppression, but instead to perceived oppression.
This means human nature is such that people are most dissatisfied when they think they should be getting better treatment.
And that could be when things are getting better _ not necessarily worse as might be expected _ because it's all about perceptions.
The plight of Japanese youngsters isn't all that bad compared to their counterparts in many other nations.
But their sense of relative deprivation is quite intense because social pressures for them to conform and to do good are quite high.
Many outside of Japan would be proud of having landed an assembly-line job.
If you are Japanese, it is less than perfect.
Being shut out of a white-collar lifetime employment job after completing a degree from a prestigious college is often an embarrassment not only for the youngster but the entire family.
"Freeter" is a label assigned to the despised when many Americans would be happy _ and proud _ to just have a job, any job, even a "keiyaku" or "haken" (i.e., not lifetime employment) job!
Imagine the stigma in Japan for being unemployed.
And the jobless rate is at a record high 5.7 percent (which wouldn't be a record at all in places like the U.S.)
Relative deprivation is seething in Japan.
Random crime to vent out frustrations is on the rise.
The existence of random crime may not be all that surprising in other big cities of the world.
Not so for Japan, which has long boasted a reputation for being crime-free (not that any nation is truly crime-free).
So no one is prepared for a stabbing spree in a commuter train station or a beating at night in a park.
In the U.S., if a nut goes berserk in public, he/she would be dead quite quickly.
The police would shoot him/her.
In Japan, we read reports of police who have been unable to track down the perpetrator, let alone arrest him/her.
In the U.S., homes have several locks. In Japan, people go out leaving their doors unlocked.
In the U.S., some citizens are armed, take self-defense lessons, carry mace or at least avoid walking alone in dark streets.
In Japan, hardly anyone does.
It is a rather dangerous situation, even if the numbers of the relatively deprived youngsters who end up turning to crime are still few.
Japan simply isn't prepared.
There is a sense of hostility in the air.
There is a sense the best times for Japan are over.
The Tokyo Flower Children may be wilting _ remnants of the good old times _ just as the American hippies were of the 1960s.
More on the Tokyo Flower Children.
(video above: Jounetsu wo Torimodosou by Teruyuki Kawabata of CigaretteSheWas translation by Yuri Kageyama, who reads with Haruna Shimizu, and additional music by Winchester Nii Tete, Keiji Kubo, Yumi Miyagishima and Carl Freire in the TOKYO FLOWER CHILDREN performance of Multicultural Poetry and Music at the Pink Cow, Tokyo, June 8, 2008.)
Showing posts with label Japanese youngsters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Japanese youngsters. Show all posts
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Toshinori Kondo
"Oh, my Buddha!" was what Toshinori Kondo kept saying.
That was back in the 1980s, when he was in his IMA band stage, fresh from his return from New York, where he had built his fame, and now out to forge his own Japanese jazz sound.
Instead of looking to the West (as in "Oh, my God!"), a musician must look to his/her Asian roots (and start saying, "Oh, my Buddha!" instead).
He was one of the most fascinating people I have ever interviewed.
Maybe he felt sorry for me that our interview was about to end, and I could have been in his presence forever.
He began to clown around and disappeared into the narrow crevice between the wall and a soda vending machine.
"Oh, my Buddha!"
I don't know why, but this was terribly and perfectly charming.
In his recent book "Inochi wa Sokkyo da (Life Is Improvisation)," Kondo says he studied the lives of Buddhist monks and spiritual leaders when he was younger to find out for himself what made Japanese and Japanese thinking great.
Otherwise, he couldn't feel confident that, as a Japanese artist, he would have something unique or competitive to say in the world of jazz, dominated by Americans.
The Buddhists all led pretty wild and crazy lives, it turns out, fasting, becoming hermits, wandering penniless, chanting in a frenzy.
Best of all, they had a unique view on the meaning of life and spirituality, which remains key to Kondo's approach to music today.
Kondo wasn't satisfied with the Japanese music scene, despite his great success, because it was so insular and it wasn't trying to say anything universal.
He was hectically busy.
But artistically, he felt he was going nowhere fast.
This is when he started living in Amsterdam, partly to get away and collect his thoughts.
In recent years, he began his "Blow the Earth" project, in which he goes to forsaken but gorgeous places like Machu Picchu and Bali and basically plays his heart out.
No one is there to listen.
He feels at one with the Nature around him as though the pulse in the mountain air is beating in time with his blowing, down to the tiniest pulses in every cell of his body.
It is a true high.
This is about getting to the music that is the origin of life.
It is totally divorced from the usual assumptions about music _ how its success is calculated by how many CDs you sell _ about trying to commercially reach hordes.
One time, Kondo travels to Kenya with a Japanese camera crew and wades into a lake filled with flamingos and pelicans.
Be sure to roll the cameras when I start playing, he says. Thousands of birds are going to take flight. And it will be beautiful.
He starts to blow.
But the birds don't take off.
They just start to dance.
Why are young Japanese so worried? Kondo wonders in his book.
And they aren't even worried about what might happen decades from now.
They worry about what might happen next year, tomorrow.
They are so privileged yet they are so afraid.
He was never so afraid.
He kept going for half a century and has never turned back and is still going.
My son plays with this very important Japanese musician WED May 13 at a temple near Mount Fuji.
That was back in the 1980s, when he was in his IMA band stage, fresh from his return from New York, where he had built his fame, and now out to forge his own Japanese jazz sound.
Instead of looking to the West (as in "Oh, my God!"), a musician must look to his/her Asian roots (and start saying, "Oh, my Buddha!" instead).
He was one of the most fascinating people I have ever interviewed.
Maybe he felt sorry for me that our interview was about to end, and I could have been in his presence forever.
He began to clown around and disappeared into the narrow crevice between the wall and a soda vending machine.
"Oh, my Buddha!"
I don't know why, but this was terribly and perfectly charming.
In his recent book "Inochi wa Sokkyo da (Life Is Improvisation)," Kondo says he studied the lives of Buddhist monks and spiritual leaders when he was younger to find out for himself what made Japanese and Japanese thinking great.
Otherwise, he couldn't feel confident that, as a Japanese artist, he would have something unique or competitive to say in the world of jazz, dominated by Americans.
The Buddhists all led pretty wild and crazy lives, it turns out, fasting, becoming hermits, wandering penniless, chanting in a frenzy.
Best of all, they had a unique view on the meaning of life and spirituality, which remains key to Kondo's approach to music today.
Kondo wasn't satisfied with the Japanese music scene, despite his great success, because it was so insular and it wasn't trying to say anything universal.
He was hectically busy.
But artistically, he felt he was going nowhere fast.
This is when he started living in Amsterdam, partly to get away and collect his thoughts.
In recent years, he began his "Blow the Earth" project, in which he goes to forsaken but gorgeous places like Machu Picchu and Bali and basically plays his heart out.
No one is there to listen.
He feels at one with the Nature around him as though the pulse in the mountain air is beating in time with his blowing, down to the tiniest pulses in every cell of his body.
It is a true high.
This is about getting to the music that is the origin of life.
It is totally divorced from the usual assumptions about music _ how its success is calculated by how many CDs you sell _ about trying to commercially reach hordes.
One time, Kondo travels to Kenya with a Japanese camera crew and wades into a lake filled with flamingos and pelicans.
Be sure to roll the cameras when I start playing, he says. Thousands of birds are going to take flight. And it will be beautiful.
He starts to blow.
But the birds don't take off.
They just start to dance.
Why are young Japanese so worried? Kondo wonders in his book.
And they aren't even worried about what might happen decades from now.
They worry about what might happen next year, tomorrow.
They are so privileged yet they are so afraid.
He was never so afraid.
He kept going for half a century and has never turned back and is still going.
My son plays with this very important Japanese musician WED May 13 at a temple near Mount Fuji.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Whence virtuosity
Poet and novelist Ishmael Reed once said he read to an audience two poems _ one by a Nobel laureate and another by one of his students _ and asked for a show of hands to guess which was by whom.
Opinion was 50-50, which goes to show no one can tell on virtuosity.
After all, a toilet seat becomes art supreme if Duchamp puts it in the backdrop of a fancy museum.
Juxtaposing gems from the amateur with stuck up award-winners is a joy.
It challenges status quo definitions of what is and what isn't _ the basic purpose of art to start with.
The unfortunate thing is: A toilet seat is just that _ a toilet seat, if there is no Duchamp and there is no museum.
That's why it is so difficult and risky to test such waters in art.
But if and when you can pull it off, you will be able to create something unique, almost by definition, because most of what you see in art is about following what went before you and got the stamp of approval that it is indeed art and not just a toilet seat.
I have written before about the live music scene in Tokyo.
Watching the young musicians, who all have other jobs and boast absolutely no technical virtuosity as we know it in the West, made me wonder why that community existed and what it was about Japan that created that _ as well as what that meant as far as definitions of art.
I called the phenomenon the Tokyo Flower Children.
Virtuosity is obviously important in art.
But I also realized it's not as important as one may think, especially in this day and age when razzle-dazzle can be packaged, commercialized and bought with money (relatively affordable) like a Cirque de Soleil show (which isn't really art at all _ at least the old-style circus had the elephants and the clowns).
These peacefully wayward Japanese kids are products of an extremely rigid and conformist society that is rapidly unraveling and no longer promising success for all, even if you follow all the rules to the T and prove you will sacrifice individuality for the good of the team.
They are rejecting the package.
They have chosen to be artists.
And to me, there is no doubt they are really artists.
I must thank them for helping me realize that the most important thing about art is that sincerity.
And they certainly have that.
The choice.
The courage to choose.
The vision to see beyond what is being handed to them.
That is what is being sought among the audience at Tokyo live-houses, who are for the most part just their peers.
Art with a capital "A" is proving incapable of moving beyond the market and the galleries catering to the rich.
Art must reach and be about real people.
But whether this kind of art that throws virtuosity out the window can provide anything more than a psychologically therapeutic outlet for the participants remains to be seen.
Look at me! (for technique) surely isn't enough.
But will anyone look if there is no virtuosity at all?
Can you prove value beyond delivering slices-of-life samplings of anthropological curiosity?
And isn't thinking that you can mold virtuous art out of the everyday _ a la Duchamp _ the most arrogant approach to self-expression?
But I don't think it's dishonest or incorrect.
And arrogance, or at least confidence in what you believe, goes with the territory.
Opinion was 50-50, which goes to show no one can tell on virtuosity.
After all, a toilet seat becomes art supreme if Duchamp puts it in the backdrop of a fancy museum.
Juxtaposing gems from the amateur with stuck up award-winners is a joy.
It challenges status quo definitions of what is and what isn't _ the basic purpose of art to start with.
The unfortunate thing is: A toilet seat is just that _ a toilet seat, if there is no Duchamp and there is no museum.
That's why it is so difficult and risky to test such waters in art.
But if and when you can pull it off, you will be able to create something unique, almost by definition, because most of what you see in art is about following what went before you and got the stamp of approval that it is indeed art and not just a toilet seat.
I have written before about the live music scene in Tokyo.
Watching the young musicians, who all have other jobs and boast absolutely no technical virtuosity as we know it in the West, made me wonder why that community existed and what it was about Japan that created that _ as well as what that meant as far as definitions of art.
I called the phenomenon the Tokyo Flower Children.
Virtuosity is obviously important in art.
But I also realized it's not as important as one may think, especially in this day and age when razzle-dazzle can be packaged, commercialized and bought with money (relatively affordable) like a Cirque de Soleil show (which isn't really art at all _ at least the old-style circus had the elephants and the clowns).
These peacefully wayward Japanese kids are products of an extremely rigid and conformist society that is rapidly unraveling and no longer promising success for all, even if you follow all the rules to the T and prove you will sacrifice individuality for the good of the team.
They are rejecting the package.
They have chosen to be artists.
And to me, there is no doubt they are really artists.
I must thank them for helping me realize that the most important thing about art is that sincerity.
And they certainly have that.
The choice.
The courage to choose.
The vision to see beyond what is being handed to them.
That is what is being sought among the audience at Tokyo live-houses, who are for the most part just their peers.
Art with a capital "A" is proving incapable of moving beyond the market and the galleries catering to the rich.
Art must reach and be about real people.
But whether this kind of art that throws virtuosity out the window can provide anything more than a psychologically therapeutic outlet for the participants remains to be seen.
Look at me! (for technique) surely isn't enough.
But will anyone look if there is no virtuosity at all?
Can you prove value beyond delivering slices-of-life samplings of anthropological curiosity?
And isn't thinking that you can mold virtuous art out of the everyday _ a la Duchamp _ the most arrogant approach to self-expression?
But I don't think it's dishonest or incorrect.
And arrogance, or at least confidence in what you believe, goes with the territory.
Friday, January 9, 2009
After the Storm
the man who raped Miu got arrested
he was following women from the convenience store
his face was there on the security camera
she told her story over and over
until the policewoman cried
Teru and Haruna got married
she wore a red kimono and a giant wig
he got sick and shaved after he lost his job
they are thinking the Grand Canyon for their honeymoon
he has another job now
Mary, executive vice president, has never been married
her mother, who taught her men weren't to be trusted,
died last year of cancer and she met Joe,
a college professor, who holds her hand
they are getting a dog
after the storm
pine needles carpet a silent earth
broken wounds of a ruthless wind
forgetful, still, and all is well
like the ending of a movie
he was following women from the convenience store
his face was there on the security camera
she told her story over and over
until the policewoman cried
Teru and Haruna got married
she wore a red kimono and a giant wig
he got sick and shaved after he lost his job
they are thinking the Grand Canyon for their honeymoon
he has another job now
Mary, executive vice president, has never been married
her mother, who taught her men weren't to be trusted,
died last year of cancer and she met Joe,
a college professor, who holds her hand
they are getting a dog
after the storm
pine needles carpet a silent earth
broken wounds of a ruthless wind
forgetful, still, and all is well
like the ending of a movie
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Photos by Kabe Chushin 12
From left to right
Winchester Nii Tete, Haruna Shimizu, Carl Freire, Teruyuki Kawabata, Yumi Miyagishima playing Kawabata's "Jounetsu wo Torimodosou."
Monday, June 23, 2008
Story of Miu 10
Story of Miu 9
List of links to previous Miu entries
Story of Miu 10
The Moon Stomp in Koenji is smaller than most American kitchens, and it really does have a kitchen, where sweet-smelling pizza and hot spicy curry are getting cooked up, but what's really cooking is the music.
Miu wanted me to come and hear her play with Yuga's band.
I'm trying not to expect too much, but I need not have worried.
Descend from the streets into that tiny smoke-filled club, packed with kids in hats and T-shirts, and the music there is so feel-good, giggles-provoking and harmonious Japanese-style it's like soaking in sudsy lukewarm tub water.
Admission is 2,500 yen for an all-you-can-eat meal-included evening of music.
Merrychan is a trio that performs original Japanese-language versions of Cuban and other Latin music.
Hearing Japanese sung and yelled in Latin fashion is somehow funnier than you'd think. Speak about identity crisis and parodying Japan's imitative modern music scene!
See how "Gerohaita! (He barfed!)" almost sounds Spanish? It's that wit in not taking oneself too seriously that makes these musicians rise above their otherwise proficient but pretty hunkydory (I mean, how could a bunch of Japanese kids beat Los Van Van?) musicianship to something unique, and something definitely entertaining.
No wonder the crowd (of about 30, half of them members of the other performing bands) is ecstatic.
Funyakotsu-ting was a geeky looking pudgy guy with glasses and a T-shirt with a picture of a donkey that said in English: "Bad Ass." He sang, narrated tales and even performed karaoke with a guitar.
A far cry from a demonstration of musical technique or artistic message, the almost-freak-show "otaku" performance still exudes a strange utterly disarming charm.
Several fans sat in the front row with multicolored light-sticks and swayed them in time to the music on one tune like they were at a Budokan rock concert.
Most straight-ahead but just as hippie-spiritied was Cigarette She Was, a folk/pop band led by guitar-strumming singer Teruyuki Kawabata. The groups were selling their CDs for something like 200 yen, the equivalent of $1.50.
Yuga plays kpanlogo in this band, his deep eyes _ those that Miu says look like those of an elephant _ buried in his long black hair as he plays with quiet concentration. He is sometimes so serious his upper lip seems to curl up in a haughty snarl.
Miu is so happy she can barely sit still as she jumps around, shaking a wooden stick covered with jangling bells.
I sit in one of the front seats surrounded by the cuddly noises and the warm smell of food and forget all thoughts.
It's a numbing feeling of thoughtless and humble satisfaction.
Who would have imagined that just a couple of months later Miu would break up with Yuga?
They are so young maybe it was to be expected.
She says it started with a quarrel about how to play a musical phrase in a rehearsal in their tiny apartment.
But when she shouted back, he slapped her then pushed her down on the tatami mat.
"I almost hit my head on the corner of his desk," Miu tells me, horrified.
She has to move out immediately, and so I have to go pick her up in our car.
Perhaps hoping to stop her from leaving, Yuga told her that he couldn't end the painful cycle of violence: He was beaten as a child while he was growing up.
His parent were very strict with him because he was an only child and they had such great hopes for him.
He was the kind of kid who couldn't even ask for a toy.
The parents would spank him and beat him and kick him and push him out, even in the winter, naked out into the backyard, although he screamed and stamped his little feet and cried as though his little lungs will tear into pieces.
But sometimes, when he feels that rage burn inside him, he is still that kid, and he can't stop himself when he wants it set things right and he must hit that person in front of him whom he loves so dearly yet who is acting in a way that he despises.
"It's totally messed up," Miu says. "He says he can't forgive his father, but I am not going to forgive him."
It is a sad end to a totally peaceful, hippie story of young love and brainlessly joyous music.
Or so I thought _ except that wasn't the end at all.
List of links to previous Miu entries
Story of Miu 10
The Moon Stomp in Koenji is smaller than most American kitchens, and it really does have a kitchen, where sweet-smelling pizza and hot spicy curry are getting cooked up, but what's really cooking is the music.
Miu wanted me to come and hear her play with Yuga's band.
I'm trying not to expect too much, but I need not have worried.
Descend from the streets into that tiny smoke-filled club, packed with kids in hats and T-shirts, and the music there is so feel-good, giggles-provoking and harmonious Japanese-style it's like soaking in sudsy lukewarm tub water.
Admission is 2,500 yen for an all-you-can-eat meal-included evening of music.
Merrychan is a trio that performs original Japanese-language versions of Cuban and other Latin music.
Hearing Japanese sung and yelled in Latin fashion is somehow funnier than you'd think. Speak about identity crisis and parodying Japan's imitative modern music scene!
See how "Gerohaita! (He barfed!)" almost sounds Spanish? It's that wit in not taking oneself too seriously that makes these musicians rise above their otherwise proficient but pretty hunkydory (I mean, how could a bunch of Japanese kids beat Los Van Van?) musicianship to something unique, and something definitely entertaining.
No wonder the crowd (of about 30, half of them members of the other performing bands) is ecstatic.
Funyakotsu-ting was a geeky looking pudgy guy with glasses and a T-shirt with a picture of a donkey that said in English: "Bad Ass." He sang, narrated tales and even performed karaoke with a guitar.
A far cry from a demonstration of musical technique or artistic message, the almost-freak-show "otaku" performance still exudes a strange utterly disarming charm.
Several fans sat in the front row with multicolored light-sticks and swayed them in time to the music on one tune like they were at a Budokan rock concert.
Most straight-ahead but just as hippie-spiritied was Cigarette She Was, a folk/pop band led by guitar-strumming singer Teruyuki Kawabata. The groups were selling their CDs for something like 200 yen, the equivalent of $1.50.
Yuga plays kpanlogo in this band, his deep eyes _ those that Miu says look like those of an elephant _ buried in his long black hair as he plays with quiet concentration. He is sometimes so serious his upper lip seems to curl up in a haughty snarl.
Miu is so happy she can barely sit still as she jumps around, shaking a wooden stick covered with jangling bells.
I sit in one of the front seats surrounded by the cuddly noises and the warm smell of food and forget all thoughts.
It's a numbing feeling of thoughtless and humble satisfaction.
Who would have imagined that just a couple of months later Miu would break up with Yuga?
They are so young maybe it was to be expected.
She says it started with a quarrel about how to play a musical phrase in a rehearsal in their tiny apartment.
But when she shouted back, he slapped her then pushed her down on the tatami mat.
"I almost hit my head on the corner of his desk," Miu tells me, horrified.
She has to move out immediately, and so I have to go pick her up in our car.
Perhaps hoping to stop her from leaving, Yuga told her that he couldn't end the painful cycle of violence: He was beaten as a child while he was growing up.
His parent were very strict with him because he was an only child and they had such great hopes for him.
He was the kind of kid who couldn't even ask for a toy.
The parents would spank him and beat him and kick him and push him out, even in the winter, naked out into the backyard, although he screamed and stamped his little feet and cried as though his little lungs will tear into pieces.
But sometimes, when he feels that rage burn inside him, he is still that kid, and he can't stop himself when he wants it set things right and he must hit that person in front of him whom he loves so dearly yet who is acting in a way that he despises.
"It's totally messed up," Miu says. "He says he can't forgive his father, but I am not going to forgive him."
It is a sad end to a totally peaceful, hippie story of young love and brainlessly joyous music.
Or so I thought _ except that wasn't the end at all.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Jounetsu wo Torimodosou
The song lyric version (as opposed to the poetic version)
translated into English
which will be performed at TOKYO FLOWER CHILDREN at the Pink Cow SUN June 8, 2008:
Jounetsu wo Torimodosou/We Remember Soul
By Teruyuki Kawabata of CigaretteSheWas
Without a word, don’t look back,
We are moving on;
Yes, we know these are things
That they will understand.
Get it back in our hearts
Like a sunset in our soul
And tonight, get it back,
dalalalilah, dalalalilah, dalalalilah X4
Forever tucked in my heart,
In this pocket of my soul,
Those days of tears and days of fears,
We’ll let them go untold.
Yes, we know we were young,
We aimed for way too high,
All we did in return
Was make our loved ones cry.
Get it back, let’s get it back,
In this pocket of my soul
We no longer need to cry
Cuz those days are gone away.
dalalalilah, dalalalilah, dalalalilah X4
Take a look, the rain is gone,
We can see the sky,
There’s no need to fit in
Or try too hard to get by.
Get it back, let’s get it back
In this pocket of my soul
We no longer need to cry
Cuz those days are gone away.
We don’t need to cry cuz those days are gone away.
We don’t need to cry cuz those days are gone away.
translated into English
which will be performed at TOKYO FLOWER CHILDREN at the Pink Cow SUN June 8, 2008:
Jounetsu wo Torimodosou/We Remember Soul
By Teruyuki Kawabata of CigaretteSheWas
Without a word, don’t look back,
We are moving on;
Yes, we know these are things
That they will understand.
Get it back in our hearts
Like a sunset in our soul
And tonight, get it back,
dalalalilah, dalalalilah, dalalalilah X4
Forever tucked in my heart,
In this pocket of my soul,
Those days of tears and days of fears,
We’ll let them go untold.
Yes, we know we were young,
We aimed for way too high,
All we did in return
Was make our loved ones cry.
Get it back, let’s get it back,
In this pocket of my soul
We no longer need to cry
Cuz those days are gone away.
dalalalilah, dalalalilah, dalalalilah X4
Take a look, the rain is gone,
We can see the sky,
There’s no need to fit in
Or try too hard to get by.
Get it back, let’s get it back
In this pocket of my soul
We no longer need to cry
Cuz those days are gone away.
We don’t need to cry cuz those days are gone away.
We don’t need to cry cuz those days are gone away.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
People Who Know Pain
Recorded with Yumi Miyagishima on violin at Music Man studio in Tokyo, May 24, 2008.
Part of the TOKYO FLOWER CHILDREN poetry readings with music.
Yumi Miyagishima, or Shima, is one of my favorite Tokyo musicians and one of my favorite people.
I wrote this poem inspired by the kind of things she talks about because she is so filled with a free spirit, the sense of justice, the love for music _ and a total disregard for practicality, status, "common sense" and material wealth that makes her really delightful.
It is difficult living in this vicious, greedy and insane world that Tokyo has become _ especially for a Japanese woman.
Tokyo on the surface looks like any big modern city.
You'd think women will get equal treament.
Think again.
Women are being treated like second, third, class citizens, and live and work fighting for their jobs, safety, self-respect, right to be creative as though this is right in the Third World.
It makes it even sadder that all women like Shima want is genuine love.
And they must seek it from men, the very pepetrators, for the most part, of the discrimination, cruelty and degradation that hurt and brutalize women.
Women who want nothing more than the fulfillment of their simple dreams are vulnerable.
But Shima grows stronger day by day, year by year.
Here she is, still playing music in Tokyo, and she even has a nice boyfriend:
People Who Know Pain
The World is divided bet-
Ween two kinds of People
The Winners and the Losers
The Takers and the Givers
The Famous and the Forgotten
The Loved and the Unloved _
Those who don't care and
People who know Pain
People who know Pain
when your tongue rolls, the
tips of my nipples, piercing
knife of betrayal
Vincent Van Gogh
John Coltrane
Garcia Marquez
Toulouse Lautrec
Billie Holliday
Richard Wright
Kenji Miyazawa
People who know Pain
People who know Pain
baby foxes dance,
leaving paw marks in the snow,
fairy tale of joy
Hermit, victim,
Outcast, untouched,
Untouchable
They travel faceless
Shadows on the subway
Mute, unconnected,
Unknowing of their own Pain
People who know Pain
People who know Pain
bitter memories grow
a cancer pomegranate
bleeding and rotting
I'd rather shelter that Pain alone
A powerless nobody,
Ashamed, shunned,
Stench of insignificance,
Laughing the idiot's laugh,
Running forgotten errands,
Dying before living like other
People who know Pain
People who know Pain
a zillion light years
the planet pulsates timeless
soundless universe
I'd never be that superior someone who
Conquers, fornicates, lynches,
Deposits paychecks, plans careers,
Forms opinions, writes reviews,
Weighs pros and cons, wins awards,
Attends receptions, discriminates,
Never knowing, shrugging off, how painful
People's Pain can be
People's Pain can be
Part of the TOKYO FLOWER CHILDREN poetry readings with music.
Yumi Miyagishima, or Shima, is one of my favorite Tokyo musicians and one of my favorite people.
I wrote this poem inspired by the kind of things she talks about because she is so filled with a free spirit, the sense of justice, the love for music _ and a total disregard for practicality, status, "common sense" and material wealth that makes her really delightful.
It is difficult living in this vicious, greedy and insane world that Tokyo has become _ especially for a Japanese woman.
Tokyo on the surface looks like any big modern city.
You'd think women will get equal treament.
Think again.
Women are being treated like second, third, class citizens, and live and work fighting for their jobs, safety, self-respect, right to be creative as though this is right in the Third World.
It makes it even sadder that all women like Shima want is genuine love.
And they must seek it from men, the very pepetrators, for the most part, of the discrimination, cruelty and degradation that hurt and brutalize women.
Women who want nothing more than the fulfillment of their simple dreams are vulnerable.
But Shima grows stronger day by day, year by year.
Here she is, still playing music in Tokyo, and she even has a nice boyfriend:
People Who Know Pain
The World is divided bet-
Ween two kinds of People
The Winners and the Losers
The Takers and the Givers
The Famous and the Forgotten
The Loved and the Unloved _
Those who don't care and
People who know Pain
People who know Pain
when your tongue rolls, the
tips of my nipples, piercing
knife of betrayal
Vincent Van Gogh
John Coltrane
Garcia Marquez
Toulouse Lautrec
Billie Holliday
Richard Wright
Kenji Miyazawa
People who know Pain
People who know Pain
baby foxes dance,
leaving paw marks in the snow,
fairy tale of joy
Hermit, victim,
Outcast, untouched,
Untouchable
They travel faceless
Shadows on the subway
Mute, unconnected,
Unknowing of their own Pain
People who know Pain
People who know Pain
bitter memories grow
a cancer pomegranate
bleeding and rotting
I'd rather shelter that Pain alone
A powerless nobody,
Ashamed, shunned,
Stench of insignificance,
Laughing the idiot's laugh,
Running forgotten errands,
Dying before living like other
People who know Pain
People who know Pain
a zillion light years
the planet pulsates timeless
soundless universe
I'd never be that superior someone who
Conquers, fornicates, lynches,
Deposits paychecks, plans careers,
Forms opinions, writes reviews,
Weighs pros and cons, wins awards,
Attends receptions, discriminates,
Never knowing, shrugging off, how painful
People's Pain can be
People's Pain can be
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Remembering Soul
One of the pieces we will do in TOKYO FLOWER CHILDREN at Tokyo's Pink Cow Sunday, June 8, is "Jounetsu wo Torimodosou."
Teruyuki Kawabata, leader of Tokyo indies band CigaretteSheWas, wrote the lyrics and music for the tune, which is on the soundtrack for a just released movie "Chiisana Koi no Monogatari (A Little Love Story)," from Kurosawa Studios.
I translated the lyrics. It's harder than you may think because "jounetsu" literally translates as "passion."
This is what I ended up doing:
Remembering Soul
we leave without saying a word
people will understand
yesterday’s sunset burns in our memory
but tonight we remember soul
forever tucked in that pocket of our soul
we will forget the days of tears and fears
we asked for too much and
made those close to us sad
remember, remember,
in this pocket of our soul
we don’t need to cry
dalalalilah, dalalalilah, dalalalilah
just look at the sun and the sky
we don’t need to fit in
remember, remember
in this pocket of our soul
we don’t need to cry
we don’t need to cry
we don’t need to cry
dalalalilah, dalalalilah, dalalilah
Teruyuki Kawabata, leader of Tokyo indies band CigaretteSheWas, wrote the lyrics and music for the tune, which is on the soundtrack for a just released movie "Chiisana Koi no Monogatari (A Little Love Story)," from Kurosawa Studios.
I translated the lyrics. It's harder than you may think because "jounetsu" literally translates as "passion."
This is what I ended up doing:
Remembering Soul
we leave without saying a word
people will understand
yesterday’s sunset burns in our memory
but tonight we remember soul
forever tucked in that pocket of our soul
we will forget the days of tears and fears
we asked for too much and
made those close to us sad
remember, remember,
in this pocket of our soul
we don’t need to cry
dalalalilah, dalalalilah, dalalalilah
just look at the sun and the sky
we don’t need to fit in
remember, remember
in this pocket of our soul
we don’t need to cry
we don’t need to cry
we don’t need to cry
dalalalilah, dalalalilah, dalalilah
TOKYO FLOWER CHILDREN 6
In the way Van Gogh thought he was Japanese and saw Old Edo in southern France, or the way Yayoi Kusama sees polka dots on faces, flowers and everything around her, I see Today's Tokyo as a flashback to the Hippie Days.
The differences are obvious.
But there are definite parallels between the questioning of the parents' values that the American LOVE generation did and what the Japanese youngsters are trying to do today.
They are rejecting the dreams for the "straight" life of joining big-name companies with their broken promises for lifelong employment and lifelong social status.
They are becoming "freeters" in more ways than one, looking for a freer lifestyle and a freer way of thinking, to accept not only themselves for who they are and also those around them in Japan _ and Asia and beyond.
The go-go modernization growth days are over _ just as the 1960s and '70s ended the American Dream.
There is a need for new answers, new values, a new identity, a new way of relating to the World.
The approach is peaceful _ just like Flower Power was so far away and so many years ago.
The Tokyo youngsters playing music, eating pasta and making love in the streets of Koenji, transport us magically to Berkeley and the Haight.
They are the TOKYO FLOWER CHILDREN.
It's OK to drop out.
It's OK not to fit in.
It's OK to be weak.
It's OK to do something new.
It takes great courage to do this in a rigidly and cruelly conformist society like Japan.
Like flowers, they wilt in the wild.
But they sprout back with new life, carrying on a legacy of music and a frantic search for one-ness that live on through generations.
And so it was natural to call the personal project I began to collaborate with Tokyo musicians in readings of my poetry the TOKYO FLOWER CHILDREN.
We are all children.
No matter how old we grow, and no matter how we struggle to outgrow our childishness, we are all children.
Sure, being a poet is about remembering that eternal child in yourself.
It's also about remembering all the emotional and physical details of being a mother to your own child _ with all the miraculous joys to celebrate and anguishing sorrows to endure.
But through working with the Tokyo musicians, I learned a new lesson:
It's about being a poet for the next generation _ being a poet for all the children of the world, and knowing we are all children together.
The differences are obvious.
But there are definite parallels between the questioning of the parents' values that the American LOVE generation did and what the Japanese youngsters are trying to do today.
They are rejecting the dreams for the "straight" life of joining big-name companies with their broken promises for lifelong employment and lifelong social status.
They are becoming "freeters" in more ways than one, looking for a freer lifestyle and a freer way of thinking, to accept not only themselves for who they are and also those around them in Japan _ and Asia and beyond.
The go-go modernization growth days are over _ just as the 1960s and '70s ended the American Dream.
There is a need for new answers, new values, a new identity, a new way of relating to the World.
The approach is peaceful _ just like Flower Power was so far away and so many years ago.
The Tokyo youngsters playing music, eating pasta and making love in the streets of Koenji, transport us magically to Berkeley and the Haight.
They are the TOKYO FLOWER CHILDREN.
It's OK to drop out.
It's OK not to fit in.
It's OK to be weak.
It's OK to do something new.
It takes great courage to do this in a rigidly and cruelly conformist society like Japan.
Like flowers, they wilt in the wild.
But they sprout back with new life, carrying on a legacy of music and a frantic search for one-ness that live on through generations.
And so it was natural to call the personal project I began to collaborate with Tokyo musicians in readings of my poetry the TOKYO FLOWER CHILDREN.
We are all children.
No matter how old we grow, and no matter how we struggle to outgrow our childishness, we are all children.
Sure, being a poet is about remembering that eternal child in yourself.
It's also about remembering all the emotional and physical details of being a mother to your own child _ with all the miraculous joys to celebrate and anguishing sorrows to endure.
But through working with the Tokyo musicians, I learned a new lesson:
It's about being a poet for the next generation _ being a poet for all the children of the world, and knowing we are all children together.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Tokyo Flower Children 5
Winchester Nii Tete hails from a famous family of drummers in Ghana. And Tokyo is so lucky to have him.
His playing is energetic, joyous, dignified, virtuous.
Behind him is Teruyuki Kawabata, leader of Cigarette She Was , a composer/lyricist who plays the guitar, percussion and other instruments.
On his right is Keiji Kubo, a language expert who totally respects aboriginal culture, and plays the bass/didgeridoo.
On Winchester's left is Haruna Shimizu, also with Cigarette She Was, who someday wants to have her own cafe-on-wheels.
I get in a lecture mood when I hang out with such talented pure-spirited people.
I have told Winchester he has beautiful eyes.
I have told Teruyuki his "Jounetsu wo torimodosou" is a great song.
I have told Keiji his girlfriend Akiko is "KawaYUUUUUI!"
And so, at the Pit Inn in Shinjuku, the other night, I told Haruna she must stick with the man she chooses to love because loving someone isn't about weighing the pro's and con's to get a good deal.
Too many Japanese women are still waiting for that deal _ like they are prizes to be won.
Love is not something you receive from someone else. It is all and only about your Self.
It's a lifelong battle _ like Art and Life.
Love endures through tick and thin, through sickness and health, through the good times and the bad.
Tokyo Flower Children 4
Tokyo Flower Children 2
Tokyo Flower Children
Tokyo Flower Children 3
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Toyota opens a shopping mall
Talk about desperately seeking buyers.
Toyota is opening a giant shopping mall in Yokohama with 220 stores and restaurants, including Uniqlo, Wolfgang Puck's and pastry stores, to be there where people hang out _ not wait for people to come to dealerships.
The scenario is that you introduce the idea of buying a car to people who are shopping.
Japan auto sales are falling lately to 27 year lows.
Analysts say people _ especially young people _ don't want a car, even if they get one for free!
Kids who grew up in a more affluent Japan don't covet the same status-symbol items their parents did.
Manufacturers have been struggling in recent years with the challenge of developing models that meet young people's lifestyle needs.
Maybe one day there'll be a hit car every Japanese is going to want _ like an iPod or a cell phone.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Story of Miu 8
Continued from Story of Miu 7.
(Scene: A Kyoto-style restaurant on the 14th Floor of the Takashimaya Department Store in Shinjuku, Tokyo. The delicately shaped servings in modern geometric cups and plates line a wooden counter facing wall-to-wall glass that overlooks a noontime luscious view of Shinjuku Gyoen garden.)
Miu (Fingering traditional "tenugui" cotton towels the restaurant has given as napkins): Cool!
Me (Trying not to sound too curious): And so how's it going?
Miu: OK.
Me: You were telling me you picked up ... met someone, right, the other day? And so what's the latest news?
(Silence for several minutes; waiter from the other side of the counter brings cups of tea.)
Miu: Yes, there have been developments. He said we were supposed to meet at Alta in Shinjuku _ that was, I guess, last weekend _ to see a movie. But I didn't go.
Me: You didn't go.
Miu (Shaking head): But I did meet another guy. I went to a different club with some other friends, and there was this other guy.
Me: That's great.
Miu: Actually, I am building a database.
Me: What?
Miu: I figure you have to be scientific about this procedure. (Begins to explain hurriedly) My Japanese really improves, spending time with these guys. Free lessons! (Laughs.)
Me: And so how does the database work?
Miu: It's easy. You collect phone numbers. It must be harder for males but for females, you don't have to do much.
Me: And how many have you collected?
Miu: Lots. I haven't checked.
Me: Like 10? 20?
Miu (Giggling:) More like 100.
Me: Gosh. How can you possibly keep track?
Miu: That's the challenge. You have to take good notes _ oh, you'd know about that. How do you keep track of all the people you interview?
Me: I have to write down the person's characteristics on their meishi. Thank God Japanese are into their meishi.
Miu: What do you write?
Me: Like "did most of the talking," "said nothing," "glasses," "made joke about such and such." It's tough. They tend to be all male and old and wear dark suits.
Miu: Similar problem here. All male, young, eager to get into bed, very very boring!
But I write down what they said and stuff. And I can sometimes even take their photo with my cell phone. My cell phone has a better digital camera than my camera.
Me: At least, you are getting around and meeting a lot of people and learning about Japan. And no sense rushing into settling down with one person. Maybe I could have gotten someone better if I had held out, too. (Sighs)
Miu: Oh, don't say that. You have a great marriage.
Me: Thanks. So what do you do with all that information? You call one of them up randomly when you need to go out or something?
Miu: Something like that.
Me: Your generation _ there is so much technology available like SNS, e-mail, messaging, all that, to connect in so many ways maybe you don't feel like you've checked out all your options unless you build this ... database. (Miu shrugs as they eat with lacquered chopsticks soy-flavored grilled fish, chopped seaweed and daikon in vinegar sauce and miso soup with tofu.) The world was a simpler place when all you did was sit around at home and wait for a call on that fixed line.
Miu: You didn't do that, did you?
Me: Of course, I did. Everybody did. What if he calls and you're out? You'd miss that chance to go out with him, right?
Miu: How can you stand it?
Me: Right, it is quite oppressive, isn't it? (Pauses) Yes, you're right. The new technology is progress. But don't you feel that Japan is still stuck in the 1950s as far as images of women?
Miu: What do you mean?
Me: There aren't that many outlets for older women still, except maybe flamenco classes for housewives or something. We know studies say more women are working and some are even successful. We see them on TV. But the most desirable roles for women are defined as young and cute because it's the men who are behind the definitions. I mean, look at the U.S. presidential race. What a contrast.
Miu: But maybe Yuriko Koike will run for the LDP presidential race, and there you go: Japan's first female prime minister.
(Miu and Me laugh.)
Me: What comes to mind when you hear "obasan?" Nothing good, right?
Miu: No one wants to be called "obasan." That's like the worst derogatory thing in Japanese you can call a woman.
Me: There is "babaa."
(They laugh. Waiter brings dessert, a traditional rice-cake pastry with fruit and sweet black beans )
Have you noticed what word the sales people at Shibuya 109, the Kyoto "maiko" and night club hostesses use to refer to older women to avoid saying "obasan?"
Miu (Visibly curious): No, what?
(They sip tea.)
Me: "Oneesan."
Miu: Oneesan.
Me: Forever young _ although older. But I think this shows how society hasn't recognized the value of the female after women have gotten past their roles of reproduction.
Miu: Oh, wasn't there some minister who got in trouble for calling women "reproductive machines?"
Me: Exactly. That mentality. There are lots of women in their 30s and older who truly dread being called "obasan." If it hasn't happened already, then it could happen any second. Horrors!
Miu: Moment of metamorphosis. Society decrees you useless for preservation of the species.
Me: I like being obasan. I am proud of being obasan.
Miu: OK, obasan.
Me: Obasan is a title that you earn as a woman when you grow older and wiser and better. Sounds a bit like sour grapes, doesn't it? But I think I learned so much about womanhood _ maybe "personhood" _ through my motherhood _ or through my son, I guess, having a child.
Miu: That's wonderful.
Me: All the years my son was growing up, his friends who spoke Japanese would call me obasan. They would look at me with those big innocent eyes of theirs, trusting me because I was their friend's mother. It's respect I earned not only because of my relationship with my son but also my son's relationship with others. That's why I get to be obasan. It's real and very beautiful and full of dignity. Not some derogatory place in the hierarchy as defined by sexual desirability, work performance, whatever. It's deeper than all that.
Miu: It is. And it should be like that.
Me: Women should be proud of being obasan.
Miu: Of course.
Me: Obasan Power!
Miu: That's a good way to put it.
Me: But all you see in the Japanese media much of the time are obasan rushing to bargains, gossiping, taking flamenco lessons.
Miu: What's the solution?
Me: I'm not sure. Data show Japanese women are choosing not to get married and not to have children, even if they do by some miracle get married. (Looks into Miu's eyes.) I try to tell young women this every chance I get, but it's the most important experience in life to have a child, OK? No one really told me this. I was so lucky I did get married and have a child. The common wisdom back then was that women had to prove we could be just as good as men. And so worrying too much about marriage and children was seen as backward, something that women who weren't "liberated" (Holds up her hands to make quotation marks in the air with her fingers) did _ not women who wanted to make something of themselves and have careers.
Miu: I want a child. Maybe not now. But I want a baby someday.
Me: You will. You will. And you have plenty of time. To build databases and everything else.
Miu: This database I am building isn't about that though. I'm not sure what it's about. But I don't want to be trapped into someone just because he picks me out from the crowd. Why do I have to wait for some coincidental accident in the office elevator or some freakish event like in a TV drama to meet someone?
Me: Maybe old-style Japan was on to something when they had omiai. That's pretty orderly. So Japanese.
Miu: Then I wouldn't have to spend all this time on a database.
Me: Someday you will meet that special person _ that man who will throw that whole database out the window.
Miu (Silent then): How do you know?
Me: You'll know. You won't have to ask.
Miu: I will hear my heart go thump thump. Uh-oh, I think that's just the music blasting off at the club. I probably won't be able to hear it _ it's so loud in there (Laughs).
Story of Miu 6 with links at end to previous chapters.
(Scene: A Kyoto-style restaurant on the 14th Floor of the Takashimaya Department Store in Shinjuku, Tokyo. The delicately shaped servings in modern geometric cups and plates line a wooden counter facing wall-to-wall glass that overlooks a noontime luscious view of Shinjuku Gyoen garden.)
Miu (Fingering traditional "tenugui" cotton towels the restaurant has given as napkins): Cool!
Me (Trying not to sound too curious): And so how's it going?
Miu: OK.
Me: You were telling me you picked up ... met someone, right, the other day? And so what's the latest news?
(Silence for several minutes; waiter from the other side of the counter brings cups of tea.)
Miu: Yes, there have been developments. He said we were supposed to meet at Alta in Shinjuku _ that was, I guess, last weekend _ to see a movie. But I didn't go.
Me: You didn't go.
Miu (Shaking head): But I did meet another guy. I went to a different club with some other friends, and there was this other guy.
Me: That's great.
Miu: Actually, I am building a database.
Me: What?
Miu: I figure you have to be scientific about this procedure. (Begins to explain hurriedly) My Japanese really improves, spending time with these guys. Free lessons! (Laughs.)
Me: And so how does the database work?
Miu: It's easy. You collect phone numbers. It must be harder for males but for females, you don't have to do much.
Me: And how many have you collected?
Miu: Lots. I haven't checked.
Me: Like 10? 20?
Miu (Giggling:) More like 100.
Me: Gosh. How can you possibly keep track?
Miu: That's the challenge. You have to take good notes _ oh, you'd know about that. How do you keep track of all the people you interview?
Me: I have to write down the person's characteristics on their meishi. Thank God Japanese are into their meishi.
Miu: What do you write?
Me: Like "did most of the talking," "said nothing," "glasses," "made joke about such and such." It's tough. They tend to be all male and old and wear dark suits.
Miu: Similar problem here. All male, young, eager to get into bed, very very boring!
But I write down what they said and stuff. And I can sometimes even take their photo with my cell phone. My cell phone has a better digital camera than my camera.
Me: At least, you are getting around and meeting a lot of people and learning about Japan. And no sense rushing into settling down with one person. Maybe I could have gotten someone better if I had held out, too. (Sighs)
Miu: Oh, don't say that. You have a great marriage.
Me: Thanks. So what do you do with all that information? You call one of them up randomly when you need to go out or something?
Miu: Something like that.
Me: Your generation _ there is so much technology available like SNS, e-mail, messaging, all that, to connect in so many ways maybe you don't feel like you've checked out all your options unless you build this ... database. (Miu shrugs as they eat with lacquered chopsticks soy-flavored grilled fish, chopped seaweed and daikon in vinegar sauce and miso soup with tofu.) The world was a simpler place when all you did was sit around at home and wait for a call on that fixed line.
Miu: You didn't do that, did you?
Me: Of course, I did. Everybody did. What if he calls and you're out? You'd miss that chance to go out with him, right?
Miu: How can you stand it?
Me: Right, it is quite oppressive, isn't it? (Pauses) Yes, you're right. The new technology is progress. But don't you feel that Japan is still stuck in the 1950s as far as images of women?
Miu: What do you mean?
Me: There aren't that many outlets for older women still, except maybe flamenco classes for housewives or something. We know studies say more women are working and some are even successful. We see them on TV. But the most desirable roles for women are defined as young and cute because it's the men who are behind the definitions. I mean, look at the U.S. presidential race. What a contrast.
Miu: But maybe Yuriko Koike will run for the LDP presidential race, and there you go: Japan's first female prime minister.
(Miu and Me laugh.)
Me: What comes to mind when you hear "obasan?" Nothing good, right?
Miu: No one wants to be called "obasan." That's like the worst derogatory thing in Japanese you can call a woman.
Me: There is "babaa."
(They laugh. Waiter brings dessert, a traditional rice-cake pastry with fruit and sweet black beans )
Have you noticed what word the sales people at Shibuya 109, the Kyoto "maiko" and night club hostesses use to refer to older women to avoid saying "obasan?"
Miu (Visibly curious): No, what?
(They sip tea.)
Me: "Oneesan."
Miu: Oneesan.
Me: Forever young _ although older. But I think this shows how society hasn't recognized the value of the female after women have gotten past their roles of reproduction.
Miu: Oh, wasn't there some minister who got in trouble for calling women "reproductive machines?"
Me: Exactly. That mentality. There are lots of women in their 30s and older who truly dread being called "obasan." If it hasn't happened already, then it could happen any second. Horrors!
Miu: Moment of metamorphosis. Society decrees you useless for preservation of the species.
Me: I like being obasan. I am proud of being obasan.
Miu: OK, obasan.
Me: Obasan is a title that you earn as a woman when you grow older and wiser and better. Sounds a bit like sour grapes, doesn't it? But I think I learned so much about womanhood _ maybe "personhood" _ through my motherhood _ or through my son, I guess, having a child.
Miu: That's wonderful.
Me: All the years my son was growing up, his friends who spoke Japanese would call me obasan. They would look at me with those big innocent eyes of theirs, trusting me because I was their friend's mother. It's respect I earned not only because of my relationship with my son but also my son's relationship with others. That's why I get to be obasan. It's real and very beautiful and full of dignity. Not some derogatory place in the hierarchy as defined by sexual desirability, work performance, whatever. It's deeper than all that.
Miu: It is. And it should be like that.
Me: Women should be proud of being obasan.
Miu: Of course.
Me: Obasan Power!
Miu: That's a good way to put it.
Me: But all you see in the Japanese media much of the time are obasan rushing to bargains, gossiping, taking flamenco lessons.
Miu: What's the solution?
Me: I'm not sure. Data show Japanese women are choosing not to get married and not to have children, even if they do by some miracle get married. (Looks into Miu's eyes.) I try to tell young women this every chance I get, but it's the most important experience in life to have a child, OK? No one really told me this. I was so lucky I did get married and have a child. The common wisdom back then was that women had to prove we could be just as good as men. And so worrying too much about marriage and children was seen as backward, something that women who weren't "liberated" (Holds up her hands to make quotation marks in the air with her fingers) did _ not women who wanted to make something of themselves and have careers.
Miu: I want a child. Maybe not now. But I want a baby someday.
Me: You will. You will. And you have plenty of time. To build databases and everything else.
Miu: This database I am building isn't about that though. I'm not sure what it's about. But I don't want to be trapped into someone just because he picks me out from the crowd. Why do I have to wait for some coincidental accident in the office elevator or some freakish event like in a TV drama to meet someone?
Me: Maybe old-style Japan was on to something when they had omiai. That's pretty orderly. So Japanese.
Miu: Then I wouldn't have to spend all this time on a database.
Me: Someday you will meet that special person _ that man who will throw that whole database out the window.
Miu (Silent then): How do you know?
Me: You'll know. You won't have to ask.
Miu: I will hear my heart go thump thump. Uh-oh, I think that's just the music blasting off at the club. I probably won't be able to hear it _ it's so loud in there (Laughs).
Story of Miu 6 with links at end to previous chapters.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Flower Children 4
Image from Loic Bizel's Fashion in Japan .
My story from 2004.
Thoughts from Today:
Flower Children by definition don't want to hurt other people.
They choose jobs with that in mind.
Besides obvious choices like becoming musicians and joining the Peace Corps, some career choices are more common than others among Flower Children:
Firemen because they save lives.
Paramedics because they save lives.
Schoolteachers because they help kids become better people.
Journalists because we try to tell the world the "truth" and help people make up their own minds about what's right and wrong.
At one point, big-name companies like manufacturers also attracted engineers and other people who wanted to make things like cars and jet engines to help make this world a better place.
But somewhere along the way, getting jobs at big-name companies became an ends in itself for many Japanese.
The message was: Study hard to get in the best university possible, where a job with a big-name company will be guaranteed by your junior year.
That's why we need Flower Children today in Japan.
My story from 2004.
Thoughts from Today:
Flower Children by definition don't want to hurt other people.
They choose jobs with that in mind.
Besides obvious choices like becoming musicians and joining the Peace Corps, some career choices are more common than others among Flower Children:
Firemen because they save lives.
Paramedics because they save lives.
Schoolteachers because they help kids become better people.
Journalists because we try to tell the world the "truth" and help people make up their own minds about what's right and wrong.
At one point, big-name companies like manufacturers also attracted engineers and other people who wanted to make things like cars and jet engines to help make this world a better place.
But somewhere along the way, getting jobs at big-name companies became an ends in itself for many Japanese.
The message was: Study hard to get in the best university possible, where a job with a big-name company will be guaranteed by your junior year.
That's why we need Flower Children today in Japan.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Flower Children 3
In any age, Artists get monetary support from others _ the king, the church, the modern market. The means of support affect the Art (eg., portaits of noblemen, Biblical paintings, modern art). In Tokyo today, Artists get support from a community of Artists, who in turn get support/make money as freeters in the straight economy. This distinction becomes easier to understand if one looks at the true function of Art as giving spiritual fulfillment to people who aren't Artists, those people who are straight and make money. It's like going to church. Art like religion is "necessary" in every society to remind people of the meaning of life. Because the Artist possesses that special power, the Artist gets money from those who make money, so that the Artist can be free of straight-world commitments to practice that power. If Art becomes funded by a community of like-minded Artists (salaryman/freeter masses), Art becomes very different from Art nurtured in the 20th Century modern art scene of the West. Tokyo Art is not combative. It does not try to make a point. It reaches out to others in harmony like a psychotherapy session. There is no prize committee, rich patron/gallery buyer, even recording label/producer to impress. Sincerity is critical: Are you really an Artist? Or are you more interested in success/money/the straight world? If you are truly a Tokyo Artist, then you are "in" no matter how untrained, how off-key, how absurd your Art may be. But you must Believe.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Flower Children 2
The Moon Stomp in Koenji is smaller than most American kitchens, and it really does have a kitchen, where sweet-smelling pizza and hot spicy curry are getting cooked up, but what's really cooking is the music. Descend from the streets into that tiny smoke-filled club, packed with kids in hats and T-shirts, and music is feel-good, giggles-provoking and so harmonious Japanese-style it's like soaking in sudsy lukewarm tubwater. Merrychan is a trio that performs original Japanese-language versions of Cuban and other Latin music. Hearing Japanese sung and yelled in Latin fashion is somehow funnier than you'd think. Speak about identity crisis and parodying Japan's imitative modern music scene! See how "Gerohaita! (He barfed!)" almost sounds Spanish? It's that wit in not taking oneself too seriously that makes these musicians rise above their otherwise proficient but pretty hunkydory (I mean, how could a bunch of Japanese kids beat Los Van Van?) musicianship to something unique, and something definitely entertaining. No wonder the crowd (of about 30, half of them members of the other performing bands) is ecstatic. Funyakotsu-ting was a geeky looking pudgy guy with glasses and a T-shirt with a picture of a donkey that said in English: "Bad Ass." He sang/narrated/even performed karaoke with a guitar. A far cry from a demonstration of musical technique or artistic message, the almost-freak-show "otaku" performance exudes a strange utterly disarming charm. Several fans sat in the front row with multicolored light-sticks and swayed them in time to the music on one tune. Most straight-ahead but just as hippie-spiritied was Cigarette She Was , a folk/pop band led by guitar-strumming singer Teruyuki Kawabata (in photo above on top of flower as a flower child should be). The groups were selling their CDs for something like 200 yen, the equivalent of $1.50. Admission was 2,500 yen for an all-you-can-eat meal-included evening of music. Japan is so affluent and peaceful the dreams go on without a reality test as they do in other parts of the world. Young Japanese are rejecting the older generation's definitions of a proper "salaryman" life (preferably at a big name company). They will earn their keep (freeter-style or otherwise) but play/laugh at Moon Stomp.
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