the new year... 2004: finishing the record, getting to japan
i was just finishing up the next giant sand record late on tuesday night here in tucson. it was 43 degrees outside. john parish had been riding shotgun over the proceedings until he had to leave on new year's day.
on wednesday (jan. 9) i was on a flight to ottawa to continue recording the follow up gospel record to it. it was minus 43.
after a few days i continued back to chicago to connect to europe for a 2 week tour: england, belgium, mallorca (spain) and some cities in italy. saw john in bristol before the show there and completed the giant sand sequence.
it was a solo tour except for one festival in palma, mallorca as giant sand with the new danish band. after spain, it would be all solo again in italy. it ended there with a quick stop in rome where john was producing his next record with nada, an italian superstar from the 60s. she recorded one of the new giant sand songs and made it sound like it was hers: "classico".
flew home to tucson. rested for several days, then off to japan for a solo tour there with califone. my jet lag would be a complex issue at this juncture, and i was its experiment.
on the way to tokyo i studied the film on the plane. it was the only movie i have seen all year....a couple weeks agao in bristol: lost in translation.
a perfect precurser. it was now feb. 5....until we crossed over the date line, then it was tomorrow.
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tour journal entry 2099-j:
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i had just got back from my last assignment.
a 2 week solo run in europe where i had to secretly assess the effect of faux french brass basin brackets on the specific targeted audience.
an easy gig this time. got most of my information from the french region of belgium. italy was just the icing.
home for a few days, filed the report, then the confirmation of my next contract came over the wire; metal backed cloth futon buttons and their effects on the unsuspecting.
another routine work load, but heading to japan was a first time event for me.
i waited till 10 minutes before leaving before packing a small bag. picked out a guitar. good. and gone.
i also knew the jet lag coming from europe would have severe experimental spasms, and attempted to hit it head on.
this time i would be solo again, except it would be a double billed tour with an outfit from chicago called CALIFONE. the odd thing was that CALEXICO would be also in japan at the exact same time, which made me think if they tried to get in touch with me the hotel clerk might hand me a note reading: CALEXICOFONE
i put this idea out of my head.
upon arrival, i was greeted by my agent/promoter, norio, whom, i realized later, looked exactly how i pictured him. comforting. the rest of the first day was getting used to being in tomorrow. it's what happens when you fly across the date line. home will always be yesterday.
the next morning the hotel served potato salad for breakfast with chopsticks. confusingly comforting.
the first show was there in tokyo. just down the street from the denny's there in schubya, where the giant dinosaur walked across the giant tv screen on the building there in "lost in translation". (which is also the movie they showed on the plane. precurseringly comforting)
CALIFONE were up to bat first. beautifully unreproachable with nary a repetitive nuance. if they kept this pattern up it looked to be an enjoyable ride.
then, my turn. as i ambled through the set i noticed at one time or another, everyone in the crowd was holding their mobile phones at me as if set on stun. it was later during the solo in "shiver" i figured out there were lenses on all these aimed phoneings. the sad thing was when i would try my new tiny camera later that evening, i would catch myself trying to phone someone on it. strange kneejerk reversal.
a very good first show. a ridiculously sweet crowd. good sound. mirror ball. and a ten dollar ten minute haircut just prior, for good luck.
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the next day we boarded the bullet train to some other city.
the club was located up on the 8th floor. a tiny little dreamscape, like when you were playing bar with your buddies when you were kids and would set up your mom's living room like a little club; also with mirror ball, except the reflections on the wall were the shape of little skulls. a good show again. i think it was in black and white. the memorable part of the evening was a beautiful painter who made posters of the show, each one a different copy of one of her paintings. very lovely, them and she.
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another zippy train. bento box lunch means its christmas for a minute.
hamamatsu is probably the name of the next town. we get the idea we can drive our tour bus right into the train station if we had one. the vans are just a little bit bigger then roller bags. also by now i am getting the sense that every hotel room is the same here in japan. kinda like naming every record the same title and just changing the name of the band instead very efficient. seemingly comforting.
the opening band is japanese and into the velvet underground apparently.
by the end of the night the drummer will be passed out and the guitar player will keep telling me he loves 'pot'....and he loves lou reed. you love lou weed ? i ask. he giggles away. oddly comforting.
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by now i realize i have had no luck in gathering any information concerning the metal backed cloth futon buttons. what gives ? i had had dinner with a couple sisters in tokyo whose folks has a futon factory and i thought i would be done with my report by now. but the trail has grown cold.
next town: fukuoka. which of course can't be fuck you, ok ?
the deep south.
anyhow, i am deep into reading bill carter's newly published book; "fools rush in"; about his time spent there during the shelling and snipering of sarejavo in 93. a compelling read. one hard to put down even upon arrival. even when we are now outside the station and the local promoter's there bowing in brisk rapid fire bends the book has to wait. two women show up and their smiles are set on stun. and then a driver too. they are all friends and to be amongst them has a warmth and a vibe. we all drive to sound check in 2 cars. a sax player walks in and again hellos us with many bows. he then takes the stage and proceeds to bend our minds with a 5 minute circular breathing mobius strip lick. it sets the bar for the rest of the night. it is the finest evening of music ever. the mirror ball helps me to lure several dancers up to waltz "the wild dog waltz". we had been warned that the japanese are often reserve when assembled. but if you can tap into that kareoke enzyme they will actually take the stage and waltz away. a great night.
even when (CALIFONE) tim's loopy pedal malfunctions, ben and him proceed with the finest slip of a songs i have yet witnessed. and there is a grand piano for me too; a great omen. at the end we get one of the women from the afternoon up to sing "tennessee waltz". her name is nika and she is a singer/songwriter from tokyo on tour. then to end it all as it started, we get kito the sax priest up to splendifry. mind bendingly comforting.
when it's all over, we all are severely lagged and in need of sleep. but instead we head up to another one of those teeny bars that live up on the 6th floor of an office building. a big feller named jerry moss from detroit is wedged into the corner there at the tisket a tasket jazz bar.
after a few songs and jams (he seems pleased i know tito fuente wrote the santana song he covered) i invite the afternoon posse over to my hotel room for the last beer. a nice tight squeeze and fresh beers from the vending machine, which is always the best deal. these vending machines are everywhere and even offer up cafe latte or however else you take your coffe. and they make for excellent handwarmer comfortings.
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4 hours sleep later, back to the train. we head to the temple infested burg of kyoto. same hotel room again. same size. same toilet that sneaks up on you to squirt back if you push the wrong button. meanwhile, an email from the main office:
urgent message
futons do not have buttons of any kind.
repeat: there are no metal backed cloth futon buttons
you have been set up
possible double agent
your position has been comprimised
devastating effects on your cover
if exposed, you will be unable to work again
forget about attempting to make it as just a singer/songwriter
you will starve
well, although it was disturbing to figure out who might've permeated the guise out here on the road, it had been comforting to be able to not work the crowd for information during the nightly sets. i think the music has benefitted from it. so. i would finish the tour attempting to figure out who was baiting this operation.
i began going down the list of possible suspects. first up, CALIFONE. i used a special function of my new digi cam to see if tim and ben could be the double agent, but it just didn't quite line up.
i spent the night off draped in a kyoto despair.
the next day i would try banging a gong at a temple or two.
if that failed, there would be no other choice but to head on up to monkey park.
the show the following night replentished the spark again. lock and load like lock and loll.
then there was the kyoto komono saleswoman the next day.
very suspicious. beautiful maybe, but very madame butterfly.
in the meantime, tim has taken to writing haikus for his journal.
i attempted this, but they all came out like fuck-yous.
happy is the crowd
crossing the street in a swarm
air chilled and smiles warm
fuck you
guitars and tube amps
piano pedal that damps
behaving like champs
fuck you
glorious the train
fuji blurs through window cloud
for crying out loud
fuck you
i am not sure you can tell how happy i am to be here by the fuck-yous.
but this is the happiest i have been in a long time....so fuck yous.
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now it's the final day of the tour.
the train is in rewind mode back to the tokyo for the final show.
the club is 7 flights up.
the bright lights of tokyo make las vegas look like a flicker.
the food continues to be a mystical addiction.
i am overwhelmed with the friendliness here.
and how everybody pops into a pose when you aim your camera at them, then says thank you after you snap.
i will miss everything, everyone:
promoters norio and aki and junko and hee hee.
seth, aya and mie.
nika and kito and everyone in fukuoka.
fumie and moto.
the brave folks at heads.
the women with horse heads.
and especially the men of CALIFONE.
i feel the missingness already during the soundcheck.
but fortuneately the japanese band that's opening are doing exact george jones and hank williams covers. they sound great and help happify the mood of the last show blues.
CALIFONE and i have grown prone to jam on one long song shown.
but this night we invite the japanese cowboy band up to for perhaps the only time in the last 25 years when it has made sense to cover "all along the watchtower".......very kareoke, i thought.
that night...the final amazing dinner. shoes off. watch your head when you get up. (especailly if you're wearing a baseball cap. you won't see the bonk coming.) crouch down. eat up. even though always tired, a great great trip thanks to the wonderment of the people of japan and their sweet hospitality and unending smiles.
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the next day CALIFONE fly home.
i opt to remain 2 extra days to recoup and shop for the folks that couldn't come along. i also need to work out who the double agent is.
on the final night CALEXICO are also back in tokyo playing their final show here.
i do the sensible thing and finally head out to a karaoke bar instead.
there are 6 of us and we book into one of a couple hundred rooms at the karaoke "hotel", which is how it works here. hundreds of rooms cheap motel style in one building.
and karaoke is hard work. but this is where the japanese reveal their true rock colors and extreme hoopla. they go nuts in these isolated darkened rooms with bizarre non-sequitar video images backing the displaying lyrics on the tv monitor.
much okinawa vodka is needed and delivered to comfort the uncomfortable.
i do manage a decent "mad about you" and a respectable "tush".
but the piasto resitance of course is queen's "bohemian raphsody" sung by the entire posse.
the next day is the long flight home.
even the upgrade to business class is toinked with the usual kurtness of the flight attendents, now ever more exagerated after the thick pouring of respect the japanese like to make an art of.
the flight attendant brings a passenger list.
apparently a CALEXICAN is on the same plane!
he is sitting back in coach.
i try to send him back some warm nuts.
very japanese i think.
but the attendants refuse the request.
security reasons ...they say.
of course.....the travel agent must be the double agent!
howe on 07.09.04 @ 03:29 PM GMT [link]
