Almost as soon as I found out I would be living in Japan in 2014, I have been planning to go to the 18th annual Fuji Rock Festival. Fuji Rock is a three-day music festival which, since 1999, has taken place at Naeba Ski Resort on the eastern slope of Mount Takenoko in Yuzawa, Niigata Prefecture (about a 75 minute train ride plus a 40 minute free shuttle bus ride from Tokyo Station). Unfortunately, my job made my attendance at all three days of the festival impossible. The Saturday, July 26th day, headlined by Arcade Fire, was both the only day I could go and also the day I most wanted to attend, so, unlike me on a treadmill without an English language setting, that worked out well. And like the bougie, yuppie fraud that I vowed I would never but which I have quite clearly and unceremoniously become, I stayed at the Hotel Sporea a short walk from the nearest major train station, about a 40 minute shuttle ride away, on Saturday night, rather than rent camping equipment that would have cost me more than the hotel. So I only went to one day, didn’t stay in the campground with the cool kids, and I didn’t get to try a Japanese strikeout with sake. Even still, my Fuji Rock Festival weekend was one of the most profoundly awesome, sociologically fascinating, musically rewarding festival experiences of my life. I bowed, I danced, I moshed, and I discovered a creatively thriving, wonderfully communal Japanese jam band scene of which I simply cannot get enough.
Full disclosure before we proceed, in case you didn’t read my first Japanese show review, now might be a good time to let you know that this will not be a short review. Indeed, before we even get to the actual festival on Saturday, I want to talk about my amazing pre-festival Japanese jam band club show experience on Friday night. I left work a little early and headed to Shin-Osaka where I met a friend and caught a shinkansen (bullet train) to Tokyo Station. From there, we walked the 15 minutes to our hotel, checked in, threw down our stuff, and immediately raced across town by train to the hipster enclave of Shimokitazawa to catch Sea Stone, a five-piece side project of two Japanese Grateful Dead tribute bands, including the Warlocks of Tokyo, with whom Joe Russo sat in last month on the same stage. We still arrived about 40 minutes late. The venue, Lown, was smaller than the average Japanese waistline. It was one half of the third floor of a very narrow building.
As we entered, lead vocalist/guitarist Takakazu Sasaki and Chee Sukegawa, the Donna Jean-y femme fatale of the group, were harmonizing beautifully to Jimmy Cliff’s “The Harder They Come.” Immediately, I knew I was in the right place. This was Sea Stone’s first ever show together, but you could be forgiven for thinking otherwise. Filled out by Kacchan Ishii on lead guitar, Jun Ono on bass, and Osawa Shoujiro on drums, Sea Stone was the perfect start to an incredible weekend. Sasaki-san, who introduced himself to me as Ken, is an electrician by day. He also has the vocal timbre of 1970s Jerry, and but for a slight accent, could easily have fronted the opening band at the Wetlands in 1993. His guitar playing is buoyant and precise, and his enthusiasm for the music is infectious. Ishii-san’s guitar playing was at times elegiac and at times piercing, but always loose and colorful. The rhythm section of Ono-san and Shoujiro-san wove a tight groove while Ishii-san and Sasaki-san circled in, under, and over their emancipating syncopation. They played only covers, but did so expertly. Highlights for me included Chuck Berry’s “You Never Can Tell,” a Ken-translated Japanese language version of Allen Toussaint’s “I’ll Take A Melody” (a song regularly performed by Jerry Garcia), and a show-closing, hair-on-my-back-raising take on Daniel Lanois’ “The Maker.” The latter featured Sukegawa-san on lead vocals. It was an impressive rendition, slow and deliberate, with Sukegawa-san’s haunting and quivering voice seemingly channeling the reflective spiritual conflict and affirmation of the song’s lyrics.
There were no more than 25 people at the Sea Stone show, and 5 of them were in the band. Another guy was running the soundboard from behind the bar. From a purely visual standpoint, he might have been the biggest hippie there. He had a look that seemed to say, “trust me buddy, you don’t want to know what kind of shit I’ve seen.” He looked like a Japanese cast member of Duck Dynasty who spent too much time on late ‘90s Phish lot. And he referred to himself as Bear, which I assume was a reference to his sound mixing, and not his skills as an LSD chef. Seated at the same small table as us was a man who was filming the show with an iPhone and a Zoom iQ5 clip-on microphone. I leaned over to him at setbreak and said a few things in Japanese. He was friendly but very focused on recording. After the show, he explained to me that he was actually live streaming, not just recording. Whoa! I tried to articulate my thoughts in crappy Japanese but then realized there was no point. So I tipped my 500 glass of bourbon (~$5) in his direction, pointed to the roof, and declared proudly and emphatically, “God Bless the Tapers.” He understood (obviously), smiled warmly, and told me he’d see me at Fuji Rock the next day. I could rave more about how great Sea Stone was, or I could just link you to ustream.tv user Ranbotube, where you can watch and listen to the archived first set and second set in crystal clear audio and video. Here’s some photos:
Historically, Fuji Rock has been a mix of about 70% Western bands and 30% Japanese bands. Past performers include pretty much everyone you would expect to be playing a music festival between 1997 and 2014: Green Day, Beck, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Beastie Boys, Rage Against the Machine, Sonic Youth, The Prodigy, Blur, Phish, Foo Fighters, Oasis, Neil Young & Crazy Horse, Eminem, Jane’s Addiction, String Cheese Incident, The Killers, My Morning Jacket, Sigur Rós, The Mars Volta, Soulive, Weezer, Muse, Radiohead, and The Boredoms (the Osaka noise-rock band whose members translated the chorus of “Meatstick” into Japanese for Phish). Other than Arcade Fire, also scheduled to play on the day I attended were Phil Lesh & the Terrapin Family Band, St. Vincent, Preservation Hall Jazz Band, Yoko Ono and the Plastic Ono Band, Damon Albarn, Manic Street Preachers, Travis, Jonathan Wilson, The Lumineers, Jake Shimabukuro, and a Japanese singer/songwriter named Gotch who reminds me of Beck, among many others. But with 14 stages, there were also plenty of artists I’ve never heard of. I’m a bit of a festival junkie (I can quit anytime, I swear), and my favorite part about large music festivals is the art of discovery. Stumbling past a stage or tent and wandering inside when your ears get curious. That’s how I fell in love with Yonder Mountain String Band (Bonnaroo 2003), Yeasayer (Austin City Limits 2008) and Deep Dark Woods (Newport Folk 2012), among others. So my plan for Fuji Rock, given the limited amount of time I had, was to try to see as many bands as possible, with a particular focus on seeing acts I couldn’t see at home.
On Saturday morning, I woke up early and met a friend at the infamous Tsukiji Fish Market, where we engulfed an amazing sushi breakfast. Then we took the train to Echigo Yuzawa Station, walked to the hotel, tied our bags together in a holding room off the lobby, and walked back to the station to wait for the shuttle bus to Naeba. The line for buses was longer than a list of things that confuse me about Japan (so, uhh…about 45 minutes). My only real complaint about Fuji Rock as a festival is that it did not seem to me to be adequately prepared to accommodate the size of its crowds, but that’s a very minor gripe. Inside the station, they were selling all sorts of stuff, including these special Fuji Rock Festival senbei (Japanese rice crackers):
And there was some kind of drum ceremony taking place:
On the bus ride, I chatted up two Japanese college students. We talked in Japanese about Arcade Fire, Vampire Weekend, and Coachella, and I tried to explain Phish, the Grateful Dead, and Bonnaroo. Throughout the ride up into the mountains and the whole time while at Naeba, I was overwhelmed by the sheer serenity of the Fuji Rock venue. It felt like a mythical land from a Peter Jackson movie. There was a small lake that ran through the site. And fans could take the ski lift (the “Dragondola” in festival parlance) up to the top of the mountain just to take in the sights. Photos honestly really don’t do justice to the pristinity of the place, but I still took a lot of them. We exchanged our tickets for wristbands, bought a quick pork and rice bowl, and entered the festival grounds around 1 PM. Here are some photos and a map:
The first band that caught my attention when we walked inside was The Ulfuls (ウルフルズ, or Urufuruzu) on the Green Stage. The Green Stage was an enormous, lush, natural amphitheater lawn space for the biggest artists. The Ulfuls are a Japanese rock band from Osaka who’s been recording and performing since the late ‘80s. Their experience showed, and their lead singer Tortoise (real name: Atsushi Matsumoto) danced, pranced and drop kicked around the stage like a Japanese David Lee Roth. I was impressed by Tortoise’s harmonica playing and with guitarist Keisuke Iwamoto’s catchy licks. I think the best description that I can conjure for comparison is The Funky Meters meets The Strokes. In the summer of 2009 they played their farewell shows. But in true rock ‘n roll fashion, they announced a return early in 2014 and released a new album in May. The Ulfuls’ show-closing “ii oona (いい女)”, or “Good Woman,” was catchy as hell and had 10,000+ (myself included) singing, pumping their fists, and swaying along throughout. We only saw a little bit of their set but I was really impressed, and absolutely intend to go see them in a club before I leave Japan.
After The Ulfuls, we went to get beers. On stage left side, about an American football field away from the Green Stage, there was a tiny Heineken tent about the size of a one bedroom apartment in Manhattan. This was the only alcohol concession within view of the main stage area. I’m pretty sure riots would ensue if it took as long to purchase alcohol at an American music festival as it took at Fuji Rock. But Americans are not exactly known for their patience, and that’s kind of a Japanese virtue, so perhaps (as usual), I’m just being ethnocentric. Nobody else seemed to mind, as far as I could tell, so… We wanted to check out the rest of the festival so we started peregrinating. Foot traffic was crazy as we attempted to head northeast to the other stages. We were funneling through a narrow passage when the festival moved into surreal territory. Japanese society is pretty buttoned up and conservative, to the point where even veering from a white button down seems rebellious. And yet, I saw tie-dye and dreadlocks and skull-and-bones all over Fuji Rock. Jed (Japanese head? <–Yeah, I made that up, so what.) enthusiasm for Phil Lesh’s first ever performance in Japan was palpable. At some point during the day, I began to make a conscious effort to either talk to or bow at every Japanese Deadhead I saw. Some of my new Japanese friends:
Eventually we made our way to the Field of Heaven. This is the stage and space where Phil Lesh would later perform, where moe. had performed the night before, and where Phish and String Cheese Incident have performed in the past. Four huge Grateful Dead flags flew wide and high atop the row of vendors in the back of the field. I checked out the wares for sale, some of which were uniquely Japanese or otherwise special and interesting, but most of which were the same stuff you’ve seen at every other festival. My sister has an interesting theory about how every Chinatown in the world has the same cheap, shoddy, vaguely Chinese crap for sale. I wonder if perhaps hippie music festival vendors work the same way. Even though some of the festy goods were the same as other festivals, absolutely no paraphernalia was being sold whatsoever.
We were about to walk over to Café de Paris to see a band called Big Willie’s Burlesque Fuji Revue when I heard the unmistakable start of John Lennon’s “Power to the People” from the Field of Heaven stage. A Japanese woman was singing and I thought it might be a special guest in the form of Yoko Ono, set to perform at the Red Marquee later that evening, so I raced to the front of the stage. Alas, Yoko was nowhere to be seen, though I would get to see her later. Instead, I watched 70-year-old Tokiko Kato (加藤 登紀子) enthrall and empower an audience much younger than herself. Kato-san is a Chinese-born, Japanese singer, actress, and environmental and political activist who first came to fame in Japan in 1966 when she won the best new talent award in the Japan Record Grand Prix with her song “A Red Balloon.” Her voice was resolute and defiant, even though I couldn’t really understand what she was singing. The band was solid as well, and the simple choreography and urging of her backup dancers got a lot in the crowd involved. Myself included. Kato-san won me over almost instantly. I don’t know how I got confused, because Kato-san’s singing voice is a million times more refined and pretty, but I’m really glad I thought she was Yoko, because I never would have seen her otherwise.
Next, we headed to Café de Paris as planned to catch Big Willie’s Burlesque Fuji Revue. Apparently they play Fuji Rock almost every year but umm…this was a new one on me. The Café de Paris was a small tent with an even smaller stage masquerading as a cocktail lounge. The band’s act is essentially a bunch of middle-aged American men playing and singing Prohibition-era tunes while younger women artistically remove their clothing. Surprise of the century, the place was packed with older Japanese men. I was not particularly impressed from a musical standpoint, though the band was consistent and professional. But the, ahem, dancers, were very talented. Equally talented was the delightful red sangria spritzer I sipped. But the tent, perhaps due to the number of creepy dudes inside and despite a lot of high-powered fans, smelled like the Fulton Fish Market and was somehow hotter than the 90 degree-plus sauna outside. So we didn’t stay too long. I was there long enough to point to a dancer and say to a thirty-something Japanese man, “anata no garufurendo desuka?” (Your girlfriend is?). Even though he quickly shook his head, he seemed to find this very amusing. Maybe even a bit too amusing if you ask me.
After the strip club, I mean, the café, we stopped for some lemon and beer cocktails, salivated at a full-on ramen restaurant complete with seats and a countertop which had been constructed next to the Busker Stage, and eventually made our way to the NGO Village. There, a whole host of different non-profits were set up to advocate for all sorts of causes from solar energy to nuclear non-proliferation to animal rights (sadly, no sign of HeadCount). On the subject of environmentalism, since I’ve moved here, I continue to be struck by the Japanese conservationist ethos. Nearly every home in rural Japan has a solar-powered water heater device. And a lot of the houses have solar paneling on their roofs too. Reducing the ecological footprint of Fuji Rock seemed to be a big focus of the festival organizers. A printout which came with my tickets informed me that cigarettes can only be smoked at the festival in designated areas and that smokers must bring their own portable ashtrays. As far as I could tell, people generally complied with this rule. I wonder how that would go over at Bonnaroo. The printout also urged attendees to bring plastic bags for their garbage. There were approximately 40 makeshift kiosks scattered around the venue for recycling and sorting. Each was manned by at least four people at any given time, and there were an intimidatingly large number of different categories of trash. All silverware and chopsticks provided by food vendors were wooden, and had their own special bin. Cans were separate from plastic bottles. And before you placed a bottle into its receptacle, you were instructed to tear the wrapper from it, and insert the wrapper into a separate bin. There were also separate categories depending on the type of food container, as well as a compost bin. My guess is that the festival organizers may have provided vendors with wooden silverware, chopsticks and food containers to ensure a minimum footprint. I’ve been to a lot of music festivals and I’ve never seen this type of concerted emphasis on recycling and keeping the scene clean. Bravo Fuji Rock and bravo Japan! That said, I’ll be honest. I wish the festival organizers were as focused and organized about alcohol sales as they were on preserving the earth…
We caught a few more bands. Then we planned to go see Travis but I screwed up the staging locations (alcohol, incompetence, and a language barrier are a bad combination) and when I returned with incredible Thai food and Thai iced teas to the wrong stage, we decided to bail on them and Gotch (my biggest regret of the day) and instead wait to see The Qemists at the White Stage. As we waited for the show to start, we had a ridiculous location, directly up against the barricade dead center. All we knew at this point, based on the DJ setup and drum riser, and of course, Wikipedia, was that they were an electronic music band from Brighton, England. At every Japanese concert I’d been to thus far, including all of the performances earlier in the day, venue security has always consisted of relatively scrawny Japanese dudes with ear pieces and awkward smiles. So it should have been a sign of things to come when a series of enormous black dudes came to stand in between us and the stage. Then The Qemists took the stage. I was immediately blown away by their energy. They consist of guitarist Liam Black, drummer Leon Harris, DJ Dan Arnold, frontman Matt Rose, and MC Bruno Balanta. To my 30-going-on-85 ears, The Qemists are a mix of Rage Against the Machine and The Prodigy (though I’d guess younger folks might replace Rage with Linkin Park). Their Facebook page provides the following genre descriptions: drum ‘n bass, rock, dubstep, electro, breaks, and “grimeyness.” Honestly, I don’t know what genre even means anymore (and I thought grime is what makes bathroom tiles dirty) and I don’t care. As the band came on, I turned around at the increasingly mobile and aggressive crowd and turned to my friend and said, “I think this might get serious pretty soon.” Within two choruses, we were getting thrown into the front barricade, her bag had been ripped, I got kicked in the head by a crowdsurfer, and was pushing around in every direction and getting tossed every which way. I felt like a ne’er do well with a hatred for authority. I was half my age and more awake and alive than I’ve been at a concert in years (my first pit since Muse in 2005 at The Pageant in St. Louis). This pit was intense and cathartic in all the ways music (of any genre) is supposed to be. My musical tastes tend to run a bit more mellow these days, but it was hard not to love everything about The Qemists. Rose belted like a lunatic who’s finally figured it all out, “You can keep your revolution/I’ve been here before/And always disillusion/Always making me feel ill/And I, I’m not standing still.” Then he took a giant leap off of a tall riser directly in front of me and did a split in midair. I was transfixed. The lyrics were mostly millennial populist screeds, as Rose and Balanta incited the crowd into a fury of outrage over everything from income inequality to self-medication and unemployment. The music veered back and forth between EDM “go crazy” and more subtle, textured instrumental work. Even though we had to leave the pit for the greater good of my friend (and possibly my long-term sanity), I can’t say enough good things about The Qemists’ live show. If you get a chance to see them, do it.
After The Qemists, I changed my shorts we craved something a bit more chill, so we went to the Orange Court to be soothed out by the Preservation Hall Jazz Band. We double-taked at the Marlboro cigarette tent in the back of the Court and I tried to grasp the significance of the marketing slogan MAYBE. Preservation Hall Jazz Band is the touring band of the New Orleans’ French Quarter-based landmark jazz venue of the same name. The band has been directed for the last several years by Ben Jaffe, the second son of Sandra and Alan Jaffe, the young Pennsylvania couple who essentially rescued the hall from financial ruin, started the band, and almost singlehandedly revived the popularity of N’awlins jazz outside the Big Easy. The Preservation Hall Jazz Band first performed in Japan in the early 1960s, and last played Fuji Rock in 1976. For reasons I won’t pretend to know, though about which many have speculated, jazz is hugely popular in Japan (though far less so in its birth country). I’ve seen them several times, and I always come away impressed by every member of the band. A lot of these guys are bona fide living legends, especially Freddie Lonzo on trombone, Joe Lastie Jr. on drums, and Rickie Monie on piano. New Orleans is, in my opinion, the only American city with its own truly distinct culture and cuisine, and Preservation Hall Jazz Band is an integral part thereof. So if you’ve never seen ‘em, go see ‘em, and if you have seen ‘em, go see ‘em again anyway.
On the recommendation of some of my new Japanese Deadhead friends, we skipped St. Vincent (which would have required a 25 minute trek to the Red Marquee and a 25 minute trek back to catch the start of Phil Lesh & the Terrapin Family Band) and instead checked out a Japanese Grateful Dead tribute band called mabrock at the Gypsy Avalon Solar Power Stage. Mabrock is the brainchild of Manabu Takahashi, aka “Mabee,” who plays guitar and sings. Mabee is somewhat of a legend in the Japanese jam band scene, having fronted Big Frog since the late ‘90s and having started Majestic Circus, which opened the music at Field of Heaven early Saturday. Big Frog toured with both moe. and Phish in Japan, released one of its studio albums through Relix, and even did a short tour of the U.S. northeast. With mabrock, Mabee is backed by Yack, also on guitar and vocals, Asano on vocals and tambourine, Jen on percussion, Yoji on bass, and Sibata on keys. At Fuji Rock, mabrock played a tight 50 minute acoustic set for approximately 200 Deadheads. Highlights for me were “Cassidy” and “I Know You Rider,” the latter during which I was blown away to hear a Japanese crowd singing along to an English language song. That was a first for me. I definitely need to see Mabee perform again, ideally with an electric guitar in his hand.
When mabrock ended, its crowd practically floated over to the Field of Heaven, and I kind of tagged along, trying to make conversation on the way. Some of the Japanese Deadheads told me they’d been waiting to see Phil Lesh perform in person for 40 years. So I think it’s safe to say there was some pretty intense anticipation awaiting the 74 year old jam bass guitar pioneer’s arrival. In principle, the Terrapin Family Band is the permanent house band for Phil’s San Rafael, California concert venue Terrapin Crossroads, but its touring lineup can differ. For Fuji Rock, it consisted of Ross James and Phil’s son Grahame on guitar and vocals, Alex Koford and Jordan Levine on drums, Scott Padden on keyboards, Emily Sunderland’s occasional guest vocals, and of course, the smooth septuagenarian legend Mr. Phil Lesh himself. As we waited for the band to take the stage, I moseyed about bowing and making more Japanese Deadhead friends.
The band opened with a fiery “New Speedway Boogie” followed by a mellow “Cassidy” and “Bird Song.” From the opening bass pop punch of “Up On Cripple Creek,” I was overcome by excitement. I drew even more bizarre glances than usual as I sang along to every word. Lake Charles, Louisiana is where I’m moving next. I think my “little Bessie” is there. The vocals sounded incredible on this one, as Grahame, with help from James and Koford, channeled the irresistible twang and upbeat swagger of the original. The Japanese crowd really seemed to come alive on this one too. Sunderland’s vocals on “Mr. Charlie” were sultry and soothing, and it seemed clear from the look on his face that Phil’s a big fan of hers. Unfortunately, we left after the next song, “Behind Your Eyes,” a Koford original, because we wanted to get to the Red Marquee to see a little of Yoko Ono before Arcade Fire. I’ve seen Phil & Friends several times, and for me personally, though I only saw about 40 minutes, nothing made this show really stand out for me in any meaningful way, but knowing how special the performance was for the Japanese Deadheads amplified the significance. Full setlist from Grahame here, and you can also watch and listen to ranbotube’s recordings of the first and second sets. Unlike with Sea Stone, this time you won’t occasionally hear me in the background talking…
By the time we headed to Yoko, the sky was almost completely dark. We got to see how the festival organizers had lit the narrow walkways and wooden shortcuts through which the majority of Fuji Rock’s foot traffic passed (albeit very slowly). It was stunning. The only comparison to another festival I can give in terms of geographic ecosystem and the application of avant-garde (Sidenote: George Harrison used to say avant-garde is short for “Avant-garde a clue”) techniques for utilitarian purposes is String Cheese Incident’s 2005 Horning’s Hideout. The lighting design was weird and very unique. Large spotlights shone from hundreds of feet away at, and reflected in geometric fragments cascading away from, enormous disco balls suspended forty feet above pedestrians. 3D neon orbs mutated colors in a rhythmic pattern. We passed KidsLand, which was easily the coolest children’s play area I’ve ever seen at any festival. They had two enormous see saws, a teepee, an enormous crafts area, and a mini-carousel. Watashi wa chikan janai desu (I am not a pervert), can I ride the see saw please?
I’m a huge Beatles and John Lennon fan, but it’d be insincere for me to say I’m really a Yoko Ono fan. I definitely think she’s a more talented artist than she ever was a musician, and I encourage anyone who’s never read Grapefruit to at least go to a bookstore and thumb through it. By contrast, if I was on a desert island where the only music I could listen to were her solo records, I’d probably opt for radio silence. That said, her Plastic Ono Band on this occasion included Nels Cline from Wilco, whose guitar playing is that ultra-rare combination of experimental and accessible, which I love. Plus I was at a music festival in her home country, and she’s 81, so, you know, “when in Niigata…” The crowd was clearly ecstatic to be in Ono-san’s presence, and a number of “Yoko!” chants went up, heavily spurred on and bolstered by a certain ignorant, lanky American. She seemed to relish the attention, and addressed the crowd primarily in Japanese with hints of English. We were only able to see 4 songs, and I didn’t really know any of them, but each was different and insightful in its own way. Instrumentally, the band, which included Cline, Keigo Oyamada and Yuko Araki from the band Cornelius, Yumiko Ohno from the band Buffalo Daughter, Pika from Afrirampo and Yuka Honda from Cibo Matto, was unbelievable. They weaved noisy, atmospheric dreamscapes around Yoko’s soaring, screaming vocals. Honestly, I would absolutely pay good money just to see this band do their thing without the widow octogenarian. But Yoko did not disappoint. True to form, she shimmied and swayed with grit, radiating positivity, and showering the crowd with warmth. I came away with a newfound respect for her as a musical artist and particularly as a lyricist. On the emotively wistful Higa Noburu, from her 2009 album Between My Head and the Sky, Yoko waxed bombastically over dissonant, evocative, propulsive piano chords, “Why is it? / Why is this life so beautiful? / So interesting / Why?” I don’t have the answers Yoko, but for the first time, I understood how special it is to watch you ask the questions.
With the vocal yodel-warbling of Mrs. John Lennon still ringing in our ears, we left the Red Marquee and headed towards the Green Stage to get a good spot for Saturday’s headliners, Arcade Fire. This was my third time seeing Arcade Fire, but the first time at a festival. I’m sure it’s been said before, but I’ll say it again (because I’m a trite poseur): Arcade Fire just might be the last true defenders of rock ‘n roll not only as a viable commercial enterprise, but also as a medium for artistic expression. Every time I see them, they seem simultaneously more comfortable in their role as saviors and more willing to take risks. Frontman Win (short for Edwin) Butler might look more like a jock than a rock star (and he can definitely shoot the rock like a jock) but he’s got the charisma and the magnetic sincerity to make Bono look like King George VI. And Win’s wife, multi-instrumentalist Régine Chassagne, might dance like the autistic lovechild of Thom Yorke and Stevie Nicks, but she’s got the pipes and the emotional depth to forever alter the notion of what it means to be a woman who rocks. The band, complemented by Win’s brother Will, Richard Reed Parry, Tim Kingsbury, Jeremy Gara, Sarah Neufeld, Owen Pallett, Diol Edmond, and Tiwill Duprate, were, as always, irrepressible workhorses. A highlight for me was “We Exist,” dedicated by Win to “everyone out there struggling” for personal recognition, and during which French New Wave editing techniques were combined with vintage footage of homosexual men performing risqué choreography to create a bizarre but mesmerizing backdrop. The song is a poignant tribute to the LGTBQ community and its controversial music video, starring Spiderman #2 as a small town transgender hate crime victim, is a rhetorically inquisitive indictment of intolerance. At Fuji Rock, in a country where LGBTQ rights are rarely discussed or debated publicly, and where homosexual men are still frequently the butt of jokes that would make Americans squirm, the enthusiastic cheers seemed more intense and the emotional atmosphere more charged during “We Exist,” though I concede it may have just been my hopeful imagination. One thing I love about seeing Arcade Fire live, irrespective of their video screens and other stage show extracurriculars, is how fun it is just to watch each member do their own thing. These guys change instruments like they’re playing musical chairs, and everyone brings their own unique playing style and emotional investment to each song and instrument. The setlist was a festival-abbreviated performance that leaned heavily on its most recent LP, the danceable Reflektor (8 songs), although its breakout 2004 LP, the now-classic Funeral (5 songs) and its high-concept 2011 Grammy-winning LP The Suburbs (4 songs) also received their due respect. Unfortunately (at least in my eyes), only one song (“No Cars Go”) was played from 2007’s Neon Bible. I personally don’t want to live in a world where “Intervention” and “Keep the Car Running” don’t get played at huge Arcade Fire gigs. But I’m just complaining because I can (and because that’s what neurotic New York Jews are supposed to do, right?). Bottom line: this was a top-notch festival headlining set from a great rock band in peak form incapable (as far as I can tell) of an off night who continue to impress and innovate.
After the obligatory, set-closing, throat-destroying “Wake Up” sing-along, we hightailed it over to the food court for some more unbelievable food that cost less than $10. While eating and strolling around the Food Court area, I happened upon the booth of a Tokyo Tex-Mex and BBQ restaurant named Drug-on Tacos. We ordered some drinks and for some reason I took a photo of the place. I honestly have no idea why, but when I reviewed my photos later, I noticed something that blew, and even as I write this several days after the epiphany, continues to blow, my mind. Perched on the customer-facing counter of the food tent is a copy of the New York Times bestselling children’s book Dragons Love Tacos written by Adam Rubin and illustrated by Daniel Salmieri. Adam is a close friend with whom I attended my first ever Phish shows in Cincinnati in 2003 and who is planning a Japan visit around New Year’s Eve. I’m honestly still floored by this coincidence (and potential intellectual property infringement lawsuit). Is Adam unknowingly big in Japan? How is it possible that I didn’t notice the book then? I didn’t though, because if I had, I know I would have emailed or called Adam immediately. Something compelled me to take this photo…
But enough about fluky hippie-trippy-dippy spiritual interpretation though, this review has already gone on long enough. Shortly after food and drinks, I had my face melted by a two-man band on the tiny Naeba Shokudo stage. The band was Inspector Cluzo (great reference), a French hard rock duo whose sound can best be described as unadulterated mayhem. Guitarist Laurent Lacrouts looks like Noel Fielding and plays guitar like the son of Steve Vai and Randy Rhoads. Drummer Matthew Jordan performs hard and fast (like me?), his limbs flapping around like an animated marionette. Together, the pair blended expert musicianship with reckless abandon, repeatedly whipping the crowd into controlled chaos and then abruptly stopping, only to start the cycle all over again when the crowd’s desire and decibel level were deemed appropriate. As far as I can tell, they have yet to perform in the United States but good God, when they do, I’ll be there. And I promise you will be too if you watch this short documentary about their Asian tour (the Naeba Shokudo set starts at the 5 minute mark):
After the tiring anarchy of Inspector Cluzo, we headed towards the exit gate to catch a bus back to the hotel. But first, we had to see the enormous afterparty area, which featured performances from up and coming bands on the Rookie a Go Go stage, live luchalibre wrestling, an unspeakably odd circus-like tent called the Crystal Palace, and the world’s smallest nightclub. People had set up so many chairs in front of the wrestling stage/cage/ring that it was impossible to get anywhere close. We danced for 15 minutes inside the ornate Crystal Palace with some Japanese folks while a DJ mixed ‘50s sock hop tunes over hip hop beats. Outside of the world’s smallest nightclub there was a red carpet and velvet rope, a bouncer, and a bartender. Inside was a closet-sized dance floor set off from a steel fence, behind which a shirtless man somehow spun records. Not at all creepy. I never got to the campsite so I don’t know what kind of scene was going on over there, but if I had to guess, there was probably something indescribable, unexpected, and unexplained. By the time we left the afterparty, I had been awake for almost 20 hours and I sounded like Harvey Fierstein.
During the 40 minute bumpy bus ride, wherein I unsuccessfully attempted to sleep while sitting cross-legged on the bus aisle floor by nestling my head in between the tiny foot of a passed out Japanese woman and a seatpole, I had some time for self-reflection. I was an irascibly tired, hilariously unsober 30-year-old American gaijin who looked and smelled uncouth and unkempt. 2003 Bonnaroo me would’ve probably still been living it up at the afterparty, before collapsing back at my campsite for a few hours of sweatsleep before the oppressive Tenneessee heat’s natural dusk alarm clock. But 2014 me was headed home so I could wake up in time to properly unwind at the Hotel Sporea’s rooftop onsen the next morning. Around the third or fourth time that the mountainous road terrain caused my head to slip off of the seatpole and bang back hard into said seatpole, I gave up trying to sleep. But I’ll never give up on the power of music to bring people together. And to take me home. And I will never stop bowing to Japanese Deadheads.
-Eric the Lev
[All photos and text, rambling, indecipherable, or otherwise, copyright Eric the Lev 2014.]