tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30546036772899300242023-11-16T10:50:20.676-05:00Color Me ImpressedA small recap and journal of my time in the land of the rising sun following Brooklyn's A-Bones, Paul Collins and a side trip to Lima Peru.SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3054603677289930024.post-35125079356588688872011-03-06T02:00:00.000-05:002014-10-25T15:51:05.140-04:00Paul Collins plays the Garden..no, not that one.<div style="clear: both;">
<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/WKqL5kxjqr5GXINUPxL0BA?feat=directlink"><img align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1XwlreSXdjLhaejoZ2Wlyr09D3iVKZ8P5wxqgMLG4GrZPLKlLKlof4V1wYlDlq-_5yyzGPM3lqM_x_o9z30ooIegWKaa8DzPG7-PRMe_Te11pYTGW0-pDFxGphqpCvuDwLo3HnFZ0_2xG/s800/00-Yutampo1-thumb.jpg" height="113" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" width="150" /></a>Today started much like most of my days did in Tokyo, at least this time around. Nestled within a layered futon floor mattress. As I slowly opened my eyes, my foot nudged the plastic hot water bottle (<em>yutampo</em>) thoughtfully provided the evening prior by Enocky's wife Junko. Kind woman that Junko. Still, even though I had that injection-molded sensory experience, something felt off. Pretty common I reasoned. Frequent flyers will be the first to tell you its always hard to believe you're halfway around the world those first few days.</div>
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That was quickly changed though when I went downstairs and heard the television on. Rapid fire announcers and high-pitched voices were pouring out like a sieve from the living room. Enocky greeted me and I asked him if all TV personalities spoke like this in real life. Thankfully he said no, the "act" was purely for television. He further elucidated saying they acted was this way because people expected all their TV hosts to act this way. I was about halfway though an "ahhh..." when I stopped short. If I was old TV comedian, Danny Thomas, I would have finished this phrase with a spit take. The culture: 100% Japanese...the reaction: 100% American.</div>
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<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/YgHfxB3W_N4CWm6KTYVJ7snZDRA3zBiT29kJlcMrI5Q?feat=directlink"><img align="right" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxJQzJVJB61tlm4vitKsp3Kdd7zx1yrP1Vp_nPL8vwyus1tEdbxCDZSZjq0bQgRrfhq89UOpnl1YvuBJFiIJkFoNho1KQnJiRZIH1kzkUBTmyvjrfF1oFUSLTO33nADgMXWj65e6MQ-kBw/s800/00B-Rear_Window-thumb.jpg" height="87" style="display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" width="150" /></a>As Jackie and the Cedrics were slated to play tonight, I left Mr. Enomoto to practice and went back upstairs after breakfast. It was cold, but quiet, outside the Enocky compound. The sun was shining bright so I took quick advantage of that by opening the shades. I noticed while the area is packed with many homes, I rarely, if ever, saw people going in and out of them. Something that I found common in Japan. I did stop staring outside though, lest someone think of me as a local <em>chikan</em> looking for a show. This IS Japan you know. I had all the information I needed. Much like yesterday, temperatures hovered steadily in the mid-40s (leaving me puzzled as to how I originally thought I was getting a break from the NY weather.)</div>
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Around 3pm or so the Rockin' one and I split for tonights venue, <a href="http://www.gar-den.in/pc/index.php" target="_blank">Garden</a>, located practically around the corner from Shelter in the same hip area known as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shimokitazawa" target="_blank">Shimokitazawa</a>. We maneuvered Enocky's little bread box in and out of downtown traffic, all the while listening to a CD of vintage sixties Japanese pop. As we drove past futuristic skyscrapers and weaved our way around fashionable teens shopping in Shimokitazawa, it struck me as incredibly amusing what walking anachronisms we were. More so after we parked and walked past clothing stores blasting classic American rock out of expensive sidewalk speakers. I mean, even Prince would make more sense.</div>
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<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/nn-ac1J1d5fnqnEC2Fzliw?feat=directlink"><img align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgK3DfChIRUYlvcwSvrCHZIyKB-aVSmcmwOyMqe31g_Vewnz1lt8J0bnMk02Qgrss7dPf5dJk-9KJnw2W9RN_Nhf6w7ajW4wvD1DZ5uV_kP2UX9pmg6vXlckD8kqnuJaph3bSFsAAyFzK2/s800/00C-Garden1-thumb.jpg" height="107" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" width="450" /></a><br style="clear: both;" />As we walked in nothing much was going on. A few club staffers ran around doing staffer stuff but other than that...zilch. Although it was obvious at the start that Garden, unlike Shelter, was a beast of an entirely different color. The club was large, and wide, and even had a proper dressing room. Nice. It reminded me of any small- to medium size music venue in, say, Long Island. All the horsepower minus the grit. It would be interesting to see a show here.</div>
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I was relieved to see that they would be erecting a small barrier between the stage and the crowd this time. That meant that I'd have a small, yet usable, crawlspace to move around in. True, it was about 2 feet wide...but hey, it was SOMETHING. After the Shelter experience, it makes getting a wider variety of shots a helluva lot easier.</div>
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<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/PIxUUvV-VldxSxRDP0nCHw?feat=directlink"><img align="right" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimAqpgKkZK5WcR4lLFaCB8EFjAyHgBLF1zaJw0Tmje-kquTZ96aS_2sFn4AetCjbcSA4DQNGH5KHrunJxrJUJl3dF9j-E9ipO9Pq7N1lfubvclDOSm9M_EGnsRtTcxnrwo1DuW797n1RYu/s800/02-JackieTune-thumb.jpg" height="100" style="display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" width="150" /></a>Enocky's bandmates showed up soon afterwards. Rockin' Jelly Bean [aka RJB], bass player for the Cedrics and underground artist extraordinaire, and Jackie T-Bird the little drummer boy himself. After hugs and well wishes wee passed around it was time for preparation. Jackie started tuning his snare as Paul and co started their soundcheck.</div>
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<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/sWN8EV3iaAyUGDaeieWELA?feat=directlink"><img align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1oFh9n_uMGa1JAPvMAgDCelhQ_w6u_Um6qDqLy8lhjFyeEpxHYCmeWSEejhzzuL0p9G8yLS-XzlNs-19CqGKODM0_mxM0V-oOuDg3fWgDqa0VEZoFVXS7y-5oCy-pnmWMZ3jQm9j6rybb/s800/01-PaulReh-thumb.jpg" height="100" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" width="150" /></a>The band ran through a few of their songs and, knowing that this show was to be recorded, made sure everything was as perfect as possible. The large stage was nice, but it did bring problems along with it. Mainly the multitude of lights. However, after a few adjustments by the lighting crew all was set to go. The girl responsible for the lights even went up to a surprised Paul afterwards and apologized for any inconvenience.</div>
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<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/1EFmym0uEPOwI9GqsPYkEA?feat=directlink"><img align="right" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheksTwmkNCIwEbYIN-BpXqGmI8ucqR0Xq9Vaf_V-pincLGP4WkMMODeQIFCwyK8DlVaJi6wJ9ItsQhr5TwwOq5_y27zoLglX0iPtwBw9ay53DaV8x7EKV6nEZo_KOuDrJxWYfENyRLx_YV/s800/03-PaulStoreA-thumb.jpg" height="100" style="display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" width="150" /></a>After the set, Paul hightailed it to a local record store performance/autograph session. Luckily, the store, Disc Union, was only a few blocks away. With Enocky's acoustic in hand, Paul ran through an abbreviated set and graciously thanked his fans for giving him the opportunity of playing in their country. Afterwards, the crowd of mostly younger fans, lined up happily to have their Nerves, Beat, solo records signed by someone who I'm sure they never expected to see, let alone play, in their lifetime. </div>
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<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/BEjxyaEbKb7Pr7fhekmglw?feat=directlink"><img align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dOTW6_b93I-gKIT_AtAfNxkDAwAvjbpoWXBostol-09Mc1IQrXdksSCvxBMNzyLX6Lo70RgXHvY_qMtsvLbkMonz1jamdR6Qa7iZi4rgUPP7XzkFGtjIMP9QcBgYijEGECXf5X57-ies/s800/05-PaulstoreC-thumb.jpg" height="100" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" width="150" /></a>Especially endearing was a young female fan who had happened to see Paul in the California leg of his tour, a few months earlier. And here she was again, back home this time, eagerly waiting to say hi again. Wearing an <a href="http://www.last.fm/music/The+Exploited" target="_blank">Exploited</a>-styled hairstyle, on first look I never would never have guessed she enjoyed the dulcet tones of power pop. But, unlike, say, New York or London, fashion and music in Japan are not mutually exclusive to one other. At least in the underground circles. Quite refreshing I must say.</div>
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<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/YRowBowsXUXEQTc5n-TJrA?feat=directlink"><img align="right" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hLxIVB8u9DpEC_dmE-D5xuqLtlbnxpFbLZnv2sIbm8D-rS12tJtRDvYD0Qg6nQl7pMTF8jKGPaI-uYR3uJtoEVanXsnKiElgJ5iZl3AI4CPS7nUwyzoTjTFcejyP1J_wrjNc4ib3Li9n/s800/07-RJBT-shirt-thumb.jpg" height="150" style="display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" width="100" /></a>Back inside the club, Jackie and the Cedrics were getting ready to hit the stage. RJB, Jackie and Enocky all joked around while changing into their trademark forest green tuxedo lounge suits. A well-wisher even stopped by and gave RJB a T-shirt signed by a video starlet which he was only to happy to proudly show off to everyone. Even Paul's bandmates were impressed.</div>
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<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/0RyQ9PoYDCb2kvJCE0Nj9w?feat=directlink"><img align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBCehDeYnLiZtFAj-H3BUKoVPNmwv2ys1-t5fEXEg28dDSSXbiCgZYGMLsfnRHnQLitXqPRXVqrUSPN2ZIrH5jMBP8-1OVqVUwSZ4LdsRsKOJCupZZqbNqsxox21DCMT1HuDirKrIdzvnf/s800/12-CedricsE-thumb.jpg" height="150" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" width="100" /></a>Having last seen them perform the previous time I was in Japan, I was certainly looking forward to a not just a good show but a great one to photograph. Channeling surf tunes via the 60s Eleki-Guitar stylings of Terry Terauchi, the Cedrics always put on an enormously fun show. RJB jumping around, Jackie pounding away and Enocky just blowing everyone away with his mastery of instrumental tunes, theres always something going on to force a smile on even the grimmest of faces.</div>
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<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/QQznH76_d_IMeQOBDrCpLw?feat=directlink"><img align="right" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNET55s7HCcJkRzug2LInLA54pvirmmYuKzBaxxIie917ZKI_cIlSbs3zwzpywzaQ6hOQCl_sNnbZXmJdOHp1cs-sZwiQWY6XlbB-bJTDmcEjt_ESW7M_bkPuDTuPpkkZ7Hf74LryNeXHh/s800/09-CedricsB-thumb.jpg" height="150" style="display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" width="100" /></a>Having been around since the early 90s, the band are sort of the respected father figures of the 60s beat scene in Tokyo. Nevertheless, they launch themselves off speakers and jump around like over-stimulated kids. And they're amazingly great people on top of that. If they ever come to NYC (and I hear there is something in the works) run, run, run to catch these guys. Just buy me a beer later...or better yet, buy THEM a beer.</div>
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<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/5LgFsLK3t0RWUh3AXyP2Yg?feat=directlink"><img align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwvpSeIzxo_BWZ-gTsArROw-Fj8hNWb3LfKyNVXMgvZaR_aM-TO400wEBQfFBsJOMINRLPdJ_oFJyjJGbbgTpvRkvUFBNcqber4oqk9zXzjCvhPCpGTXeouFzQ4nozwH7fx5FY4UjIx83/s800/17-CollinsD-thumb.jpg" height="100" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" width="150" /></a>After the Cedrics, the crowd was sufficiently amped up to see the headliners. With a days worth of rest, Paul and co. put on a strong set. Cranking up the intensity level a few more notches since the previous evening. The space between the stage proved to be extremely useful....except that I realized halfway through the set that if I stayed in one place too long I started to cramp up! Sucks to get old. While the chest-high barricade helped me, unfortunately it also lessened the chance of the crowd reaching out to egg on the band. A point quickly remedied though as the Paul, bass player Tim Buechler and lead guitarist Tim Schwieger each took turns breaching the divide and interacting with the crowd. </div>
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<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/uAD5ycpvsvhlGa7aPKCUxA?feat=directlink"><img align="right" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTXCQAJp9-clHz7gpe7OTNGE9GjOqgkkPw5zDZBkseWKTc9SKjna-3YKGagFQ0juS36KQ2s6a1jCiD2TLvBFuNKFrTyAwqhlJ9O31cBPfNa3rZgEdmePfS4K324g42CrNf6abIyj_rrdsS/s800/18-CollinsE-thumb.jpg" height="150" style="display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" width="100" /></a>The high point was, as in last nights set, when the band launched into The Beat's classic "I Wanna Be With a Rock & Roll Girl". Using the time-honored tactic of getting smiling, happy, dancing female fans onstage, the group had the whole place bopping along in no time. Amusingly bass play Tim was even able to get überfan mohawk girl to play as well. </div>
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<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/gg7cl-TYKsNZE-bNe1aXJg?feat=directlink"><img align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNP0Al_7BkpARj8nMg0bXJ9MLByWUxdD38O0KFGPBRM8PQtsS3I6BfREubkVTrsRfoIT7LzPYG4tZIvZj3h5mi5WNjitpkKvLWAM59fCCowf_cDl5ObTV24Bo_Ijrz9PVOqKMePCEaSfY4/s800/16-CollinsC-thumb.jpg" height="100" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" width="150" /></a>Just prior to the end of the set, Paul started telling the crowd about how happy he was to finally be able to come to Japan. However, realizing that he might not be understood, he asked Junichi Noro to jump onstage and translate. As I'm watching from the wings thinking about my next shot, all of a sudden I see Paul motioning me to come over. With Junichi in one arm, and me in the other, he then goes on to tell the whole story of how we got him there. Let me tell you, despite having been on stage before, being the object of scrutiny has never been one of my life goals. Still, it was a really a super nice gesture and something that I'll hold onto to for quite a while.</div>
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As the crowd filed out at the end of the show I looked around for Enocky or RJB. It turned out that, since Rockin' Jelly Bean lived in Osaka, he also needed a place to crash. And that place was, you got it, the same room I was using at Enocky's. Yes, sleepover at the Rockin' one's home. LOL. I got dibs on the good futon....and hands off my <em>yutampo</em>.</div>
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Having found the guys, it was time to hit the road. After a few warm goodbyes to my Tokyo pals in attendance, we piled into Enocky's bumper car and headed off. I had a Osaka-bound Shinkansen waiting for me at an ungodly hour tomorrow. God, do bands do this all the time?</div>
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<em>A few more photos </em><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/jCuyubamba/Japan2011B#" target="_blank">here</a>!</div>
<br class="final-break" style="clear: both;" />SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3054603677289930024.post-23968217241025274372011-03-05T09:11:00.001-05:002011-03-14T19:09:33.026-04:00Gimme Shelter<div style="clear: both;"><a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/TcTE1vHWZdM1BIRMuKLQbw?feat=directlink"><img align="right" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiufIaFaIsvjSvM-dokmVbU7PX8-s5lSSr8Rx3Ir_bSBc4aTRA9e3q5lMwOBy_ajqucgYWDLiepF9u8YIqPP-jrg7dRezSvdraezI_gHbjBjdhyVOVXYXHcWEF8FYPU1vC_BpTSNnF5ifl7/s800/01-Blackboard-thumb.jpg" style="display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" width="150" /></a>At around 4PM we arrived at the steps leading to the underground "live-house" known as Shelter. Located in the basement of a modern office building, its really easy to miss. In fact, when I first was here a couple of years ago, I must have walked past it about three times before I realized the basement steps were NOT for maintenance but for people entering the club.</div><div style="clear: both;"><br />
<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/D1w-Id7of11W-x3i6PC-xQ?feat=directlink"><img align="left" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrqnpNWzL8zg0bD6x2AK_QzKtXHgsuDiwc0MiGlcTSWcPlh3mtMCtZ5QVVzRlNGNdHK1omIY4BjOxE22Kp9S1MNu6Wgnkc71JxbCLVP-7Aay1rh5VIRmuKPp6yWqq0TCi5Ducauviw1qvj/s800/06-Sign-thumb.jpg" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" width="125" /></a>Amusingly, the sign for the club is just a little larger than the size of a blackboard you might have on your fridge. Drawn by hand for each show, and lit by a small bulb its not really meant for promoting its location. But, then again, thats part of the charm of it. You sort of have to know something is happening here. Not the type of place to get stragglers. A real throwback to the once-upon-a-time when clubs in Manhattan operated on similar low-key principles.</div><div style="clear: both;"><br />
<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/MU3C-u7HjX61LBzzShzsPQ?feat=directlink"><img align="right" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHMRVjE2JS7hovrp8HcGr5e5Pe2bsUAcCWjv99WPdf_2o-_fRTXrWvPxCbsVwzuMYx3YGtbJ8cQhqxQuMvSPWBqsWyWFRkAxGBNYvNJ1k6em4tG1xgiZSqkmRp0FN_L-2BfOzEb5u7oNh_/s800/03-sidewaysMaxwells-thumb1.jpg" style="display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" width="150" /></a>Shelter itself is a great place. Its an intimate room (sort of the size of Maxwells, except sideways) has an outstanding sound system, and has a real fantastic vibe. About the biggest downsides are the odd layout (once the place is filled you're there to stay) and the fact that Japanese bars/clubs still allow smoking indoors.</div><div style="clear: both;"><br />
Inside we all exchanged greetings and I reunited again with Daddy-O-Nov who along with Erostica boutique owner Junichi, arranged both Paul's tour and the A-Bones previous jaunt a couple of years ago. Both guys are huge longtime fans and supporters of pop punk and garage music in Tokyo....and swell fellows to boot.</div><div style="clear: both;"><br />
<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/0n0SYFRr4XTXFTuMlO8b8g?feat=directlink"><img align="left" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD6XkUw7NHSJpuaFdObxQonuszqrxU_P5vTKwgwIO9iCzJytguCmKagAJiKw0f4IyLQZ5U8BcNT_hxWdCYAMPthkFd0RPvhS9EQvDy5axjMeacMJJ8H0rhwhaF5Is5keXouQdo43-Nuffp/s800/05-PlaymatesWtch-thumb.jpg" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" width="100" /></a>As this was Paul's premiere in Japan, there was a larger group than usual hanging out prior to soundcheck. As soon as the guys stepped onto the unlit stage, a quick look around revealed various members of The Tweezers (ex-Teengenerate), The Playmates and The Cokes chatting amongst themselves. Yet, as soon as Paul & co. launched into a tune, all socializing quickly stopped and gazes were fixed intently on the stage.</div><div style="clear: both;"><br />
After soundcheck, dinner was at local Chinese restaurant that was near the venue. It truly was a funny pick by our guests, given that we were in Japan. But, it was cheap, nearby, and delicious...so who could argue with that? It reminded me of Nagoya a couple of years ago with the A-Bones, where after the gig, a Chinese restaurant was the only place we could find that was open. Which in turn led to an indelible memory of A-Bones' guitarist Bruce Bennett and Rockin' Jelly Bean (from Jackie and the Cedrics) singing the Gigantor theme to the puzzlement of the restaurant staff.</div><div style="clear: both;"><br />
Heading back, the gig had already started with the openers, The Cokes, taking the stage. Like much of Japan's young bands, this one was well-rehearsed with a very competent set of tunes. While they were certainly good, what created the most curious anticipation for me were the following two groups, The Tweezers and The Playmates.</div><div style="clear: both;"><br />
<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/bWjJnC-WSYrCbI8IWo43ZQ?feat=directlink"><img align="right" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_18YKxEZaQuwacrmh4_XJ6Y7z8XiWm6M2VpqwCzvmpiXuVRrMOV8IK-tq703VuapOfXLwTf4iahjRNgFkb9GgdZygqCMCubfINQP14do7dKsO0_FBHha1zQ4M_nX8rjGIEQm6CJ2MAGPs/s800/07-Tweezers-thumb.jpg" style="display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" width="150" /></a>The Tweezers were one of the power pop bands that were formed from the ashes of Teengenerate. The other being The Raydios. The only constant in both, guitar player Fifi, also owns a local rock bar/hangout in Shimokitazawa called Poor Cow that has an amazing collection of rock and punk posters and ephemera lining the walls. To say he's a busy guy is to put it mildly. The band put on a powerful show and it was obvious they do have a strong following. As one of my Tokyo pals put it, "they're the band most of the young kids are into." All-in-all a very enjoyable set.</div><div style="clear: both;"><br />
<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/dCl_1lo9SbFj-ijD_WdS7g?feat=directlink"><img align="left" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaGtl9YeN4yCaM7rlIYmJxb9oN8Xm0t7RhykDF03J1cHckeFQD6YpKcuwHifPgAH4ru-8nYNbBqrEyCgG7MC8ol-GrHWgoolnttvM0UGOnNnaEEQ64cYS69ToVHG3NW_CzFNHxT4MtBapi/s800/08-PLaymatesStage1-thumb.jpg" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" width="150" /></a>The Playmates. What can I say about them? A incredibly melodic group that straddles the line between killer guitar-driven power pop and quiet, yet still hummable melodies. Having heard a few disks by these guys I was more than eager to hear if they could pull off their complex mix of melodies and backing vocals in a live setting. Which, despite the fact that are a three-piece, they were able to do with what seemed like little effort. Truly an amazing, amazing band.</div><div style="clear: both;"><br />
By this time the crowd was starting to get a little fiesty up front and soon after I got my Playmates shots I headed to the backstage area and got the one photo perk that traveling overseas affords one....stage access. A boon when things start getting a little too intense up front.</div><div style="clear: both;"><br />
<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/tqqNHs6zF-TpIYVWEOLxww?feat=directlink"><img align="right" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmzwEW4p6ZZxq55e7jkzqtGGl7NWWg_k0HNq3ueqM8BxF_fnyvS8ThFHdCsM_dxa0-LXcVZDQApzAcybl-4HNeqEUMO3F7M3CeefUNasnUhFG8pM8G2Iv4Hk67v8elZXlMyMvBm41Jd3AU/s800/11-PaulPlay03-thumb.jpg" style="display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" width="150" /></a>Paul and band hit the stage shorty after and kicked off the set with the Nerves' "Paper Dolls". Seeing them play with an intense determination, it was amazing to compare them to the fellows I saw before at the restaurant. A little jet-lagged but nevertheless still in good spirits. The band ran through Nerves, Beat and solo Collins material one after one until literally everything you expected to hear was covered. Compared to the sets played locally, Japan got what seemed like a little longer set. And rightfully so. I mean, when will they around these parts again? Next month?</div><div style="clear: both;"><br />
<a class="image-link" href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/uQ4LYxIU2oXbBo9nAGD_zg?feat=directlink"><img align="left" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikfNGGv113vKYC3nBJFKCEWUWyFyApGRwJXFdM_LT5tsJuGQ5NBKxUDZl7Qg-KSwtlOIHrDTQcD01wrbSrw_Ht_BHJf38aOl28eI9iSf165pjIaBL68cGG_Ds2DJiBaDxphyphenhyphen8UaLUVV7vu/s800/12-Toast-thumb.jpg" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" width="150" /></a>After most of the crowd left, a small welcoming party was set up with free beer, but having a heavy schedule ahead, I split early and caught a ride back to Enockys pad. Hangovers and shooting in a crowded club are NOT a good combination. Apparently we weren't the only ones to feel that way as we passed a tired, but content Paul waiting for his ride as we exited the club.</div><div style="clear: both;"><br />
Onto night two!</div><br class="final-break" style="clear: both;" />SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3054603677289930024.post-86062451651530745442011-03-04T08:04:00.000-05:002011-03-12T22:31:41.849-05:00Back to the Future<p style="clear: both">Well, when I went to see the legendary <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Beat_(American_band)" target="_blank">Paul Collins Beat</a> sometime last spring, I have to admit I was somewhat curious. Here we had an amazing songwriter who had sort of laid low after the end of his most recognized period in the late 70s/early 80s. Sure he put out an occasional release but as common with very talented people he explored various styles since. So when I had heard from a friend that he had recently put on a stellar show, showcasing his early more poppier material, I knew I had to check him out.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/8MzLXrpY2NMqrol-SXyNlg?feat=directlink" class="image-link"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhNu4jROfBPqzOw4pAc3ngxGyP3rBz3A53IsIzpb0rH95urfNCRYjqJIB8enWl6Woc7RxpdAI2apaIYx7Mf4XucmSDxKjTLG62NcrKoY7pBh9Em3G4mKJUlKqHEd1m9HfLtwGJATZz47f/s800/00A-JayPoster-thumb.jpg" height="155" align="left" width="100" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>The subsequent performance at Southpaw in Park Slope, Brooklyn was quite a revelation. Not only did he do his most famous material, but also delivered them in a gruffer, yet still, an authentic, and passionate way. It was like someone had awoken him Rumplestilskin-like from under a stage or something, and reminded him that he had to play a gig that night.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/KlYaaasFnG4yKOqy2VD-sg?feat=directlink" class="image-link"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzxkprT2A9MBmEKzXs7OQROGBl8EId9lp9d1ZlpnwayYSH_V8fhuZufPt9zR-z0VP1mTbmpZes-0qTmmSr2zXvIk1_B_UVj3bjvCVCaFZIPAdq2WE1ht7xJ8qyLt6b2QMH4xrheD5H5j3G/s800/00B-paul_450-thumb.jpg" height="217" align="right" width="155" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>After the show I spoke to Paul. Long story short, a kernel of a crazy idea in my head at that time actually led to having Paul and my Japan promoter pal reach an agreement for a small Japanese tour. Within a short while, dates were set, posters made (by the great Rockin' Jelly Bean) and much to Paul's delight, he was set for his first-ever tour of Japan. Something which he mentioned he had always dreamed of doing but was never able to find a way to set up.</p><p style="clear: both">Naturally, since I got the ball rolling, my J-pals asked if I was coming along. But, having been unemployed for about a year at that point, the opportunities seemed slim at best. It was tough to croak out a "ummmm, we'll see".</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/sCRF17xb4_NTrdqiMzYqFA?feat=directlink" class="image-link"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9FKNiWCRGXcgj_A_GuU31LIOrGuFKNuyH2UKu7VLGMlrBerWWfOcQBX9PuZc3i-YQl_TfNZyAMj4aajIqN8blTB4_N34XtyyIxCur8msW14Tx5cFdoAImHjWbauGG5FnPhrHdueA2M8vO/s800/00-flight-thumb.jpg" height="113" align="left" width="150" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>That was about 7 months ago. And now I find myself sitting on a 777 heading to Tokyo's Haneda airport chomping on a somewhat passable tuna sandwich. In the space of those few months, the stars, planets, auras, whatever you want to call 'em,conspired with each in order to make this far-fetched dream come true. Nutted by reality indeed.</p><p style="clear: both">Luckily, Rockin' Enocky, of the very cool combo <a href="http://www.rockinjellybean.com/cgi-bin/cedrics_show/diary.cgi" target="_blank">Jackie and the Cedrics</a>, had graciously offered to put me up should I ever return to visit. So, as I stepped off the plane in Tokyo the first thing I scanned for in the assembled folks waiting at the other side of customs, was his distinctive pair of specs.</p><p style="clear: both">Enocky was as charming and funny as I remembered him. A very mild and unassuming figure that belies his mastery of the guitar. A man certainly at home with his music, and now, with his just-as-charming wife Junko. We easily fell into a conversation of music, guitars, and the Cedrics, on our ride back to his home.</p><p style="clear: both">As we wound through the small streets near his home, I was once again amazed how people, cars, and bikes all co-existed on a road the width of my living room in Astoria. Enocky's car helped. It was the Japanese version of an regular van 'cept with a snub nose and compacted about 3/4 in all directions. Like a rolling Richard Scarry <a href="http://dailyautomotive.net/2010/12/27/suzuki-mr-wagon-2011/" target="_blank">vehicle</a>.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/JgVOPR9VMSknMBpo5DBYhw?feat=directlink" class="image-link"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfpBdwUhN0BE-IGzgEgQmsonacaoKmX2399Xllc7j4tDN_sLG-Le61IRmQSrcqK4QPXFNzZYvKYDBu0eak1lvx-XijcIthHcvvGe4MMDMEyc69xQOdxVB6xnSa5SQApl-mG9Afc75hDtgM/s800/01-EnockyMat-thumb.jpg" height="150" align="right" width="100" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>While it was wonderful to see Enocky and meet Junko, what I was really looking forward to was crashing. I was previously told I was getting an entire room and futon to myself, which I found beyond ideal. After years of passing out on my wooden living room floor, having an actual cushion was almost like being spoiled (and yes, I do have proper bed, thank you very much.)</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/38QvUUcnX9ZphNfqoHy9CQ?feat=directlink" class="image-link"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ43IgSByJcG8n3CNh-PDqCoErMD2AtBxn9_zHH0h5A4jFODaIL1FUdiEplir3GFB8mvbFVm3zmFJCTeYnKpIMwhMO0R4UtiSQrodDMCKCD38nAu2w1WvRmRJ-V1xUgEeBeBKiWHOYoQSF/s800/02-EnockyGuitar-thumb.jpg" height="150" align="left" width="100" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>After a good nights rest. I awoke to find the Enomotos in the kitchen. Enocky mentioned that he was going to lend Paul his acoustic for an in-store appearance the following day. So naturally he was in the middle of putting said guitar though its paces. Making sure that everything—the tuning, the tone, the weight—was all befitting a man of Paul's pedigree. All while their finch, Pio-chan, merrily tweeted away in the background. Sometimes even perching on Enocky's head. Talk about a Kodak moment.</p><p style="clear: both">After successfully maneuvering the Japanese shower "room", I headed out with the Rockin' one, guitar in hand, for a short walk and then meet up with the band at their soundcheck at Shelter.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/PAdR06K04hZY3x-R8x5Plw?feat=directlink" class="image-link"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ-kOWjRfpIiCD1mZgFXuzMD4tENcS3VOvM5D0QLenmEYo3vS7xLidQypxJefF-um-lkXlghJRtZwADo5-gf4ZtyEwSgHwkx0EuDo5G1MfeSawG_9fafhhWMLPl7Zogc-hFiScD6fYAn-d/s800/03-EnockyRestrnt1-thumb1.jpg" height="101" align="right" width="150" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>Enocky's neighborhood was much like many in Japan, narrow streets with mixtures of mom and pop businesses side by side with more recent arrivals like restaurants, and fast food joints. In fact, I was fooled by one restaurant which had an "antique" look to it. Only to find out that it was new and made to LOOK old. Silly tourist is me. </p><p style="clear: both">The area had a nice older feel to it though. It was obvious that this wasn't a "hip" area but one that had withstood the trends throughout the years, only to grudgingly accept one or two.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/wNTxJRaKAydUpkKUlY_aow?feat=directlink" class="image-link"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjl8-BojOJIzybO6-BcZxAMwYZNJ6WSKR11mZpJfV8j3Z4u6QCFxlfiWjwDTOIDgLfggRyyA3M8EdnozgmmwMDXzGKQDr2KXN5HCs38YRAfEzePX3YUBEV9QNaepkcho-19lUhG80Z0sEL/s800/05-FishingHole-thumb.jpg" height="104" align="left" width="155" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>A real interesting spot we came across originally looked like a pool. Enocky explained that this was one of the last areas in Tokyo that provided fishing for anyone who needed to unwind. For a price of course. He added that it was not uncommon to see businessmen in full suits sitting quietly with a pole in their hand. No doubt wishing their "satcho" would become the next over-work casualty.</p><p style="clear: both">While we had originally scheduled to meet the others at Shelter at 4PM, the cold weather made us decide to put the kabosh on the strollin' and high tail it to Shimokitazawa.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/mrWrhrxjW8n6oAr0JurCKw?feat=directlink" class="image-link"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3yo7JVo3tlL1qJXQStw1Z7Mn7BeWgT6oZFVAY58aH9k-Qm8uoviTMjD-7r58c56HgXwJoDnAO6ykPIyhBWq9A1SnFlh8hwsknrLr4CvoywdM-v-HRhe2J-02U9uyKJbbzbVg9vk5b86GB/s800/06-DiskUnionShimo-thumb.jpg" height="110" align="right" width="165" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>Once there, we decide to kill some more time at the local record store, Disk Union. DU is one of the largest "chains" in Japan but unlike, say, HMV, the late-Virgin or Tower, they actually seem to care about what they stocked. Used records and DVDs sat comfortably alongside new items. Some larger stores in Shinjuku and such even had entire floors based on specific genres. The one we were at in Shinokitazawa was formidable.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/C3ma-V2jgM0hqQB1PctXYg?feat=directlink" class="image-link"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHt1dCTUho7EJ9L3OokYrEIW9cDEQM6Mhz4FlIve62r-MdKEps5BCtTyC7C5S3PHEDgGzabcGzWktwpxvZO0t4m1jFsiolDEV1kgnL9Qm_92dKd68ky07MNUCAAFhOegob49cnU_qwQbY7/s800/07-DiskUnionOptNrve-thumb.jpg" height="150" align="right" width="100" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>I mean, lookee what I found. The NY garage fans will know this one. 400yen ($4.80) a bargain. Sorry Bobby, Frank and Tony...<br /><br /></p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/FXkeOZ_x78kK3F5zdW5tqg?feat=directlink" class="image-link"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq74bgP6EpmdsSYpJ02QvH0OZlOrqQ6Cs01yo7_Q3ABUcQejmrtmHf9OjbCM7GmbfX7i0MbuJZDxa6n_ee5ON-3kUjPfeYYlGxV9YVNgLpbiGoq7tvOsJLBOfd57oYOvQ7QKYna2K7-Yhq/s800/08-DiskUnionEnocky-thumb.jpg" height="225" align="left" width="150" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>OK, Mr Enocky, lets head to Shelter....</p><br class='final-break' style='clear: both' />SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3054603677289930024.post-79642727234198428792010-04-24T20:45:00.002-04:002010-04-24T21:51:12.041-04:00If This Is Tuesday, It Must Be Miraflores<p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-LZ54DYsGg-CsVwUpwVtpATlUZsOfci0Q4dUg8q8HN_9r7isnhygZqJN3ogf9r5T6GCmtLATEEJajkITR69a3TltRD6xfKT8vIvsSnMla7vpuwUb2xG9I3elXBDD6DuVRWXgg4Vtcu1a/s800/IMG_1.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil0i29FhrRxJFMsSS8An2vaWtr2zDDHQSuXP1Ez9_a4nPOdw3CbEkFv1MdfSoUSVFLkVzGhYBEU-5b0vXwtL5mHde-bQKdgINVc-sOPi17PT8xx4CUYxIfiW8PPlpH3eYNWZfJov2zCvW0/s800/IMG_1-thumb.jpg" height="113" align="left" width="150" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>After passing another night at the old house in the Lince district, I did have an overriding thought. If one ever fancied living in the 1930's this is the place for you. I considered myself lucky that even though there was no hot water, there was still electricity and phone. Forget about cable or Wi-Fi. Imminent demolition does have its disadvantages.</p><p style="clear: both">Its a humbling experience to have to not just function but also do it with a smile on your mug, which a majority of Limeños I've met seem to do. This despite quite difficult conditions that would frustrate nine out of ten US urban dwellers. Most of the modest-income folks I've met are kind, helpful and quick with a joke (or a light up your smoke). Especially the cab drivers. </p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT7RDXS6Bk0HLsID8x4kmb-j4GV-iqLINrnQR5Uk6CpiP9eoPe5gIg31aTZQdT0b6ctMt5YAwmsdojhqGvOBLkkJ1nXFqYTGZ59lfNavQ5aeHZudXY-EFdbtmLXnrhxrsTD0vIqQHZWw7g/s800/IMG_6843.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMd2d5-uHr7413UwkprQBgDJWSMDxhxcajOwP7z7eYybgdNk8_51Kz0L-I3DbKUaNcci1b97I-p_qTmow9b53SleOqF3GM_m902fTidJuIA_kjDbzn3p_l-J6HdAunndbF1hI8mW3_0Z13/s800/IMG_6843-thumb.jpg" height="113" align="right" width="150" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>As I mentioned in my last post, these folks putter around in cars of varying makes and conditions either making a living or supplementing a meager income. Deisel-driven desperados. In fact, while watching traffic from the street, you wonder how anyone in Peru makes it past 20 years old. However, to my surprise, sitting inside a cab is a totally different experience. While you still are subjected to all manners of g-forces as you thread your way in and out of lanes, one oddly tends to develop a sort of zen way about it. After your initial stroke-inducing ride, each succeeding one becomes less so. I owe that to watching the driver. Having attained a ninja-like level of defensive driving skills unattainable stateside, it's clear the driver is the road and the road is your driver. I quickly learned to relax, sit back, look out the window and fork over my 6 soles to Obi-Wan.</p><p style="clear: both">Today the cab dropped us off at Peru's House of Graft...er, Congress. With the appropriately located Museum of the Inquisition alongside, it was a great place to start our walk that day.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMgj7MuAnAGmWuxqqCCie0lIri9Tf-WDKOb9W0J0xX-CeHVQXnL1iVuXfrvh3NqS-qackQvugOMzXvXHOSnz8GLgAQdgI73AATWFnyExdzaGMsa3cjmE4eFVPFhN5jgB45IFEN_bVvmYF-/s800/IMG_3.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFa6ty8sSnU0VZxJT5S5725plRrIQnn_dxAfQ1kJd9ioHPLqZDhyphenhyphenOnFS2ahk4mwyxcUjLtDbhfe3Fq-pfI1V1vteNPOy5JLBN6Y43ZvneMkXethjLXZxlTG5pvsKyGJub7MySUxcHl92DH/s800/IMG_3-thumb.jpg" height="234" align="left" width="175" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>Opting for the Museum of the Inquisition (for a peppy, clear your head, start) we walked in and through this massive wooden entranceway. The inside was quiet which, considering the subject matter, kind of caught me by surprise. Another odd thing was that I had not seen any foreign tourists since arriving in Peru. No sooner had that thought entered my mind when, as luck would have, it a tall young fellow in shorts and clean white sneakers walked in. I love it when things like that happen.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtYnEPXhgFSFyLU6oPEO56fsDN4OZW0uDwEsuCPNvAzS64xjOSFl7gU7eXlEEjujjojqLOlENp5LbWtQ38JYogO-3e8qHx93F1atF6kSieLP_s3hjG3g-JIQr9z8XFASRvqxlUz8kXd207/s800/IMG_4.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrOmzWOxls9BA3PYsrP64UQl2D6ntFejITd_-nFr1G1Y5YVZBF0WrmtoT65XGr_xHeT75NDUoGgM_RQaBZldSMbQfrcg1LHrQWBvFK-wTm-eMEH-Y3nFzltIuN43QtPClWZFf_US1KRPLR/s800/IMG_4-thumb.jpg" height="75" align="left" width="100" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>We joined the only other Spanish speaking person there, a sole Chilean woman, for a small three person group. Our guide was this middle age woman who despite her knowledge on the subject, clearly had led one too many groups on tour. She recited her script that with the feigned interest of someone who I'm sure wondered why she ever bothered to spend all those years in school studying for her masters. I totally felt like apologizing.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4rYk8GBru2DJr-IBFNwXpfOCrSigqGOgqA3JFd2nk8GhGorWnZkwjAmS1LrC9t203bdJ3780nw7fffh0QalM0Ho8p-LmiTDN0AoP7qhAYJDEoA5d1rlFMBN36YSfPyYeM0y91tah4ClRb/s800/IMG_6866.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsjA9pHsBcaGAclxL_exsz0YckJpFTWhiLzYm-91LO1-aLOIyHQtOb8nhg9bwowXRpqI97zmLjIiVaYDJozPYmr8U8cIaeUQr1drCbjU1fO6ftRCvFuvCI8iPWpmNDhQ3KHSPHLQKzyezf/s800/IMG_6866-thumb.jpg" height="234" align="right" width="175" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>The information itself was really interesting but the wax exhibits resembled a second-rate version of a Ripleys exhibit. I figured Inquisition + Latin American museum = lots of fun! Alas, the joint was just good when it could have been really great. Apparently my mom told me that when she visited it many years back it was much more lurid and shocking. Which sort of made me pull a double-take and wonder why she wanted to return—with me in tow, no less. We chalked up the toning down thing to efforts to make it more family, or tourist, friendly. Which when you think about it, sort of defeats the purpose of having a museum on this in the first place.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcE0eOd3_mUlL-S6STV0P1R0iXj3tTgSYnl9O2VnbVLIUAEiFrmXZ1NiC8Oe1aNbWYIMayxiqWo93BgTCJpr3DQ9YUObpQXoTY1hRcVJY-6y-KE-Uv27xh0Y1ToyWGk2HPjdV0n5eySADp/s800/IMG_6881.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDNQmxJU9-pNYxv1G7BgyL762CuzD9HT5poCBqMJQKmvBZjaVPSR2EGeUDnrfiumCWWN40IqSmyMcobSc5xX_x08HtKy0fZRnSaNcG558xnHFBoN5PRLImthbKGnXpIpFn7M92zuY6xLYg/s800/IMG_6881-thumb.jpg" height="132" align="left" width="175" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>Grabbing gore-hungry mom we then walked across the street to the heavily-guarded congress. Having seen the heavy artillery pulled out on occasion in Manhattan I wasn't too phased to see these guys planted all around the perimeter of the building. What was odd was the intensity of these soldiers. You could just tell these guys were a hair trigger away from spraying the street with an AK-47 if need be. Even hyper-alert is too mild a term to use here. </p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7l2DBFN1M3NlMy7Bel6fRkMJSvyp1mRFDKNBiEYnqXjvmUZ5r3ajoAcayzScMjN7KkW3PMFq7XhZMzYL_h9JlSWz1spUm_uPT4TK3SJSb7ORH57RSjegSOxPIh1iWWzMK4H7wvtCi1E6L/s800/IMG_6906.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkaWDvS9_6wjYWvze3TkqX8KWQJUkqXNONcRvpQGtQ4JFKJ50nNZp4Ac5TS_kBgxY80UsMFZAIp5icuRPSH7mYIOoMggIAvKbLFzKYSkcjj5Pb5LjXGjd4y6cdrORboFptZ9rr6s6V2MIK/s800/IMG_6906-thumb.jpg" height="132" align="right" width="175" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>After the intense staredowns just walking past the building I was surprised to find out we could actually go inside for a guided tour. A quick flash of our IDs got us past the gate and a walk through a 15-year-old metal detector got us in. Just like that. One inside we were met by an affable young chap who clearly was a history buff in training. He knew the most arcane names and dates which, considering the Spanish custom of commonly using middle names, is no small feat. I easily pictured him getting picked on for being the first to name Ricardo Francisco Palma's mother's dog or something like that. His earnestness though was endearing. It was hard not to like the kid. He even volunteered to shoot photos at each room we stopped in. A personal tripod. I just hope he stays positive and doesn't run off to join some ad-hoc Woody Allen-led guerilla group when he realizes the true nature of Peruvian politics.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCgZLVPEWwzDRsdGYCK49mwpPi_p0CV6fxN9uKNCiZvBt-lMNcZ5npcbBJ2p6vDaOdBu40tm5SqqmZ9kvP5uvjIUf4miZdopJFkApapsL5jKyGZybCHYUjuxszg1Il7ZWnbxlOkbLySU7/s800/IMG_6938.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6UNlUonZkF60NXoZllkVVjdB7Mimu3sBlmtnlqKv87LsSoBLYgB9dt9T6xT0L3ZgrK7osEEPdTaOHAF4UcczzTO20r-U0Q0F0Epdtf2eqwV1flunTcw-HbWojeGdMMhoFJi3PuTkw9R0p/s800/IMG_6938-thumb.jpg" height="132" align="left" width="175" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>After the tour, we decided on something to eat and took a walk to a local tavern called Bar Cordano. Located right across from what was the train station building, Bar Cordano is one of those hundred year old places that my mom even remembered eating in her youth as well as her adulthood. Amazingly, it remained untouched. Including the waiter. The fellow was easily in his 70s and shuffled slowly along in the most casual manner. Unbeknownst to me I ordered the house specialty. A ham sandwich topped with shredded, pickled, red onion named Jamón al Dia (Ham of the Day). Needless to say it was incredible. Eschewing the traditional Cusqueño beer, I washed it down with an Inca Cola. The beer can wait.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFLVnXfACN-gD_-gAzy0_qyUMMZv8VwpVqWDBZdefFyUCnq3CAbhUFpLKLO8CECZU193qEfOhpcsnogNjUWLppms8baLtCCPKydKnccTv_UyPIYpyl9bW41vPO3srq0PXsCdYErFbKib_/s800/IMG_6950.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7bB6nL1YEV3Fj-0aW4fPYmnF_BnrpBTlSRHaEMQ1UgRQuDZzf-tSuGBH4suKKQ_Q-DimhXnzYLwSEwGm4_CefX9fBDUVQcrrnOw1Pjrn7NW3wEHk0oefbjJj5GtM2IxNHA59EDvklCMQ5/s800/IMG_6950-thumb.jpg" height="200" align="right" width="150" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>Since we were so near the Plaza Mayor we hoofed it over there and just took in the grand space. Whenever one sees a photo of Lima, nine out of ten times this is the place you see. Between Macchu Picchu and this Plaza no place is more photographed. And rightly so. With parts dating back to the time of the Spanish conquest in the mid-1500's its stunning in both its impact and history.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU_EgF5G4jx2Wdqyy95YDHjIr5tAo8ugnFWhyphenhyphen4bHE5fHtsGEDrndOgH3b3oBMFAFi8GeOHN2fkfVMNV6Zxv7R4uxYAmnk8ER40GZwAxRxkgBONxq8TFg3m5pZ2bz_PNrt05crSQqPoIt8n/s800/IMG_6963.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcele_tjvUZdSdjUNMtrLgDVW-jHJ7QbvvwKkDmLwW7jCM8zoAtzWwIg0VoTJAefapngIsP4-HeaTiSvzdDckKDpb2VzKlRcPhgfUN_DJPHA3AX9MtkKR8mPnw0SRQttRcAkYmY8O17f8F/s800/IMG_6963-thumb.jpg" height="200" align="left" width="150" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>So, naturally, this is where you'll find every tourist. And every person trying to separate said tourist from his cash. From going to seeing none to being inundated by them in the space of a few hours was a bit of a shock to say they least. It wasn't long before I found myself taking a photo in front of a stuffed Llama and a criollo dressed like a fake herder. When in Rome...</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwFvhBxoRVhWsNOpR7VtPz3ShU2ZeozUvAIeBGaIC84l8FWX5jRAY0TnGCh4az_elTmnegJLQtvZLkG5j93-LCu94O0dKNncG5iTfk41MMq2mxx5WB9r1Z9CfzI-cijVoV79yzkp15Bgqm/s800/IMG_6969.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXvXWb42Wg7MDL4WK2VzRaCi9C9fHaM-BFKVqXKVWU7QhR5db-bdd3oYddyNImTyyozLpdmLVNzMsHlNnOgbKo2Ej6mzZm_ho1MWxvCJIpYmJ1U2KCofQHEt6pRvQFuKST0CLWw7FoR4OK/s800/IMG_6969-thumb.jpg" height="113" align="right" width="150" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>Actually, what got most of my attention in this part of town was the myriad of fast food and retail stores. All in that "almost-got-that-stateside-look-but-it-wouldn't-be-for-not-trying" look. Like the stores in Tokyo, I'm endlessly fascinated with seeing how other countries appropriate cultures. From the names down to the little figures that they use as corporate iconography. So while tourists were taking photos of ancient cathedrals I'm shooting fast food signs. I received more than my fare share of "loco tourista" looks.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieCA5lzyY7RJs31wT7NRv4rKQAwugadrSaNMFvxUhGewaES35W7kxO12dy5F1RP9JBWoSRtuwZaX40QTvCusPw680_FewjtUVjN9On8kSVhieSFWTvsOKzDhMfEVfztGWm3-8k_6PjCYQ4/s800/IMG_6975.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJVECUJGn_B5sCqKDEu8YkXV7Fzddvkt9Kgm6PfSa7S-FrfAAgiIwNQoq-3kLMKnzsezO6upG4Hj9846zBHbkKsbRJU7GpSyMRKPL_G-tKWd8wTcObeKO1X7qCAFnxCnHSdXVz1LVh_TWW/s800/IMG_6975-thumb.jpg" height="234" align="left" width="175" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>One of the amazing things I witnessed was how much stuff can be piled onto movable carts. Why stop at a cart I figured...just make a suit with tons of clips and waddle down any thoroughfare. But these carts and small news kiosks are everywhere. Japan might have the vending machine thing down to every block but Peru has the flesh and blood equivalent. They even give directions. Although they do look at you funny when you ask for the price of a chocolate bar. No doubt they figure, whats with this cholo, doesn't he know this?</p><p style="clear: both">After correcting a quick misstep into a sex-themed shopping gallery we headed to the hip neighborhood, Barranco, to meet the rest of the family for some "anticuchos". </p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5UmtjGl9YWV2Z3HE3_j1xs3EylEbLeCX3ym2JFjD_mOi0J0MrIyII7Su-Mwcn4c7YABhTnmWNeZnic4Hvnb1gAUzRaY5TQP4GPOynR6oG2r-R_m4fXHvRbNQrsGVELZb5UttwrHyIv40/s800/IMG_6989.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRuTs2EFG2Mqs0NKxQo_X4e8JGHxdPwzJjA2QQLxZqmfOOr9XEipbl2wWj2gZmJbZHoS3mQkJR2T7SHO3Ow1mSgvuYxXj8_oCxGrcIzot0d6FwpLYBWxzk2C8M5qMjJyWmbxJpTrCvAo4G/s800/IMG_6989-thumb.jpg" height="200" align="right" width="150" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>Now anticuchos are tradionally meat skewers made of beef heart. In fact my mom used to make them until I found out what they were and decided to pass on them ever since. Mom thankfully appeased the yanqui in me by making steak kabobs while she and dad continued with the original. To my relief I found that this place not only made original version but also chicken, fish, and veggie too I think. Again, no doubt to appease the tourists who flocked here by the dozens. I opted for chicken.</p><p style="clear: both">Well, after a beer and some nudging by my aunt, I was talked into trying a small piece of her heart kabob. I figured, heck, if I'm here I should at least give it a go. It was flavorful and had a strong taste. Much like I remembered eating when I was a kid. Mom wasn't impressed. She said these were older cows and that meant tougher meat. The NY cuts were decidedly softer. That was one bit of clearing up I really didn't need to know.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIhs2qSYW8y4U_4TyWdyTzQ1wTzBCspPurGV8yoP7kN4RfuDivbezWXKhIML4eywM88e7RFoptIyRmSge7hKQAvKvnHlm9Qt0H_QX7Mhn2a_aEkSC9zp6_6Db2ph1IZCVX074MkpkL4tHs/s800/IMG_5.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkczXlrH1KBTqa5TkNLG27ATSSK-tO-e3GBqLe4myWqRmc5hZadFVVZtz92-NZDU6IOEspK1VTyjIuVR0EkK5_Ln3ZqY9irE6rfsigY8SodL7Ve_xkVtVujLAf2QCPwOgN_L8Oxvcq7TaZ/s800/IMG_5-thumb1.jpg" height="113" align="left" width="150" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>Dinner (and the day) ended with some sweet potato fritters in syrup called "picarones". Excellent way to close the night. That is, until I was approached by a guy in clown-y drag who acted goofy and then asked for change outside the restaurant. After giving him the patented NY-brush off, I was surprised to suddenly find my aunt swoop down and escort me away. When I asked her what was up she said she figured I needed help. I thanked her but reminded her that I failed to keep a clown with makeup and fake boobs away from me in Lima then by all rights I would most likely be dead in NY by now. Lower East Side, 1985, anyone?</p><p style="clear: both">More pix on this <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/jCuyubamba/Peru2?feat=directlink">link</a>! Last post updated with an additional photo link as well</p>SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3054603677289930024.post-88402239847144857322010-04-18T18:30:00.001-04:002010-04-24T21:29:54.850-04:00Nowhere is my Home<p style="clear: both">Well, not really, but I thought it would be a pithy way to start out this blog entry. New York is obviously my home, and while I was born in New York City, I do have the cultural confusions and paradoxes visited upon most first generation immigrant kids. While my Peruvian parents did a pretty good job Americanizing me, after many years they suddenly had their "I should have had a V-8!" moment. That is, in their haste to integrate me, they had forgotten to teach me much about my heritage. Oops. However, repatriating me to traditional Peruvian ways was harder than they thought. Those awful Spanish cartoons had nothing on Speed Racer, The Impossibles and their ilk. Not only that, I didn't get the music, the culture seemed odd—but the food was good (although some dishes had me shaking my head in disbelief.)</p><p style="clear: both">Well, eventually mom and pop gave up and it was only my own unending curiosity that eventually led me back to discovering more about my past. It was a slow process that often confounded me as much as enlightened me. Eventually I reached the unescapable conclusion that I had to visit Peru. Still, I put it off. Eventually, after stalling for several years, a well-timed layoff finally gave me the chance to take the plunge.</p><p style="clear: both">This trip was also arranged as way to have my mom not just meet her family, but also work through the final arrangements of a real estate issue involving the family home. Talk about a great way to kill two condors with one stone.</p><p style="clear: both">Yes, after about 80 years, the ol' homestead was to be demolished in favor of a new apt building to be built in its place. My job, as Mr. Shutterbug was to document the place. Having never seen the place since I was a child, it seemed like a simple thing and enjoyable project.</p><p style="clear: both">Come trip day we arrived at the Lan Chile terminal and began the long wait associated with any sort of international travel nowadays. After the typical security dance ('I SAID take out EVERYTHING!') we were off, just 15 minutes behind our scheduled takeoff time of 11:45pm. Lan is pretty decent airline; clean, polite, reasonably together. Amongst Latin carriers this was akin to taking the Concorde. All was well. I was willing to overlook the hastily taped up tray in front of me in favor of getting fed twice on an overnight flight. I'm flexible.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCo0IjKIW1Ir0zQxdFTc_15XW24ETWXuwGX2z0W1xtiZL5d0cmdd9Gub_yszfutQ0KgXOIoaKgArDWOA0X4-bSlKUzPcr4nBMITwqIQGPHhcNBg-Vc_5k1ar2wvYEtJSnIyMtxobe5y6uH/s800/ANDES.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNxMGs2PnmUmm1iza8z_nrpLGAUMwrvd0_C_6ELGETAicCqs7xcNx5RiRMmoU4LMe5fI7IfluN_lk_jXX36XRST796UXVFsR1ebqDiiJ8ps2_HQgO3eqVnDvk7K1Xe7fLt833lyUVAKk5d/s800/ANDES-thumb.jpg" height="283" align="left" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>Arriving in Lima at the break of dawn was an awe inspiring sight. Beautiful peaks gleamed like a Paul Abdul's chompers in the sunlight--only to quickly disappear as we descended into the Lima's well-known (to Peruvians at least) AM mist. After working my way past customs I approached the arrivals gate with pride. Mission completed. The Eagle has landed. Roll out the barrels..etc. Needless to say that feeling quickly vanished after I was approached by about a dozen ad-hoc taxi drivers shilling for fares.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKTaLVJVYzoNOo9a57rRew67YyljiZ5MAqo7YMYOu_XEjJF26M8Q2xRNAZVsey54i0fdF9nsb_H-3Lys_ax7OXJFjgK7aYGejjoKivGM1VNv-izsSL_GYmz0XUauHuN4wdPUuJDzHKAL1C/s800/IMG_6634.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4acrWZmU2ttUW_PhyphenhyphenePxwF7_MqmDUC7yXgATagvLZsv8_O6j-YsDWgXP1BAZX05cYNejt617WZN66ju8KzdDuyOO2N3zk7cNh3udfUqtL6F3utpGF8GDLeyWj9_b6YcAIe-MLbDvPSnQn/s800/IMG_6634-thumb.jpg" height="506" align="right" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>Now Lima (as I'm sure most other Latin cities) has an interesting transport system. I say interesting because as it once was one of the birthplaces of human civilization, I do try to cut it some slack. (Doing brain surgery while the black death was clearing out Europe has to account for something.) Years of military rule, crushing thousand percent inflation, and then the inevitable graft have taken a huge toll on what could have easily been one of the most beautiful South American cities. In fact, Legoland is organized better. Lima's Infrastructure barely holds everything together and that is most evident in the transport system.</p><p style="clear: both">Cabs abound. However licensed cabs are but a small part of the picture. Literally anyone with a sign...is a cab driver. Which, as tourist, is convenient as any ride is within $2-6. No tip. However for the average Joe, thats highway robbery. The majority of the populace relies then on "combis" or the larger "micros" which at between .35 cents and 50 cents a trip is a damn good bargain. The catch is it takes hours. And with no predetermined stops along the route, its literally up to you to yell for a stop. I loved watching the "barkers" who hang out the open side door of the mini buses, yelling destinations, as the bus catapults through traffic. I don't find it too difficult to picture one of these hardy little Choo-Choo Charlies getting tossed out, hitting the floor, dusting himself off, and then continuing on his way. Travel writer Bill Bryson had a great description which fits amazingly well here. 'It feels like your inside an arcade game'</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwOb5-0tIjINhtfZm0PuBCpCy5GMRnrkteW2dP9yT5ZI8ZxYFkWqAlrHBUxUqvfX4GILYm7SxmSkfTk0enxDmStWPMfgZ6AdnNNYdOIBA4eOwBAMw0p0KEcko0zpjaWWmr6bK533GL7k5W/s800/IMG_6637.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhQSlkb53DbDVUA74NZ5Y1Ho4Oqob7h-M9RqSI0aBWtflrOAVyVOcpLYSXLMXC4m6tJxs9wuLx198BlP8tHUN2AI3HIW-v_yB9QhDayXg3OZZAyoQTmUZC0tibPoYEoR0sbx0Qy7dctKwU/s800/IMG_6637-thumb.jpg" height="285" align="left" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>Anyway, back at the airport. Luckily my aunt secured a "real" cab earlier and was waiting. In the past tourists were victimized by unlicensed drivers who just drove them off to the end of a pier where their buddies were lurking, ready to make their wallets lighter. Thankfully, this has improved quite a bit, however, it was nice to have someone arrange this part of the journey for us.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPvAqzwM349fUiyj0xZ4tInKDpqD_qUt0KVklCwUWYUP7aEs-iBVlpAHqO0dt_krMGy1RruU4rAlD-anQcpt5HqryZ0WwCn0lp2JNe7hpu7eunp83XH0zpil_6wgj3gDTLqvLF0g9zt1QK/s800/IMG_6639.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifSFhd34xdi77U3FYVrappin5hJGt8nTSJJw0xT3aUP4mnTIKTfxNTTHQ9wGP50R5vpUK-WxmPLp0q0gyIA-_BrwWlaeWsJkqwZvDiDpeKrqZQlus_gEdncBYqDdTIODoPoVz0-f1AmNig/s800/IMG_6639-thumb.jpg" height="285" align="right" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>The first moment I realized I was not in Kansas anymore was when the cab driver immediately asked me to lock the door and pull up my window. When he saw me taking photos as we drove out of the airport, he asked that I put the camera away until we're well clear of that area. Adding that snatch and runs were not out of the question. I thanked Mad Max with a handful of gruel and quickly stowed my camera away.</p><p style="clear: both">The ride to the family home in Lince was not too far away. Located right above the upper class area of San Isidro and Miraflores, it was once smack dab in the center of a middle class area. A class division that really no longer exists. The area by comparison was run down and but there were still pockets of small business and homeowners bravely holding on.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvoobkd9BufNN_1zXyPgL4CJy5cG9q9gONC-B6P36lx7Abi4Nb3t_2yrZ72CgPtAuNW4dTsyWsEmWeeDM1j_vn3O8pqj0ioKCd_1YjLe8LHecfByNNVLZlOWI6EtqS_yr7uli48IYBxXAd/s800/IMG_6658.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheR7vcFx5_rLjUt709CaWNpv6zBJZ1dD-_z34WP9OdelujWyEr9EoFsXeGNpfy5EgpJpSP-7NTTQhYEXB1MTOYGESO7N4zIQ9l7qN9vIY5sPCaywDBveQ3d-vREhB2aZfFjv8KLc2USiVZ/s800/IMG_6658-thumb.jpg" height="506" align="left" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>The family home was large as I last remembered it. Stately wood cornices, a garden, a yard, garage, things that any middle class home had. Built in the late 30's, early 40s, by my great uncle, the home was passed on to my mom's family of nine sisters and one brother (poor guy, huh?). In the prevailing years it was the home to a lot of get togethers, weddings, and just general living. However as the years went on and the house was ceded to the remaining relatives, issues arose on what should be done with the house. Some wanted to hold onto it, others wanted to sell it. But, short of taking a buzz saw and separating the place physically into chunks, nothing was ever settled on. Until now.</p><p style="clear: both">This was to be the house's last stand as it was to be razed in favor or an apt building where each relative could do as they wish with their stake.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLajK_wiIO3p0oCT37IOAdIfZGY1n6BAjmk4OVDhMfTsE_5Q1XfHS7-FpSFN2XesMQlak-tt_LdvsDrSydDJb4oSnond-KxJOqtXyADtII15jEcsuWMiECa3HmxL6Cx1ItweXwm2pz50_5/s800/IMG_6659.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRM0uv_Sli3eol4gAMjrJ-SuHb3z5MZuBmrBT5Jef3RWrRAhwjFS39RQVMBETO2H0jkIFloaCP4URSayP4MtrdsFyvGYelVA1mbakhyphenhyphen0pl2KOXA1CpNMkihHi36kRGBxJovaDEslXhOES7/s800/IMG_6659-thumb1.jpg" height="530" align="right" width="379" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>My own memories of the house date back to when I Iast visited it as a child. My grandfather buying me Sublíme Peruvian chocolates, listening as he played music (he was a composer), and just amazed at the size of the house. Which to a kid was impressive. I had to see the house one more time before it was gone.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7YTvjGW_F_bwEl4ZrPzCe3fSlO34F8WTTVZMoPi7NIH7FX0VaUJXkBlrR1k1-D5fxN3MUbEz7ZDzGtOvCoFm-P0VFw31eMsVfUGSxtyWEHnexwZ8vHqyOMA7ySmpvRR_hpe90HrnSUym3/s800/IMG_1.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgefs_jZzgcvWXAiPdV_0q7bXrovlqrLHmWHD7AQMrNgY-6NxEoC2On3hJbFVZ13R3eQoxT7qA7aBLEzhSOfUetQ99TFVujaNjPv5-N_Mb0yroYjDQRCNbx6opBlpeV_67NyUrCCcgTayC0/s800/IMG_1-thumb.jpg" height="505" align="left" width="379" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>Upon arriving at the front, it looked just as I pictured it. Old, rickety, dusty, but still with a veneer of stateliness, that the surrounding newer homes did not seem to have. While some of the other homes resembled blocks stacked on top of each other, this place had a spirit. A look of a place where lives were well lived. This was a home...not just a place to sleep.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKpB9lqmOG1qE-jsB5Kw7e8tSL_COX8CDwOZ-gIkNMeVNRnebx3HIWLTqVgEmmlS6ycfjfU1gUZLW5lQxpYYokX7IZwnX6X6Bo4WJi6T7wWA6KgToW7NlR6doLGmoWdSPSnWKWaqd75Gdb/s800/IMG_6693.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLPZ86ATKi_bEUVJ1H3LZpPFX_0nbiayurnOQJGTeW8CezPjZ6RYjTrAGxA6LtbW1urmsg4FbjFCtfXnOM1s2-rIdDGvtwOTp-uAQ-FZRfWi_KxFoXLNWPd3NkNgROYJpANYFVX2m0RJP/s800/IMG_6693-thumb.jpg" height="285" align="right" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>While I felt a sense of history as my mom and aunt pointed out the various spaces and what had happened here and there, I could not help but feel sad as well. I'm sure my mom must have felt that more intensely. It must have been a grand place in its day. Not even the termites which had bored huge holes in various areas outside could take that away,</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9q_OEn9l7ecUJZKMAmnJREnh7Jb1xtTnGUeaeMQ8RwH0ahGYPXQhRdqPef9ngMnu7nAtj8IM72FWPdWRduHrPRqAWJtr0Z_6QOPMTuSpoWN9O8u9JVcWQEG8q8dmwgJlvzC8FHv3DyuMl/s800/IMG_6705.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBgAGiG4GVTLI-A5jFj4Ud5dekuods388xwXv8iN6dQpkiI1sTSX2asGq3rJzt_fTR1NEC8UUjZfyUJh-7pbEyGHAlfL7Mb5gTvBFz7wRkIXCka0ploldk9wtv_Xsbop1Y_f1qf9Ub-4zE/s800/IMG_6705-thumb.jpg" height="506" align="left" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>After a quick go round we headed off for some food. Peruvian chicken of course! Opting to start with something semi familiar we headed to Pardos which is like the chain chicken master of Peru. But waaaay better than any chain. The West Village has an outlet...the first outside of Lima. I heartily recommend it. Tell them Jeff sent you.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyOqvzOFEvSkeAfdnUYVpI6DpHN_c46kfB4HyyiAFlMSb2VknpG7EF9EjrqnaR25dUZr_lSxa_Y7f-n7lfEPKJpsk-JoVUsCQM0_Fu6VTEuXlzExTRkLn8qYSvCYiYmMhssC854ItKeG6V/s800/IMG_6697.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ea9Mhe9zpboPky4rguuWUmY-sqJyZAHDhBaabBlsQwnVE7BjSc3r0h4CvOU1oc5VbO-Ma65Iaz-sV7fvc3-rL-h1_dJo1QAyDhe73yve4bTl5GurTN5nmZlMTT5JdhqXZyaEZUD_tMoB/s800/IMG_6697-thumb.jpg" height="285" align="right" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>While it was great to eat something familiar it was also nice to eat with four of my aunts. In a family of seven aunts (two passed away) and one uncle (in NYC), Having four of them sitting at one table is not something you tend to forget that quickly. </p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Y_3oTxUo4BPtpr2RaDP6-TdS4ehzdt22FrbvGVvx2QE_3JR7QUjhqr-4y_2YLVrocWHUuAs573Up_i0ZKfFgePKUx1T9iN2-2Ha-2FdfcE6cOmRI_3ASksJKPvL_EMElZ9-IEHXMP5R7/s800/IMG_6711.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhScB4dXZ5p-dJ3lplNCw8enD3vKeMowBGv2Z_c5NL-T8a2S7MDdN4QAgdhYmJ_qWsPg-DRQKRC-dASH2AYxPT09TwtJzItQQjeJVxPmGtLyRyM1-l9mpd4hB7zbgDaCxuKW_-T76-Z0FsE/s800/IMG_6711-thumb.jpg" height="285" align="left" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>After the satisfying meal and another wacky taxi ride back to the old home, we met up with one of my cousins who had thoughtfully purchased tickets for a historic cemetery tour....at night.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwIS2WFov2c8AuI_YTy4ZivFnzoeWxfKbc0WX6WXhXG3U0Ynrx0d-jVN_kDvGYbzah6QeXQvogRbY28sHLm7ugif3yCEQVYm9lEEw3f8uu3pd8bKCY6TsvWUWVLac_UfYEAt3kJnn9A3pc/s800/IMG_6728.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNr4vwZoyDYoUaOC-JUzrfrsoTSXS409_ZkkiRJSlN13KihZUMTUgnjgRv1ZA2TuHCcyJu-ZYGPMajMFuQvYoItLxZKlGXJw3NyoKt-u50CmMFQxauACkKu2smbDEAF1lBcpzPZ3pq_veB/s800/IMG_6728-thumb.jpg" height="285" align="left" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>The tour took place at Presbítero Maestro a famous cemetery where much of Peru's high ranking military dead as well as past presidents were buried. However, it also held the crypts of famous writers, poets, and even children of Japanese/Peruvian decent. But the biggest surprise was that my mom's uncle, who was the builder of the old home, was also interred there. However with the pitch darkness and no idea of where he was...we opted to skip the old guy. Sorry tío!</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxI6n5YgSr1PF5TjMqRlwz7vPxKS0mZs_fKMAi0sBhcfXXygDezlrXVoYmdmoG-7Js-sIQVhikNbeWibbk3g29bYIb_yOR5eaNLkba3QXVdd4vftc_A_uwXsGIixmS_c1mY4w5BmweizgF/s800/IMG_6755.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg_HKWsfUcNZx1vp5Bvdtt_MYs3WAuezhfsx9x1j-Bzi2evEwlCNyVxCcAO7Dr3dl0eicSpv48eWF2ypO9jD_pIGFktBGVKA3FJBzztjyhD0LnYoViF8XrPgeOZAv6cLsm02PLgN1eDHP7/s800/IMG_6755-thumb.jpg" height="506" align="right" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>Getting to the cemetery was odd in that us ticket holders were neatly cued up to take a charted bus to the site. Why we didn't meet there I had no idea. Maybe to catch some pissed off spirits off-guard?</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGCEwU8qR9P7b-gw1TOl6fGXH7hElOvAqbXx0RLZyABABpxLPuET_Qk7N5BXlied3KAwIkwKqDWA6Pzisi_J0dDmPYuKSNPShyphenhyphenKwUdNO4IQNq22Z5j9g_LdVWmsUcIndwzFXc8xF2uxhHA/s800/IMG_6733.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhym3tg5mnAKibIlsVYk4LpSF44vMDHe1sOQwStMAQJSu1PzTbB_BAGGi_3DW4Q7MCLIEVyZD5fRIvhpvNqXh1I4NEn85sncFCfABJI_32At0UZkUubUlo5ichM_ozD7ddFOH0kg13v9xKe/s800/IMG_6733-thumb.jpg" height="285" align="left" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>Once we took off, the old 50's bus amusingly cranked and wheezed its way through the city streets. The driver arm wresting the gear shifter all the way. After running a few red lights, were there. What was funny was that while this was a historic tour, there were a large percentage of HS age kids there. And not chaperoned mind you, but on their own accord. I highly suspected they saw the tour as a Skooby Doo adventure and jumped at the chance to give the girls some chills. Sure enough a short while into the tour I hear one chap trying to get his girl to walk down am unlit tomb area. The response was not only predictable, but universal: "Ayyy, noooo!"</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4rV32LIP-pK_h81FC3Vvc4Bp4QlKscULknJkTVnJJ_ezhaNtSLr46lvJO1YqsESbxK4MD4zFzhgNZxdg5KOve2MLLzYcFPZ1hj9O2S8G1WkPugdVLKrK2bLsKu0nixS-guAk1sj95jY4m/s800/IMG_6808.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbwJHZvR4KzeRgsblPNTfGAOBFffQaqoFt2AvZ6WvFvL1K8AyWPu48DRI7qpLVUmcJvP76RG2NZ3oPIBybwn2v1xb6lAmTjhbT0KKRz1xGzm7ikKBPaXQmC7Hntyd58poEsVv3sVUIVkb/s800/IMG_6808-thumb.jpg" height="506" align="left" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>The tour director was an amazing fellow. Not only did he have a through knowledge of the historical figures but, as the best guides can do, was able to make you relate to them. And let me tell you, there's nothing like hearing a tale of sadness, woe or bravado delivered in Spanish. His passion was also inflected with piousness and sincerity which even made the more religious of the attendees cross themselves and whisper "May god bless them". It was a stunning display of respect and love of a subject. Something Shaggy teasing the girls in the back missed out on. Doofus.</p><p style="clear: both"><br /></p><p style="clear: both"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/jCuyubamba/Peru?feat=directlink">More pix here!</a></p>SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3054603677289930024.post-22744225152557793332010-03-23T21:52:00.000-04:002010-03-23T21:52:36.302-04:00Hanging with The Alligator Man<p style="clear: both">The news of Alex Chilton's death this past Wednesday came as a huge surprise to many, arriving as swiftly as a sweltering summer thunderstorm and leaving in its wake a collective shock throughout the semi-geeky, underground music world. As many have stated over the past several days, the man that melded pathos with gorgeous harmonies will no doubt be missed. If not just for his legacy but for the tenuous hope that you can carve out a successful creative career and still be fiercely dedicated to carving out your own path. In fact, the most eloquent and touching eulogy of them all was written by his close friend Paul Westerberg in the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/21/opinion/21westerberg.html?emc=eta1" target="_blank">NY Times Op-Ed</a> section the Sunday following his passing. </p><p style="clear: both">Chilton was a faceless entity to me until 1984. At that time I was fervently involved in the sixties garage punk scene in NYC and hightailing it to many performances all over lower Manhattan. So, when one of the city's seminal garage bands, The Vipers, were slated to play at Irving Plaza, there was no doubt in my mind I was to find myself there. It was a big show for the band. Having honed their act at a tiny club by FIT called The Dive, they now found themselves headlining this immense venue.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKLa-KdmVd82q_F-DwBhvVblJM-unJTo8H_XS40EEGhmiNPYKSS6_EOxj6DlsS5cliLBwhFTOhWDWX-XCpheywF60E1iT-ApMRgKQqgy5az_G_59UuGkr9mJyYAjmTiBK8mdRlt5Hxwelg/s800/Chilton1984B1-full.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicPeOv1kBMyQ2YjNGROJDGY5AS1qqhD-DsK34vgosG1Wv5gjztiW-tZ8Zffn6zCr_39F8ubSfenO-LYxa2cw4E7aT0m3KkD9Onj7skBSZGo5cWmUPbnkb1eoWWtBxG4elih0PLO90GEQAZ/s800/Chilton1984B1-thumb.jpg" height="257" align="left" width="379" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a><br style="clear: both" />Upon entering the main hall, I came upon the opening band just starting their set. The songs were unfamiliar and when I asked someone who it was, they mentioned that it was the guy who sang "The Letter". Having that as a reference point I figured he was an oldies act, sort of apropo for a night consisting of 60s themed music. Camera in hand, I took a few shaky photos of the lead singer and watched. The more I heard, the less I understood how he fit into the whole picture. It was definitely a confusing yet interesting experience. He did close with "The Letter" though. </p><p style="clear: both">Fast forward about three years and I'm seriously in the midst of my Paul Westerberg/Replacements worshipping period, having been baptized by a show at CBGBs in 1984, The Mats (as us überfans called 'em) summed up everything my young self had experienced up to that point in my life. Anger, sadness, despair, hope....all in a compact 3 minute song. So, by the time 1987's "Pleased To Meet Me" came out, us die hards were all chomping at the bit for some more sonic autobiography.</p><p style="clear: both">It was around this time my fellow Mats buddy Lisa Papania convinced me to go see an Alex Chilton show. Since the Mats sang about him on "Pleased To Meet Me"...then he MUST be good, the logic went.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyiuMxXzj0QkQqaEsUNPanA_tRMF8OzSrECDZp_r-odVYaInboLwTkpNU72be_5IfeReHplV4jUk9yaviR1m1f40Vdw4oVatZ_S052pIaZSLI-eYtNfk79-z6-9gpxCn9_7nNlNpdc8xvO/s800/ChiltonKnit1.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCsxtCdTJsGNKc3_lk66vR_2mBylG-TyyX1vvVUOGuokoDH7Qmef3nTTV2J772bP51ylGPsKu3OXCFzkMIIsp9Wan1x2ghDOPCbUOzxQ4IAYvY-2J_MATrBoVI8xznJ5AcZIgRDBf7Q8YN/s800/ChiltonKnit1-thumb.jpg" height="324" align="right" width="250" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>So we headed to The Knitting Factory (on Houston St at that time) and bought tickets for the early set of Alex's show. High Priest had just come out and Chilton was doing a 4-night stint to promote it, two sets each night. The opening band were The Gories, who I was later to find out were produced by Alex. Already fully familiar with the punkier aspects of garage music, The Gories proceeded to deliver a noisy, shambolic set that was itself to become what other groups would revere and strive for years later. This guy knows how to pick his openers I thought to myself.</p><p style="clear: both">Chilton by comparison was extremely laid back, but, just as interesting. Fussing with the sound, turning down requests, he exuded this nervous energy that sort of kept me wondering what was going to happen next. I started to slowly understand why Westerberg and crew were fascinated by him. Here was a brilliant songwriter, basically screwed by the music business, seemingly turning his back to his sudden indie-cred. Very, uh, Replacements-like. Avoiding anything resembling his pop roots, his set consisted of old standards, R&B covers, jazzy covers and a very small handful of decent, if uninspired, originals. Yet, much like The Mats, flashes of brilliance would eek out in spite of himself. His guitar playing was second to none, and if he wanted to, esoteric jazz chords would fly out of his guitar with ease. We stayed for the second set.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCGtWlrmL_Re4vpnztnRK8minTGpUUxcDeNl4zKeksIQO-PoZfIbjk50zXqllumoNu8YH0Oc_i4hvzWNX4SwbGzgcrKinsatV6JPx3grd_RNX5KWRu2JMoWdkxpFfEkxlr4RTzTOuzJvtW/s800/Listings.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUGffRoaVi_b51BEhyuiCxta8HMkS4AtIVF4nH5W0PHkN_LnfqWNKu97BZceXADp4zxsRDuVucaoZueWu9r76p-Lhtfj4i41r6gzaZCzISrPREkf9g1VgF1zZ1jW8mTRGPI9ZjFPpu-NCU/s800/Listings-thumb.jpg" height="372" align="left" width="250" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>That was the start of a long and amazing journey following the man. After that day Lisa and I caught the next night, and the next. On Chilton's second trip through the city that same year we returned as well. We ended up catching him at every gig in NY and Hoboken for the next several years. Even bass player Ron Easley once mentioned "Oh, its these guys again" when he saw us at one show. But, unlike other fans, we never approached Chilton or asked for his autograph. We didn't want to become his buddy...we just wanted to hear him play. If Lisa and I happened to catch a bad show, instead of lamenting it, we'd stick around for the next set. Sure enough, nine times out of ten it would be better.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-Ia__ZvKg0ZnODMyNHqNIVme1nNbaag9eq987y2wo3V47T7fpwvXvbebgq8c9Twv-7Klb-0yd3HxkrAvoNqEZ2CN0-6TOU-_V__41qyuFTaOCFcw4TEMc20q8RXLNW2CSae2IoNAK_Jq/s800/ChiltonKNit.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh1f6gTeFAyO27X03sIL8uBNFOXm3XHrULXOM6LPiDQIGO7VXbGJumzOHsr7m4PuX11dI7ynC_m6IgkOHy7sVkvh7IWLG1_z7UWscO9C0R2hVVuV_ma3zOL0sd9e0Uep-Pzi-_71JTrLcG/s800/ChiltonKNit-thumb1.jpg" height="166" align="right" width="250" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>Now one could argue that his lack of professionalism was deplorable. A slap in the face of people paying good money to see him. True, but knowing his background of record label letdowns, lost opportunities, and shattered expectations (all before his mid-twenties!) it wasn't too difficult to see how this came about. Being "professional" not only didn't work for him, but was also a sure ticket to misery. Take him or leave him...your choice.</p><p style="clear: both">When you see someone perform over and over again you also tend to see nuances of their personality emerge. It's very easy to write off Chilton as jaded, surly and difficult. Which I am sure he was. Regardless, small things stick out in my mind about him. Like how once at The Knitting Factory, a music collector friend (and sometime roadie) Joey Decurzio made Alex come to him for a light instead of the other way around. Hilariously, the people around me were aghast...but "Al", as Joey called him, took it in stride...even thanked him. No doubt because Joe treated him like any other guy.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRqsyOesXZmXgNB-4tOfxR2c6G-UsP6_Tgb6u_KjMfPQs-3F-8HP-8MOh6BkS4mQp1aTuLhO0nLiN4jNWGhVH3mjjdZDH3Py7tidxrAn6IJSfDo2dqJwQEw0zAwRldQNgpd4tnWnLVt9Af/s800/VillUndrgBottm00.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz0d2hqG8kRjIRfsuz9p00jabU9ixX1exDJ27XJVs3I-JA2eosbPVFXISTkDbKJM-PWUhLC6adZ9kHmuaZmZDOpC1umDZXRVwSuhnESeR8VGlyC25DNERLl4MA7n9ylMLy_PCyeu4dj4ua/s800/VillUndrgBottm00-thumb.jpg" height="140" align="left" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a><br style="clear: both" />Another time a solo show was in danger of being cancelled because of a water break in the vicinity of The Knitting Factory (now in the Leonard St. location). When I walked into the club there were only candles lighting the interior since the power was out. I felt like I walked onto the set of "Interview with a Vampire". As I stood around with a handful of hopeful fans, Alex came out and invited everyone into the candle-lit main room. He placed a stool in the middle of the floor and, acoustic in hand, asked for requests. Laughing when he could not remember certain "classic" Big Star songs, he did a short 7-song set and thanked the 30 or so of us for coming. Then, to my surprise, we had our admission refunded to us.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrJ-_iVmXtshwl-IPWeR5iF6B9-j3KF_FALsLnlP40RC189ZScFuAQz-l72MpMb8GH2oMa8SNQykx2SQvrpJ_u4sg4JxL7lQmQcfdTWtc7jWpdVlWRo8cyUIUadrr3kOa9ChT2BHqO6ufI/s800/Knit97.99.Star96.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiikmTnGI7K6BD5iW5AgfUJ2VXs67ARd2Ny2spXNIX3whH7-POzIwWevJn8uSVpvqvZpiKUnu4NWIf1LbUDQRZpH_THHP2I-O3gnKGIIbccvcfj0Xwl146PdetgbF7v9jEvVSKfXMpp6P3s/s800/Knit97-thumb.99.Star96.jpg" height="248" align="right" width="200" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>In another instance, I arrived early for a show at Fez, located underneath the Time restaurant in the East Village. Having never been there I wandered around the upstairs eatery before someone took pity on me and informed me the performance space was downstairs. Since the doors weren't open yet I was told to come back. As I was leaving I turned the corner and ran into Alex Chilton trying to open a locked side door, beat-up guitar case in hand. He sees me and asks me me how to get in. I told him I had to figure it out as well and showed him the entrance. Then, taking a page from Joey, I said "Oh, Al, what time are you going on? They wouldn't tell me". He stopped, thought carefully about it, and told me he was sorry because he also was in the dark about it. I thanked him anyway and we went our separate ways.</p><p style="clear: both">Personal interactions like that filled out my portrait of the person many were all too happy to write off for decades.</p><p style="clear: both">Musically, surprises also abounded. Like suddenly deciding to kick out a frantic version of Warren Smith's rockabilly classic, "Ubangi Stomp", another night, the Stones' "Brown Sugar" (with an audience member on guitar), and then one particularly memorable guest spot.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMp7ncSMpWv2G7E35nWAyXwdOrMWor6lS5UARU-zzBJtcCNVFnxs4qZqQczszu2Zes8AJ4bqnT957wdGJCRLJ5TAyO5EEVPs7Q9tPzG_aheN3WIoFvv_wLfnbPM72C616gs3mXn2kONd3s/s800/ChiltMax1.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR1t8rm2L0Aw7HjoDjMW3G45ZdMZQAa2_1JPUT66RWjQ_PH5iHiCnli_YfVGL6C4PBSPlKWbHmiCe7PFHtby8_Ary14LDpbjsGlG4TXoXP_ni9la1ulIRXRIAcLaw8LkSOh9T-TDaaAyLV/s800/ChiltMax1-thumb.jpg" height="162" align="left" width="250" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>In November of 1987 a Replacements gig coincided with a Chilton show in NJ. Lisa and I naturally bought tickets for both. As soon as the Mats show ended at the Beacon theater we made a beeline for the tiny stage of Maxwells in Hoboken. I still remember Lisa coming up and saying excitedly "He's here, he's here" meaning Mr. Westerberg. Sure enough that night we were all treated to a fantastic version of "Little GTO" with Paul sitting in.</p><p style="clear: both">Near the tail end of Chilton's solo tours I lost touch with Lisa but still continued to attend the shows, running into other familiar faces from show to show. When his 60s soul/pop group The Box Tops announced a reunion, I was elated but also a little skeptical, having seen Chilton's mercurial ways test the patience of even the most seasoned session musicians. I wondered how he would fare with his former bandmates. To my surprise The Box Tops shows were among the most enjoyable gigs I ever saw. Chilton was smiling and genuinely happy to revisit this part of his past. If he had ghosts of the past haunting him from that period, they seemed to have been finally exorcised. </p><p style="clear: both">Around the summer of 2001, the city sponsored a summer music festival downtown that offered lunchtime music for the financial crowd. To my surprise The Box Tops were slated to play one afternoon. Having a FT job uptown though sort of left me wondering how to finagle my way into seeing this show. Finally, the day before the show I told my boss I had an urgent "appointment" and might be gone for a couple of hours that afternoon. The ruse worked and the next day I found myself downtown — at the World Trade Center Plaza. The gig was fantastic and as I looked over the towers looming over the sun drenched stage I could not help but feel this was a great, great, day. All that would change just a few weeks later.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3wVAkorMmFcHSmGT8SbDjnkphHqKt9rZodOjX22l8ZPIogB2SuAqXllAlIhlZLFK4eXXto0NhvMgEsxAi0fjHLY3NE8kaEJaF-55s72rLDxqyPwJxMfFGBnWP1mc14wmuoYA94Bhx3tRi/s800/BigStar.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiU4yrx5xuRsI7QBPmwxPQCqw2BgnJIIq6_hozkmc__SNcdq7mr2sLUNvKLFnSD7PFubVCOs0AWXkQKTor2QfpWLMCK1lSmq0MFWjoHcu8-fO3_gYh3GxX_xhsL06XOIu6z8roI1G1WvFA/s800/BigStar-thumb.jpg" height="261" align="left" width="200" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>By the time the Big Star gigs came around the idea of an intimate Chilton solo gig was less and less likely to happen. The tradeoff though was, we did get a chance to hear those classic old songs once again. Except for "In The Street", and even less frequently, "September Gurls", none of the other Big Star tunes were ever performed by him when I saw him solo...at least in NY.</p><p style="clear: both">The last time I saw Chilton was November 2009 when Big Star made an appearance in NYC. The price was a hefty $35. A far cry from the $10 sets at the old Knitting Factory 23 years ago. Once my friend Paul and I were inside the large, ornate, Masonic Temple in Fort Greene, we shimmied our way to a good viewing spot. The immense crowds made it difficult to get close, but again, the music was what we were here for.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFjv04H9bci8HwBB_0tPvPM1B8VgU5z5pGhrr838UuhtAXg6F0Sx0tmmGZPdyiMNFZmeo1E_jt3pA7Ojn32zcjC7Ulza3mbEWRJdIdFhZ1-xLK6c6rWCbu1geMG7YzGavM95Nb5UzY5S1B/s800/ChiltonBgStar.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipCmdwt1QgeFrP8_gifXLZCWvr3doUp5i_yN67T-RUaGAfYJjWDTlJMM2ZD03ufrOnWD5v1lzsuncNgIVxiXA1yUJcx6Kj4TRLeh9ivTJ0H5GaITuJg6efI4_zQXofdncexMixVtpuZBKl/s800/ChiltonBgStar-thumb1.jpg" height="178" align="right" width="250" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>As soon as the band started you could tell this was going to be a special night. It was a few years since Big Star last played in NY and the anticipation of the fans helped percolate a good atmosphere. As those old familiar tunes washed over me once again, it was as if I was hearing them for the first time. That small intangible thrill you get when something deeply personal resonates was still there. And from the looks of the crowd, I was not alone. Apparently, the band felt it, too, as a haunting, passionate "Daisy Glaze" delivered by former Posie Ken Stringfellow all but confirmed it. It actually earned him a Chilton smile of approval. Impressive.</p><p style="clear: both">The closing one song encore (Todd Rundgren's "S-L-U-T") was adequate but the lights quickly went up as soon it was over. Alex was done. As we made our way out we passed a sweaty Jody Stephens standing by the exit, personally thanking the audience for coming. No doubt feeling a little guilty. As a Chilton fan, I'd experienced this before, no surprises here. I was just happy to have been transported to pop nirvana for that short while. Besides, I figured they'd be back for another show soon anyway....</p><br class='final-break' style='clear: both' />SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3054603677289930024.post-21146961152193499462009-09-02T11:11:00.016-04:002009-09-14T14:59:36.048-04:00A-Bones Go Home?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-QAguZUGIPAtp_TF6TsrbabMIg4Sh_1PI4vu306uW_47xGPdVN2-TcIe3N7_jHthvo3CcMh_S6rqHLJJUwikv6JALEKC5rycC90g7hZOQR6c4IZFkflFX2L8NKhp5SZW3Wdc6Q36mJCor/s1600-h/IMG_4442.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-QAguZUGIPAtp_TF6TsrbabMIg4Sh_1PI4vu306uW_47xGPdVN2-TcIe3N7_jHthvo3CcMh_S6rqHLJJUwikv6JALEKC5rycC90g7hZOQR6c4IZFkflFX2L8NKhp5SZW3Wdc6Q36mJCor/s200/IMG_4442.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381282961214224898" /></a>The day started pretty slowly and with barely enough time to get packed and wait for the van that was taking everyone to Osaka's KIX International Airport. True to a previous hunch we really did not have enough time to visit any Osaka shrines which made Miriams impromptu photo shoot at Nagoya a real stroke of genius.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG973E6tt2sg0ucI0G-33hN5vGQ91XougtJIEuMOyW2jyyl8Dpj2jwF4riztxNj_PGZCOzzxQSERQBP-FzRKXBCPOkAZcKdpZryWW4qoPTCi-jPedbjZS05Mg2Z8Sv15AJIAZZoaeuz5OG/s1600-h/IMG_4441.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG973E6tt2sg0ucI0G-33hN5vGQ91XougtJIEuMOyW2jyyl8Dpj2jwF4riztxNj_PGZCOzzxQSERQBP-FzRKXBCPOkAZcKdpZryWW4qoPTCi-jPedbjZS05Mg2Z8Sv15AJIAZZoaeuz5OG/s200/IMG_4441.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381283620134081410" /></a>The guys were beat. Bruce was in a lot of pain and was begging for any Tylenol. I had a small stash for my own flight and was hoping to keep as much of it as needed. Still, when I saw Bruce in so much pain I couldn't help but give him some. I just thought back to how crummy it feels to be in misery so far from home.<br /><br />Jackie and Enocky came soon with the van...late. And brought Rockin' Jelly Bean along with Momo in tow. Just like their band name, RJB drove an old Nissan Cedric station wagon. It was in immaculate condition and seemed very well taken care of. He explained that these cars are considered so square in Japan that only old guys drive them. Young kids would never be seen in one. Just like your Oldsmobile, he added.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPJJ239nOvB5VUSE_AE7ok8Yd-QpBUyuXr_kQHgNLeeAxS2WXxsLLAQ_f5jDhhRUe-tCWwDXmxSe0Z_3_lwRP0_XvIXuqN26WF2mAOytco0MxwCXLr4g0Hkqmg6cBM0SDUy6r6QfEtZBE/s1600-h/IMG_4443.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPJJ239nOvB5VUSE_AE7ok8Yd-QpBUyuXr_kQHgNLeeAxS2WXxsLLAQ_f5jDhhRUe-tCWwDXmxSe0Z_3_lwRP0_XvIXuqN26WF2mAOytco0MxwCXLr4g0Hkqmg6cBM0SDUy6r6QfEtZBE/s200/IMG_4443.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381284116526986706" /></a>The ride to Osaka's airport is mercifully short, compared to the ride from Narita to Tokyo which is much farther than JFK and way more boring. So much so that on my return trip there, the bus actually plays "wake up" music as you enter the airport. This time time though in a little over a half hour, we were already pulling into the departures area. In fact, it seemed so innocuous I first thought it was a rest stop.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0BLnzilDiHdJGxKqb4ekPOV6q6TKyi4GLXsCNHlHuSOgNeA5vk_FLc7VHPExPR35UtZvgqhMzr27UmltBHoxSi040zDkeMbLJFPFSIO6ecKTj_YMIL0zbZaRxC1APF-LmAtuJEINqKNI-/s1600-h/IMG_4451.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0BLnzilDiHdJGxKqb4ekPOV6q6TKyi4GLXsCNHlHuSOgNeA5vk_FLc7VHPExPR35UtZvgqhMzr27UmltBHoxSi040zDkeMbLJFPFSIO6ecKTj_YMIL0zbZaRxC1APF-LmAtuJEINqKNI-/s200/IMG_4451.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381284461888574962" /></a>We unpacked and as we were figuring out where the band had to check in, all of a suddden this yelling started from a distance. As it got closer and louder, it turned out to be Go-Devil Angie and Miss Tarantula in a dead sprint from the opposite side of the terminal. Ms. T, as I will call her from now on, explained that they were afraid they were going to miss seeing the band off. If you recall the evening before they were searching out some band members for autographs. Now, thats a fan!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizAnS4cokjpHgmr1QPJYbQfgMbBgXPOigDLJQhzXzKEwffRYXhwiijgQinLyxHWOAykBZn4zuvLOjUnVpFwx-jiQpsmuGJTLLoJzvLyoqTYmO2hV3cvgq7IRlcOf0tpQAX8flBhZBwSmxd/s1600-h/IMG_4446.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizAnS4cokjpHgmr1QPJYbQfgMbBgXPOigDLJQhzXzKEwffRYXhwiijgQinLyxHWOAykBZn4zuvLOjUnVpFwx-jiQpsmuGJTLLoJzvLyoqTYmO2hV3cvgq7IRlcOf0tpQAX8flBhZBwSmxd/s200/IMG_4446.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381285575365629106" /></a>After much warm words and scribblings were exchanged, we started toward the international connections gate. KIX airport is smaller and more of an intimate feel as opposed to monoliths like JFK and Narita. However, unlike our smaller airports, it too is well designed with a very open, comforting, feel despite its smaller scale.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKQzMc7MEop0MZWDulV8ycZHAGK80WOko6tDCEiGy9h-DjrRA3kys603dQxJhltipB_O_qhbrsLv4JxK_k5zrJ_y4xf66Mi3-h8v43YQU-MHjK4nZRDpUR0PgwFKWQqzpUsDRre-Zq6_Na/s1600-h/IMG_4456.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKQzMc7MEop0MZWDulV8ycZHAGK80WOko6tDCEiGy9h-DjrRA3kys603dQxJhltipB_O_qhbrsLv4JxK_k5zrJ_y4xf66Mi3-h8v43YQU-MHjK4nZRDpUR0PgwFKWQqzpUsDRre-Zq6_Na/s200/IMG_4456.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381285830911882386" /></a>As we were pushing our carts, one thing suddenly jumped out at me. For some reason someone had taken life-size cardboard cutouts of airport workers and lined them up with their faces cut out. Just like in a carnival side-show. Cept, of course, this was a major airport. I immediately made it a point to round up the bands for some quick snaps. Now while I had heard of the Osaka sense of humor this really made it pretty black and white. Can you imagine the the conference about this? "Well, what do you think we can do to make the airport more fun" "carnival games? "How about some jokey, cardboard cutouts" "Pefect!"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDC1EuPNBecf6HtP6bKBRbEpFe7HLAWiy1__WxYzUNmZ6kMaHPIxf2ggaG8Z5TCpcC6_niDgGgw3SVlvO5B57UxGeGbFhVFsLZYA0FbR-9SQxweU3VkZVejwiWNEiT5utnFLqULe36muYq/s1600-h/IMG_4471.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDC1EuPNBecf6HtP6bKBRbEpFe7HLAWiy1__WxYzUNmZ6kMaHPIxf2ggaG8Z5TCpcC6_niDgGgw3SVlvO5B57UxGeGbFhVFsLZYA0FbR-9SQxweU3VkZVejwiWNEiT5utnFLqULe36muYq/s200/IMG_4471.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381286507469816290" /></a>Once the bags were checked, more snaps ensued. Miriam even made a close-up set of everyones face displaying a different expression. Sort of like a Hard Days Night Far East style.<br /><br />With an hour to kill before the last goodbyes, we just hung out chatted awhile. I finally got a chance to thank Rockin' Jelly Bean for his trust and help in preparing the photos along with Junichi. RJB had enjoyed NYC so much the last time he was here (10 years ago!) he wanted to return the favor in some way. Both the show and the exhibit were his way of doing this. And, as luck would have it, this was around the time I had contacted him. Life is funny.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz7H6FGeCECB3XMN-11n90YyhT8O5Dze1tuDtMz9dk-q9uzn2Pmb4IpxgAWDnJyZzutd7bY-uyelAtxCc0b7Kda9lHStvOCP_lHko7eamw0ySqociqBuWc4qO2N9pJ4yGauI_5WklGPjqr/s1600-h/IMG_4482.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz7H6FGeCECB3XMN-11n90YyhT8O5Dze1tuDtMz9dk-q9uzn2Pmb4IpxgAWDnJyZzutd7bY-uyelAtxCc0b7Kda9lHStvOCP_lHko7eamw0ySqociqBuWc4qO2N9pJ4yGauI_5WklGPjqr/s200/IMG_4482.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381286881245074818" /></a>With the eight hour ride back to Tokyo still looming on the horizon, I decide to take a walk and get some food amongst the many food stands on the concourse. Walking around I was surprised by the variety of food. Maybe because Osaka is known for that but it made JFK's and LGA's fast food shops just pitiful by comparison. Man, even the store displays were more creatively humorous.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgheepqw2iCIDdTzwOH6gpyVjLLptHiyvRCtpKYNtLugSBcM-t6IsD1cGiZps4tKq4MBqR0uRhNS2t4d6QoPXVlkaKgHd2K2ugez2ADxeMDSBVJ08GddRrJQ1uF1rPeoHMvDxN19o4r0b8S/s1600-h/IMG_4488.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgheepqw2iCIDdTzwOH6gpyVjLLptHiyvRCtpKYNtLugSBcM-t6IsD1cGiZps4tKq4MBqR0uRhNS2t4d6QoPXVlkaKgHd2K2ugez2ADxeMDSBVJ08GddRrJQ1uF1rPeoHMvDxN19o4r0b8S/s200/IMG_4488.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381287500257592482" /></a>As the band walked into the security area, the Japanese contingent got a huge chuckle watching them remove their shoes! Apparently, this is not a required step for even transferring intercontinental flights. So after many snaps of bare feet were taken, it was time to say goodbye.<br /><br />It was then I realized, now I was truly alone in the land of no shoe-removal at security. It was an odd feeling but also a very exciting one. For the next seven days I'd be left to my own devices getting around, eating, sightseeing etc...I was sure looking forward to it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTCKP37D7pUo3xlIH6QDwjel1sx2t_KF_14Lae7PEbxVPpiJlP9QJslFKmBgn3NMrorRKyyyOenhHmHv8GUE2P6kBT_rU-blTRl62_9ohJmPxxLjkDeAaTXkVvA7MjwHKCH3xq2wvaLLH_/s1600-h/IMG_4486.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTCKP37D7pUo3xlIH6QDwjel1sx2t_KF_14Lae7PEbxVPpiJlP9QJslFKmBgn3NMrorRKyyyOenhHmHv8GUE2P6kBT_rU-blTRl62_9ohJmPxxLjkDeAaTXkVvA7MjwHKCH3xq2wvaLLH_/s200/IMG_4486.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381287796971778898" /></a>As we piled into the empty bus, we had two extra passengers, a band friend, Fuji, who was to help with the driving and the irrepressible Ms. T who needed to be dropped off close to Tokyo as well. After all was said and done we waved goodbye to RJB, Momo and Angie. And headed off.<br /><br />They ride itself was fun for the first two hours, but then like any long distance haul, it got to be a little monotonous. Jackie, T and myself all crashed in our respective rows until we reached another one of those amazing rest areas. I got a chance to buy some coffee and watch a live video of it being brewed and dispensed deep within the confines of this massive drink machine. The pork cutlet preparation though was a far less show-y but just as expedient. Good stuff.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjlb2by4tTXkE6W9BMZNltbD7cKxotZMgqU9atqCKY1Wdo3i4OTBTdPIataj3h2m49JT2SbBNNAFFfIgylcdB3hZ9v9RX2HUmeu7QTYLW5cMAnCoq6pnaBwMLPn4xRVNScLqu_JcGxm3aY/s1600-h/IMG_4465.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjlb2by4tTXkE6W9BMZNltbD7cKxotZMgqU9atqCKY1Wdo3i4OTBTdPIataj3h2m49JT2SbBNNAFFfIgylcdB3hZ9v9RX2HUmeu7QTYLW5cMAnCoq6pnaBwMLPn4xRVNScLqu_JcGxm3aY/s200/IMG_4465.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381389159162497554" /></a>An interesting note on the interstates in Japan. Every hundred or so miles you see a small pull off on the left hand side (slow side) while I had originally assumed that it was a rest area or breakdown lane it actually was a bus stop in many areas. It was at one of these bus stops we dropped off Fuji. Seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Ms. T got the same drop off, although, her mom was there waiting to thank us all with very deep bows for dropping her daughter off safely. Good mom.<br /><br />We cruised into Tokyo around 9PM or so. And after thanking Enocky and Jackie.. I knew I just needed a long, long break....and definitely a wash of clothes.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEBHEODAGZVlPLHoUmOpETq0qnlCKUmdcIwoEJQJfP_a17jPd3GR6iOhhjDUT9d2BS0uEHLPOkxnb0ubmmNATBL461X1qq9hNGr3IMEsiKS2Ouwbfi6bndMdeV6TgPSuNRfnel27VBZps5/s1600-h/IMG_4439.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEBHEODAGZVlPLHoUmOpETq0qnlCKUmdcIwoEJQJfP_a17jPd3GR6iOhhjDUT9d2BS0uEHLPOkxnb0ubmmNATBL461X1qq9hNGr3IMEsiKS2Ouwbfi6bndMdeV6TgPSuNRfnel27VBZps5/s200/IMG_4439.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381393542600675042" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCawrHjnZ10C0bRGo32ZJ5ULq201x05fJaLi2Xuw421Pn9ezoAHC64wr0UZx8SkT6ZJfRa41Zwy5MTvYmrlS2g-jaRVksWq7PFVLCZvxap9e0VK1m97wytCizS8y2t2WotqZI_29CUfV15/s1600-h/IMG_4445.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; 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cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 140px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHGvz_Ist1tF08L0hWxOzelmtDvRGDHgpLna-dSgH3nYRLrI_ba8ECTODxHW-JdcJ9I81Jle4oEYgcuX3c0m2N8_wt6kFH_sSRJYfBPtqylYEVK4xE19Ch9C7beCQihl7n-nVGP4UEsjGa/s200/IMG_4475.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381399545598967202" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixJBzdOuXxt8FrLsDGprg-HiZn43y5EDJsRh693yb7XYSJAhahU6cjftKHOHtNmrTgDVkhBjyhO0vM5HZBFul40EFnji5o0AMtbhSZ7GGOIdhN3jdkgyGMvJKBQqzIyp4Sxnsw5wN1E1bh/s1600-h/IMG_4484.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixJBzdOuXxt8FrLsDGprg-HiZn43y5EDJsRh693yb7XYSJAhahU6cjftKHOHtNmrTgDVkhBjyhO0vM5HZBFul40EFnji5o0AMtbhSZ7GGOIdhN3jdkgyGMvJKBQqzIyp4Sxnsw5wN1E1bh/s200/IMG_4484.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381399533252021682" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvp6MOEw8Fiv3GFX5Fbn8VHJNMJ6yrlWmIX9m2fojELgjvAci6EC2uT2bZrBFM6gzPtQrYATpsCXl1aKAONvdAoZgBw-u_Md3gcMITF3beYCzn7unOBB7jGIZqMHZ_w7wbUuB8uDiVck9z/s1600-h/IMG_4485.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvp6MOEw8Fiv3GFX5Fbn8VHJNMJ6yrlWmIX9m2fojELgjvAci6EC2uT2bZrBFM6gzPtQrYATpsCXl1aKAONvdAoZgBw-u_Md3gcMITF3beYCzn7unOBB7jGIZqMHZ_w7wbUuB8uDiVck9z/s200/IMG_4485.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381399530475126114" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOn3XLGdD10Fonyn3-6o6jDvc1KsUTAU0hL2EFNfOSMzTUGGnjBOHCIaR0BfyUlHk4QVeT3FuzTyESUlRiFYZi3smS61A6Mh8qepKw4UMs03T5H7sfiSdPoL2oXUMGwnC-ppq3avaQ2Xn4/s1600-h/IMG_4487.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOn3XLGdD10Fonyn3-6o6jDvc1KsUTAU0hL2EFNfOSMzTUGGnjBOHCIaR0BfyUlHk4QVeT3FuzTyESUlRiFYZi3smS61A6Mh8qepKw4UMs03T5H7sfiSdPoL2oXUMGwnC-ppq3avaQ2Xn4/s200/IMG_4487.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381399521957485330" /></a>SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3054603677289930024.post-46075945533046600932009-09-01T11:30:00.024-04:002009-09-14T16:57:03.994-04:00Osaka or BustOsaka. Known within Japan for its primo cuisine and quirky sense of humor, was to be the A-Bones final stop before heading back to NYC. For me, it was the end of one journey and the start of second one. Once the band took off from KIX airport, the Tokyo-ites (Jackie and Enocky) and I were to immediately head back. No more touring...I could just be Mr. Tourist for a week.<br /><br />The day started with all of us meeting in the lobby of the Nagoya hotel at 11AM. Bags packed, and ready for the final 2 to 3 hour ride to Osaka. With no internet access in the hotel (my room had no modem) I was jonesing to not only check my email but also update this blog. Unfortunately, both would have to wait.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9sMFwxs797fB07CmwjbBYv492yA1P3AwlJoWvbQL82hgXMx932zZhuml3qpwdOquHhFnTYpH-cY9-8vk18Pa14uI22CGWuVMio0q9G4z84q3dcpkSAWqFN9udpNafNKbahQUnACR2Pqeo/s1600-h/IMG_4173.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9sMFwxs797fB07CmwjbBYv492yA1P3AwlJoWvbQL82hgXMx932zZhuml3qpwdOquHhFnTYpH-cY9-8vk18Pa14uI22CGWuVMio0q9G4z84q3dcpkSAWqFN9udpNafNKbahQUnACR2Pqeo/s200/IMG_4173.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381409747729764594" /></a>The day before Miriam noticed that our hotel happened to be located next to a shrine. While Osaka has its share of nice shrines as well, we didn't know if we'd get a chance like this again. So, come morning, we gathered the guys for a quick walk over and shot a few quick snaps. Except for the geisha, and the instruments, the pictures looked just like the Ventures in Japan LP. <br /><br />With the shots done, we piled into the van and took off.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASnuCWS8A5bD36RtXz-o_E6Htxz4wSwraUa3_6LmLIfr17XH1nVF5U2is0yMhVeG1zSj3rp9Sny-AMlUInf-gQp3M1OKgOBf2Rp1dgJfuv0fFG0hnxfreJouC5KeelJ-UKdyvfsFeXkJE/s1600-h/IMG_4176.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASnuCWS8A5bD36RtXz-o_E6Htxz4wSwraUa3_6LmLIfr17XH1nVF5U2is0yMhVeG1zSj3rp9Sny-AMlUInf-gQp3M1OKgOBf2Rp1dgJfuv0fFG0hnxfreJouC5KeelJ-UKdyvfsFeXkJE/s200/IMG_4176.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381429390973264418" /></a>The drive leaving Nagoya was pretty industrial and not very scenic. Lots of power lines, factories, and flat landscapes with nondescript older style Japanese houses. However once we were about an hour out, the landscape once again turned mountainous and quite picturesque. It seemed we went through several mountain tunnels, some quite long. And at times, gusts of wind on certain stretches were strong enough to make navigating the heavy van, actual work. One swerve-y stretch led to a few to yell to Lars to drive better. Which he agreed to do despite the fact that he was sitting on the non-drivers side (but the actual U.S. drivers side).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9AXcuQ160ueh5-Hhx6oB1Mj6tuR7J0EMSaHedpXej-SYZtaTarbIqb22ikjbZ3pGMsXjp3KGtCbCq3PnOoBEYLL6ZUSGfVEMDU9ayGc_vqfmZzIZzwIqzWWdwRAfCvM_C6Ci5W19Ay5WW/s1600-h/IMG_4187.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9AXcuQ160ueh5-Hhx6oB1Mj6tuR7J0EMSaHedpXej-SYZtaTarbIqb22ikjbZ3pGMsXjp3KGtCbCq3PnOoBEYLL6ZUSGfVEMDU9ayGc_vqfmZzIZzwIqzWWdwRAfCvM_C6Ci5W19Ay5WW/s200/IMG_4187.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381429965136160034" /></a>After a couple of hours on the road we made one last rest stop along the way. While the rest of us took a break under a few shady tables on the hot day, Marcus and Lars went off to the designated smoking area for a puff. Unlike New York City, smoking is pretty much allowed almost everywhere. Clubs are swimming in a smoky haze like it used to be years ago in the States. In certain public areas though you do still find the "smoking" and "non-smoking" areas physically marked off. In this case, there was a small blue tent, sans sides, set off just a few steps away from the main building where the smokers congregated. <br /><br />An hour or so later, we arrived in Osaka. As Japan's second largest city, it was clear we were approaching by the onset of first the suburbs, then the manufacturing areas and finally the skyscrapers. Upon first glance it didn't look too different from Tokyo. But upon closer inspection, something about it was decidedly different. While busy, it just didn't seem as frenetic as Tokyo. And true to its stature as culinary capital, there were a ton of small places to eat as opposed to mega-shopping areas. At least on the route we came in on.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGR39y2AsjnqSt1_Nj_MxP1Rm4wOy2HTLpZiGdTJHOeNwMt_E6apEgi4tSxNfSBNsJ1JlAKxIlGZBXNAtziyQdC_2qc7K5DSXj5cyT7ICPA9kD_91OOSx8KcwoVocCR9bBxGGKZnrHTkuS/s1600-h/IMG_4197.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 148px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGR39y2AsjnqSt1_Nj_MxP1Rm4wOy2HTLpZiGdTJHOeNwMt_E6apEgi4tSxNfSBNsJ1JlAKxIlGZBXNAtziyQdC_2qc7K5DSXj5cyT7ICPA9kD_91OOSx8KcwoVocCR9bBxGGKZnrHTkuS/s200/IMG_4197.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381426613533322930" /></a>We found the club (thanks to the GPS) made note of its location and then headed off to Time Bomb records; Japan's legendary garage rock label and store. Located not too far from both the club and our hotel, the store was record collectors dream come true. Old US singles from the 50s and 60s side-by-side with used recent singles, LPS and CDs. It was by far the largest independent store we saw while in Japan. The store sold clothing from Erostika as well as videos and other paraphenalia. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLdpr-NABR3AJy-pwPYjZ49oZ-7gvkv3F8s20naizNdyXM_RM3ycOyRcdi1esdPG-cMHTZgyCRfNhdl1MkHP-aCnhAE70JJoUWhCHws2EVhYP6LIw2zEV2N76mkD9rDpQqxKbV64uGg1a1/s1600-h/IMG_4195.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLdpr-NABR3AJy-pwPYjZ49oZ-7gvkv3F8s20naizNdyXM_RM3ycOyRcdi1esdPG-cMHTZgyCRfNhdl1MkHP-aCnhAE70JJoUWhCHws2EVhYP6LIw2zEV2N76mkD9rDpQqxKbV64uGg1a1/s200/IMG_4195.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381426130069146882" /></a>Located just inside the store, we were greeted by a full blown Norton Records display. All set up with flyers, records and promotional material for all the gigs and the photo show. After spending a good amount of time here, eyeing and buying, we took off for the club for soundcheck. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi680wRkS5PYLUKU0unT_RCFHhwWHlr2Ch14jgBR7a-hr6LYEdPgvaKYE2M0dwPmyGWJZctd3P3SoayPsSAXjRb4RLcM3Mp27SwltOwGCFfc905XPtGz9gSLnXZLXZ0eriZEffNVIrRR6jm/s1600-h/IMG_4200.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi680wRkS5PYLUKU0unT_RCFHhwWHlr2Ch14jgBR7a-hr6LYEdPgvaKYE2M0dwPmyGWJZctd3P3SoayPsSAXjRb4RLcM3Mp27SwltOwGCFfc905XPtGz9gSLnXZLXZ0eriZEffNVIrRR6jm/s200/IMG_4200.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381425545943412130" /></a>Osaka's Rock Rider club was, yup, underground and a little bit larger than the matchbox-size OYS in Nagoya. It did though have a side area where there were couches as well as a tiny loft-like space directly above them. Miriam and I both decided to explore that space and climbed up this steep ladder only to find ourselves walking, Groucho-like, through a 4 foot high space which actually had a futon-like couch in there. Once you sat down it was pretty comfortable, but during the din of a <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHJva82nc9p68rf0FU6oNfFKcsvVUapSg13ijwB1fK8IQJldF30C_HpYLnQY2MwTCAvvgfFYeHVyLdfHUhftpiG3KtXpAcy4Y8xNJOOVOb95rnX-DJf3DFUFEKlI_jDrhPNWBVEoe4-j0-/s1600-h/IMG_4208.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 148px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHJva82nc9p68rf0FU6oNfFKcsvVUapSg13ijwB1fK8IQJldF30C_HpYLnQY2MwTCAvvgfFYeHVyLdfHUhftpiG3KtXpAcy4Y8xNJOOVOb95rnX-DJf3DFUFEKlI_jDrhPNWBVEoe4-j0-/s200/IMG_4208.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381410352698491522" /></a>live show I wondered if it would still be that way. Not only that, it took us a few minutes to make our way slowly back down to the main floor. I just pictured drunken kids toppling onto unsuspecting patrons below every now and then.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEignET76bGT-44YXyxWbYOeIg8RyDEJ6fYI8BnNQ-OYOHFKJzYtVxDR7bAR4M7XYSrqA8kh2fQCHoW-Yg9qf8ChkF9b5Pq8-SubSOPWenrXbxpGAnNkWkPtc2hZR_qR9rqwgKxpF1PsJSf0/s1600-h/IMG_4201.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEignET76bGT-44YXyxWbYOeIg8RyDEJ6fYI8BnNQ-OYOHFKJzYtVxDR7bAR4M7XYSrqA8kh2fQCHoW-Yg9qf8ChkF9b5Pq8-SubSOPWenrXbxpGAnNkWkPtc2hZR_qR9rqwgKxpF1PsJSf0/s200/IMG_4201.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381411204121305522" /></a>At every club the band had to fill out a form that the soundman uses to know who was lead singer, drums, etc.. Probably also used to scrawl down related sound info. As it was all in Japanese, usually someone else filled it out for the band. I ran across the form for this gig on a table by the side of stage. Jackie from The Cedrics had been filling it out. With my limited knowledge, I was able to make out syllables spelling "Bii-Ree" and "Mii-Rii-Am". Jackie noticed me looking at the form and pointed out the spot where age(?) was listed. Billy's was 20 and Miriam 17.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZG8CAdiQe5qGmc90zzXuNXFE0CRi4bU8k0MdiKQluBW1wAm_XQmTib2GqiECC1DrszqAC_Kq_66eEjyaujjiZXwY5I4seGrT7a7ggb1Bev5BnpUTiRfRu2xt-Cfahyi1HibijurLZGpve/s1600-h/IMG_4211.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZG8CAdiQe5qGmc90zzXuNXFE0CRi4bU8k0MdiKQluBW1wAm_XQmTib2GqiECC1DrszqAC_Kq_66eEjyaujjiZXwY5I4seGrT7a7ggb1Bev5BnpUTiRfRu2xt-Cfahyi1HibijurLZGpve/s200/IMG_4211.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379101952326681074" /></a>With soundcheck done it was back to the hotel to wait until the openers, The Go-Devils to hit the stage at 7PM. All openers it seems start at this time in Japan. Possibly because transportation shuts down at a certain hour. Subways at 12:30 AM and JR trains at 1AM. It is good form to make an effort to get your patrons back home before that and not have them wind up sleeping at some 24-hr manga cafe.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs2Ib_vRRy6o4JECO6mqQDhMQNDdtaxygFC2f3WThbz0DdO0qRRywSKw9NDKjlnXMkqpVNpdmqN00UZBexT2BygIWiqTbPtA-_UEctAGuO9O4VeeZ4n3Ze7VYdcS0_LG5Yzkh-VOwYx-gW/s1600-h/IMG_4221.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs2Ib_vRRy6o4JECO6mqQDhMQNDdtaxygFC2f3WThbz0DdO0qRRywSKw9NDKjlnXMkqpVNpdmqN00UZBexT2BygIWiqTbPtA-_UEctAGuO9O4VeeZ4n3Ze7VYdcS0_LG5Yzkh-VOwYx-gW/s200/IMG_4221.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381411806513995970" /></a>Momo, Jelly Bean's wife (and member of the Go-Devils) had, along with Junichi, played a huge part in helping set up the gallery promotional material. From creating the John Fay T-shirt to just generally passing the word along. The Japan Tokyo/Osaka garage music community is pretty close and you can tell that everyone knows everyone else. I'm sure they attend each others gigs as often as they can afford. It is quite expensive to travel between cities. But this tour seemed to be a big reunion for a lot of people. which was nice but did make cutting out early a little tough on some evenings.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiELgPlkB98kQpRXWOXkWEkzhkFUXGnWKAaWGREGcOg9K6SY_0s1Tang-GmS9RoA2pUl0BVvxbLxqBXKPJ5Wg5e6G8pb1WeQh01Hu0u6uMhHiCFSplIcao8F5L9dqfVTXAkFkWc_llbimyg/s1600-h/IMG_4232.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 138px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiELgPlkB98kQpRXWOXkWEkzhkFUXGnWKAaWGREGcOg9K6SY_0s1Tang-GmS9RoA2pUl0BVvxbLxqBXKPJ5Wg5e6G8pb1WeQh01Hu0u6uMhHiCFSplIcao8F5L9dqfVTXAkFkWc_llbimyg/s200/IMG_4232.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381427373795125650" /></a>The Go-Devils were great. Three girls playing your basic 3 chord rock but with lots of attitude and excellent choice of covers. Whats amazing is that in Japan, even within the traditional patriarchal society, you still find quite a lot of female punk/garage etc.. bands. As I mentioned to a friend, in Japan it seems you don't just breakout halfway...you go all out.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiBpO3TeVkSEj3DywBIB9eXa7eGP5xbP27ENvvvA7RnOMtK4ZAkSPr5ewmm6Ild3e4gpUG8fjlARpT6S9oaTJwjwYUo8UbsXFU6TJLXe5pWLtJyN0Jq8f0fW6Iun2R4GpLgOL8p1TWWayi/s1600-h/IMG_4244.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiBpO3TeVkSEj3DywBIB9eXa7eGP5xbP27ENvvvA7RnOMtK4ZAkSPr5ewmm6Ild3e4gpUG8fjlARpT6S9oaTJwjwYUo8UbsXFU6TJLXe5pWLtJyN0Jq8f0fW6Iun2R4GpLgOL8p1TWWayi/s200/IMG_4244.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381412348160561762" /></a>With the Go-Devils set done, and having seen the King Brothers, I thought it would be a good time to go look for some of that famous Osaka food. Namely otonomiyake, a traditional, pancake-like dish. I asked a few of the locals for tips but it seemed the best places were over 10 minutes away...by bus. So, I just figured it was worth wandering around in the area until I found something. Seeing the wealth of small places coming in I was sure I'd find something.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxrarrz-R5Pco06ZfcVTW8gpxyL5dxWBl2XSjOa7ODtsu0bU-G6mwlASARtwmSs-NQrQhf4zMK1ZMm-H1ZWHVM9VGMqEwiJwVC08km3hyynGXj8iT1XtMLTgqvCvy_BanMwuKCYhIPmbfN/s1600-h/IMG_4245.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxrarrz-R5Pco06ZfcVTW8gpxyL5dxWBl2XSjOa7ODtsu0bU-G6mwlASARtwmSs-NQrQhf4zMK1ZMm-H1ZWHVM9VGMqEwiJwVC08km3hyynGXj8iT1XtMLTgqvCvy_BanMwuKCYhIPmbfN/s200/IMG_4245.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379104345772279730" /></a>Now many of Osaka's streets, like Tokyo's, go back eons and as such are not really suited to keeping track of where you're going. You start down an alley and before you know it it curves, branches off, curves again etc. So if you're not really careful, its pretty damn easy to get lost. And with no Osaka map at hand, I made sure I was either able to retrace my steps or just keep some landmark within eye shot.<br /><br />While I did find quite a few places, almost none had photos or English menus. Some looked really expensive and others were so down home I felt like an outsider walking in. Growing weary, I <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQzNLyyKR0kvjcJ5L4BcYiYZKHYDy8l24KYAGhutHODo_-wxyxgVjtUxmJ7La9NJTJVC1nEdeAqtOpla0AD_S4KURANvLPR0JndTLUhuFsJSxo3ILUCoIF02kMsb53lFABoDmtapZ05Au4/s1600-h/IMG_4240.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQzNLyyKR0kvjcJ5L4BcYiYZKHYDy8l24KYAGhutHODo_-wxyxgVjtUxmJ7La9NJTJVC1nEdeAqtOpla0AD_S4KURANvLPR0JndTLUhuFsJSxo3ILUCoIF02kMsb53lFABoDmtapZ05Au4/s200/IMG_4240.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381415199424319538" /></a>walked into an arcade and found a takoyaki (octopus puffs) stand a short distance in. It wasn't otonomiyaki, but it was close..sort of. A regional dish anyway. I clumsily ordered 8 small fried balls and sat down at the counter. I had tried takoyaki in NYC, and while those were great, these were phenomenal. I enjoyed the dish with the warm, self-satisfaction of actually completing something I had set out to do. That lasted until I realized I had to make my way back somehow.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheu2dyKuEYkIc0-mqh2qvy1xNzgfqnSstvDOeH23Ju1NzTMNpBgS1uAPeXlp_aTf1ttcyxi7u6keBt_3SlJWrrR6poTSg1-hZWoaeti6rSb0wH_oYlPw1qtIIE651lcEKKX6zpUpcmUp7Z/s1600-h/IMG_4258.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheu2dyKuEYkIc0-mqh2qvy1xNzgfqnSstvDOeH23Ju1NzTMNpBgS1uAPeXlp_aTf1ttcyxi7u6keBt_3SlJWrrR6poTSg1-hZWoaeti6rSb0wH_oYlPw1qtIIE651lcEKKX6zpUpcmUp7Z/s200/IMG_4258.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381412833985362178" /></a>Upon returning to Rock Rider I got there in time to catch Jackie and the Cedrics performing. Its amazing how these guys just get better and better. And in front of a hometown crowd of Jelly Bean's friends they just were as frenetic as you'd expect. Jackie had warned me earlier that this crowd was going to be "crazy" and to watch out for my photo equipment. Well, while they were quite animated, shooting this show (both on film and digital) was a far cry any from previous mayhem I have endured years past. Still, better safe than sorry. So, I parked myself off to the side and shot the Cedrics from there.<br /><br />For the A-Bones set there really wasn't any backstage area to squeeze myself into as I had done in some of the other places. So I was content to stand in a narrow opening on stage left. While standing there I met local Osaka rock photographer, Shino and her six-year-old daughter(!). She was happy to see the band and did an outstanding job shooting the gig. Check out her blog for some truly phenomenal shots as well as a funny closeup of me shooting my trusty film camera. <a href="http://shinonono.petit.cc/banana/20090902130627.html">Click here for A-Bones pix!</a>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ7XAmPZbnXHMEKZYdnV_U9B4U0s4KTY4oCkwNGoVpWXnimPRajj9WeR2VbQ0mJBmDNWOb8kavgTii7nrb4V4WEneuSvGOSrpU0zS19yhS0bdmKVoduloJ_dJYAH6Y5rWdII_pSmuzN3nY/s1600-h/IMG_4338.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ7XAmPZbnXHMEKZYdnV_U9B4U0s4KTY4oCkwNGoVpWXnimPRajj9WeR2VbQ0mJBmDNWOb8kavgTii7nrb4V4WEneuSvGOSrpU0zS19yhS0bdmKVoduloJ_dJYAH6Y5rWdII_pSmuzN3nY/s200/IMG_4338.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381422932454580034" /></a>The A-Bones went on with much fanfare and knowing this was to be their last show, put on an incredible show in front of a wildly appreciative audience. Burlesque dancer Miss Tarantula who had performed earlier with The Go-Devils (as well as at Loft with The Fly) got up on stage and shook her "assets", kids started jumping off the miniscule stage, Momo threw herself off at one point. Although this time she actually landed on people and not straight on the floor <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPYGdoOuIWY-VYakg9Ux1VLyuB8C_6BfKoABHiYYTXwei995tmD3C-V0ZiAaL5NRH1icM13QD371vjSuOR2_Ogr3mTptI0BFDMKZywGVCjjYC1LGZ6lALA1PgdNhB1MKtFM2W1GtgX0q7/s1600-h/IMG_4422.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPYGdoOuIWY-VYakg9Ux1VLyuB8C_6BfKoABHiYYTXwei995tmD3C-V0ZiAaL5NRH1icM13QD371vjSuOR2_Ogr3mTptI0BFDMKZywGVCjjYC1LGZ6lALA1PgdNhB1MKtFM2W1GtgX0q7/s200/IMG_4422.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381413834867019874" /></a>like at Nagoya. For a tiny girl, she sure made quite a thud! Amazingly though she popped up like a jack-in-the-box and was off and running again.<br /><br />As the set continued people were just going nuts. Some fellow got onstage for no other reason than to drop his pants in front of the crowd. Rock and Roll Osaka-style? LOL. Another guy got onstage <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlBN6u70kJ-m5oPwV4MIFF2WkhlEpPvfaR9rxoC_tWss5kGhpGhsICeKbXYiLCAWsqQZlzep77_ucBkK_WbpQQu9qwYEsqUT4VyRQLCRj3_YP8okP7qjhRmdskdJnCWGgxfdialD0MQIMD/s1600-h/IMG_4424.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlBN6u70kJ-m5oPwV4MIFF2WkhlEpPvfaR9rxoC_tWss5kGhpGhsICeKbXYiLCAWsqQZlzep77_ucBkK_WbpQQu9qwYEsqUT4VyRQLCRj3_YP8okP7qjhRmdskdJnCWGgxfdialD0MQIMD/s200/IMG_4424.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381414530640633106" /></a>and sang something into Bruce's mike. It sure wasn't the song. Once done, he leaned back and stood up there for a good few minutes not doing anything, before dropping back into the crowd. Flashes and cameras were going off everywhere. Osaka just couldn't get enough of the band.<br /><br />As the finale instrument switcheroo took place, Go-Devils, Cedrics, fans were all jumping on and off the stage. While I kept shooting and having a blast, Miriam suddenly nodded to me between beats. I didn't need to be invited twice. I put down my cameras and grabbed a drumstick and played along on Miriam's ride cymbal. The whole thing came to glorious end soon after.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJIK5XJdt051OEpMgLmjcdCvyg9euxVjXhgXi1ic-3Xnt6ulJB90hNQ47lDxL7UNT6aCom1v7IYRCBxwQuMGcItQMNk6NIPXsOZvq_tcrCFhGHvQbOayhAiTMvMvkXdHaqiY1O-RpzKBW4/s1600-h/IMG_4437.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJIK5XJdt051OEpMgLmjcdCvyg9euxVjXhgXi1ic-3Xnt6ulJB90hNQ47lDxL7UNT6aCom1v7IYRCBxwQuMGcItQMNk6NIPXsOZvq_tcrCFhGHvQbOayhAiTMvMvkXdHaqiY1O-RpzKBW4/s200/IMG_4437.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381422383644988610" /></a>The general consensus was that this was one of the best shows the town had seen in quite a while. And from a hanger-on point of view, it was certainly one of the best A-Bones shows I saw not just in Japan but NY as well. While congratulations and well wishes were being doled out, I cut outside to catch Miriam, Lars and Marcus walking back to the hotel. Mistakenly thinking they were coming back I hung out in front cooling off and chatting with a rockabilly ex-pat who filled me in on her life in Osaka. After 10 years her Japanese was flawless, but what was amusing was that she had assumed I was a Japanese translator for the band!<br /><br />Well, 20 minutes became 30, then 40, with no sight of anyone. Suddenly about an hour after the end of the show Billy shows up and said he was just waiting to get paid. The rest had already called it a night! Luckily Enocky was kind enough to drop us off at the hotel. Great night, great fun...now for some great sleep.SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3054603677289930024.post-50661101315751725172009-08-31T04:14:00.002-04:002009-10-02T22:00:45.940-04:00Hitting the Road<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSFpqEbYTD75WPQfVJgC54MI37eqLF1vG22Ezfb0bpxwEUwgKmzRBtYkCMIH1Gj3RBhU-XBr5UZ6TmVsCHiLRgSoFgp1Lsjb1X3E9XV6Jj34WeUGclOnuy4JEzIcosrJqAeDEceql39_L6/s1600-h/IMG_3885.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSFpqEbYTD75WPQfVJgC54MI37eqLF1vG22Ezfb0bpxwEUwgKmzRBtYkCMIH1Gj3RBhU-XBr5UZ6TmVsCHiLRgSoFgp1Lsjb1X3E9XV6Jj34WeUGclOnuy4JEzIcosrJqAeDEceql39_L6/s200/IMG_3885.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378660218631123442" /></a>Well, true to the anime-style weather report on TV, a nice hurricane blew through Tokyo today. Unfortunately not only was it not cute, but it was also the same day we were driving to Nagoya for a gig at Club Oys. Hoping to beat the storm, Enocky mentioned the night before that it would be wise for us to get an early start.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcUjrDrCcGgBriwo5qRVq4ImEIrb5nSUW9E7cuDdkm4Oi2XYOIoT3n9AK0l96Y-BjuJ59ZtPXD2xpLxXWC1hPM_iDUUcqIfUiOx4xpHeL4nBH_wwn1ymyWkxuK-G8qpxsr8rHabHm-Cl4/s1600-h/IMG_3882.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcUjrDrCcGgBriwo5qRVq4ImEIrb5nSUW9E7cuDdkm4Oi2XYOIoT3n9AK0l96Y-BjuJ59ZtPXD2xpLxXWC1hPM_iDUUcqIfUiOx4xpHeL4nBH_wwn1ymyWkxuK-G8qpxsr8rHabHm-Cl4/s200/IMG_3882.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378660435256693970" /></a>Come morning, a group of tired and weary foreigners and one native waited for Enocky to show up with the van. It had already started to rain and looked pretty dismal. However, there was a chance we could outrun the storm and get past the front before it hit. The evening before people were wishing us kiyoskete (be careful) so it made you wonder what was awaiting us. <br /><br />Enocky arrived soon leading Billy to quip that for a bunch of guys from a country obsessed with punctuality, they were always late! The large touring van was a rental and just barely fit five A-Bones, one photographer and two Cedrics. In a rush to <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixEZmKxCd33EiLK9lxDtthvR4366b5a6W0DbAuqrnU4EYQrsl8CSbwvM2ReyszTz-KHJVIBIEhH8AjaG7W7p_lYQzzcN1vZotStmE9SvTF5zaFBOigBGgAHEwv72UJSE6_m_mub7Ptxm0j/s1600-h/IMG_3897.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixEZmKxCd33EiLK9lxDtthvR4366b5a6W0DbAuqrnU4EYQrsl8CSbwvM2ReyszTz-KHJVIBIEhH8AjaG7W7p_lYQzzcN1vZotStmE9SvTF5zaFBOigBGgAHEwv72UJSE6_m_mub7Ptxm0j/s200/IMG_3897.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378662214375399362" /></a>leave, we just packed the inside jammed ourselves in and took off for the Tomei Expressway. A four/five hour ride was ahead.<br /><br />About two hours out we stopped off at the Fujikawa Service Area near Mt. Fuji for some lunch and a driver shift change. Despite it still being grey and raining, a quick look at the multiple HD flat screens inside the rest stop area revealed we had beat out the storm. As chirpy elevator music surrounded us, were treated to images of people walking around Tokyo amid buckets of rain and an occasional lingering shot of an open umbrella being blown around. In high def no less.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMi6BIVvukXAEFFFUfnpbAL-Uc7EGzl-SqzUpVsjcV9Ovi6UwW14Q6NZ_B_IlcX4lT9GpwNXJsyMYx8CebhtoQ66aKxvMQjR13MrGwCl4yA1n2ULpArUzDhj6DjcWYkRqFvz7FeOYqdEA8/s1600-h/IMG_3908.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMi6BIVvukXAEFFFUfnpbAL-Uc7EGzl-SqzUpVsjcV9Ovi6UwW14Q6NZ_B_IlcX4lT9GpwNXJsyMYx8CebhtoQ66aKxvMQjR13MrGwCl4yA1n2ULpArUzDhj6DjcWYkRqFvz7FeOYqdEA8/s200/IMG_3908.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378663165677276626" /></a>Like everything in Japan, even the rest areas were incredibly clean and had an attendant ready to mop down a stall as soon as someone walked out of it. The eating areas beside have what I thought was impossible--double capacity--vending machines, also had fresh food. You saw a photo and description what you wanted, placed your money in a machine, pressed the appropriate button and got a receipt. Immediately the order was prepared and when ready your number was called and you got your food. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUgTund4jbsj0claHlgA1bc_WcdAJtaQq0TERTs4gJmU5zZZQHrGGhnKJl67kiQHt58FrE6qHeuIV-LH4B1yB7o3u1DYru20i-2FtgBUwfhDg3YjGG_6XLLvFQCSulWV7dkDUNO0xJdUlO/s1600-h/IMG_3906.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUgTund4jbsj0claHlgA1bc_WcdAJtaQq0TERTs4gJmU5zZZQHrGGhnKJl67kiQHt58FrE6qHeuIV-LH4B1yB7o3u1DYru20i-2FtgBUwfhDg3YjGG_6XLLvFQCSulWV7dkDUNO0xJdUlO/s200/IMG_3906.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383986212488565042" /></a>Since I'm not big on eating while travelling, I just got some snacks and looked around for the equivalent of an info booth that might have a map. My two years of Japanese finally came in handy when I remembered the word <i>chizu</i>. Which was presented to me by a woman who was dressed in a uniform eerily similar to that of a flight attendant. General travel hostess?<br /><br />After our break we took off again and headed south.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9iSqaM2Tlf0V7RZONluIBUa4D2gF5et8fcImod8bfR78zhkXhO2rw7TqDxwJ7nY3Oaw2VCM6CRCuaDRXQLKkdEhzkN9-NGmOTdtSBqTVTIhYgPVeYrXj54OEmNRRjpLHth84TzJF2Ris6/s1600-h/IMG_3914.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9iSqaM2Tlf0V7RZONluIBUa4D2gF5et8fcImod8bfR78zhkXhO2rw7TqDxwJ7nY3Oaw2VCM6CRCuaDRXQLKkdEhzkN9-NGmOTdtSBqTVTIhYgPVeYrXj54OEmNRRjpLHth84TzJF2Ris6/s200/IMG_3914.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378664777275132850" /></a>Amazingly, after a short while the sun started to come out. Which was nice but we all wished it happened about 30 minutes earlier when we were looking at a cloud-covered Mt. Fuji. As the van moved on we entered really beautiful country areas where you could see the main source of living was farming. The guys in the Cedrics said "hillbilly country" meaning I am sure farm folk. (a fact that was further emphasized in the previous reststop's bathroom which had <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkg7VWuoPFAK1d-exCPvCCdmHFOa9NrOgyE_GMKKytUx5vX-Olss5hX0NgOQy6hHfQU5ilZEfltuqhyphenhyphengBLkRWv-Ft_1UbCXBfL51zjJZkdJfNQvdcsa8Gnfbg2tgPNXDJKli8IXjZOks34/s1600-h/IMG_3905.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 154px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkg7VWuoPFAK1d-exCPvCCdmHFOa9NrOgyE_GMKKytUx5vX-Olss5hX0NgOQy6hHfQU5ilZEfltuqhyphenhyphengBLkRWv-Ft_1UbCXBfL51zjJZkdJfNQvdcsa8Gnfbg2tgPNXDJKli8IXjZOks34/s200/IMG_3905.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383986596736120290" /></a>pictograms showing how NOT to use the western-style toilet.) While on the road, Bruce pointed out some beware of monkeys signs. Now thats rural.<br /><br />We pulled into Nagoya around 4:30 or so. About five hours since we started. Sound check was at five so it actually worked out pretty well. As soon as we pulled out of the van at the club the band went downstairs, did a sound check, and we all departed to our hotel a block away. With the gig slated to start around 7PM we wanted to catch the openers the <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdvGU3FAfUPAQq8G5Mgplccu4R3eveaqUukTBM5OBM8-7VhbjbFhZ88mzMDND5ocMYQ0TmjsN6NCCtPf3MelncsmkqY2NphyphenhyphenlmqKhjreHj79-TPfnbOLwvJiWK6dSLOE5mN_mCazrE59mU/s1600-h/IMG_3918.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdvGU3FAfUPAQq8G5Mgplccu4R3eveaqUukTBM5OBM8-7VhbjbFhZ88mzMDND5ocMYQ0TmjsN6NCCtPf3MelncsmkqY2NphyphenhyphenlmqKhjreHj79-TPfnbOLwvJiWK6dSLOE5mN_mCazrE59mU/s200/IMG_3918.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378665856838968626" /></a>King Brothers. With Jackie and the Cedrics and the A-Bones following it was to be a thankfully short night.<br /><br />Nagoya Oys was another tiny underground club with a capacity of about 150 people it seemed. Unlike the festival-style metal barriers they had at Loft, this place had two u-shaped metal tubes oddly just positioned in the center of the stage. Having no real backstage to speak of, I just positioned myself in a spot up front and shot away.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNWGGIAXDsOCkI_us1rFO0A2Xj1gRoe02kzU-aWLrxo3lPkHqpmohlYvgtunP3PRidQBC-INcL0uixJMsS8xZwtIf6gTNvULcvFuhCkqDCyTVdAbTwrsJhAzZY9BIVFbxdhEbO2fgpRN2T/s1600-h/IMG_3963.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNWGGIAXDsOCkI_us1rFO0A2Xj1gRoe02kzU-aWLrxo3lPkHqpmohlYvgtunP3PRidQBC-INcL0uixJMsS8xZwtIf6gTNvULcvFuhCkqDCyTVdAbTwrsJhAzZY9BIVFbxdhEbO2fgpRN2T/s200/IMG_3963.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378667175297736754" /></a>The Cedrics and the A-Bones were in very good form. They put on a great show despite having driven this huge distance. If I had to grade the show I'd say it was just a teeny notch below the Loft performance, but having seen them twice in the past three days, I'd be the only one who'd notice. The crowd had a great time, as did the band. The closing number brought the Cedrics up on stage to switch instruments with the A-Bones and bang away like there was <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Uuvjff7_SgJPR6m084dUj8Xzqojx-qNpvkdzXSLJ-6mhqKOkRjjgc72G1wQcv00yNJ1I5GdOTSl7ccp3alm9bobHe3MwWPGekZ6cVOT78KSpvHH-M8qNeoaXI4-zWgGRu4BvjvMo-pFo/s1600-h/IMG_4104.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Uuvjff7_SgJPR6m084dUj8Xzqojx-qNpvkdzXSLJ-6mhqKOkRjjgc72G1wQcv00yNJ1I5GdOTSl7ccp3alm9bobHe3MwWPGekZ6cVOT78KSpvHH-M8qNeoaXI4-zWgGRu4BvjvMo-pFo/s200/IMG_4104.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378667725226097650" /></a>no tomorrow. At some point Miriam wound up with Lars' sax, Enoki peeled the Mad Mike face from Miriam's kit and was walking around the stage wearing it, and Jackie found himself co-playing the kit with Miriam.<br /><br />After the gig, we had a quick bite at a Chinese restaurant a few blocks away. Bruce brought up the fact that a lot of us in the States were brought up on dubbed Japanese <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv1UbhniVAYDQV7oDvGRias8vc5IdAsK6dKyEsL6Loj3U8abNFdIW5CHaZXC8jKZxukDSY8W-QCEP_JgYarP-Tl1UEZLFRKLxmu1g6uGMoVycBeo7XGvpJgOz-G1EZMjH93TgdUg5eIXLF/s1600-h/IMG_4144.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv1UbhniVAYDQV7oDvGRias8vc5IdAsK6dKyEsL6Loj3U8abNFdIW5CHaZXC8jKZxukDSY8W-QCEP_JgYarP-Tl1UEZLFRKLxmu1g6uGMoVycBeo7XGvpJgOz-G1EZMjH93TgdUg5eIXLF/s200/IMG_4144.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378668252880519106" /></a>cartoons as kids. Jelly Bean and Jackie were quite surprised, until Bruce started singing all these theme songs. Turns out while some were complete rewrites, others retained the melody. Which lead to some interesting West/East sing-a-longs that amused the wait staff and chefs. With the ride remaining to Osaka the next day, we decided it was best to call it a night and crash out.<br /><br />Some more shots from the day<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtQ3zO5gLVPGioKCkuUJdg8W-Q-DwoUCeVLh7BPD_wos9oSIW9XJ2wgJVcnyIN-e7NTXtTGMr6pUqw87-gZN90zxR86U7VqhO6e82vprgknyUGMvYlUq7t439ixeueiAAhVmQ6V_copuTK/s1600-h/IMG_3901.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtQ3zO5gLVPGioKCkuUJdg8W-Q-DwoUCeVLh7BPD_wos9oSIW9XJ2wgJVcnyIN-e7NTXtTGMr6pUqw87-gZN90zxR86U7VqhO6e82vprgknyUGMvYlUq7t439ixeueiAAhVmQ6V_copuTK/s200/IMG_3901.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383987095390770530" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOOvF2MeadRk_um7aAF8wBKH9w736V4AwVKy9sAyxEdrO-UXSWCHAuBy83KiSDLYI9W3LKecI19QFOtBV8oQJaDSOwEagZehb0gkaF-LEwqgitc3tPhsCm2Frauzxf-AgjbG049y50etQ/s1600-h/IMG_3902.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 147px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOOvF2MeadRk_um7aAF8wBKH9w736V4AwVKy9sAyxEdrO-UXSWCHAuBy83KiSDLYI9W3LKecI19QFOtBV8oQJaDSOwEagZehb0gkaF-LEwqgitc3tPhsCm2Frauzxf-AgjbG049y50etQ/s200/IMG_3902.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383987089396819122" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_sXlLT5-JshXhVxPxkK4PYw6vJpeUvm74XdlpbfwQ2QVgBpOpBK7IbA9ltRsgde3bwn6GdZOTztgiUp1bHL7tvTKxSTfvLkz8DqjiXyfSS160AmmvDUS01fFB4LWJMq7XvK7xWg1xV0q/s1600-h/IMG_3900.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_sXlLT5-JshXhVxPxkK4PYw6vJpeUvm74XdlpbfwQ2QVgBpOpBK7IbA9ltRsgde3bwn6GdZOTztgiUp1bHL7tvTKxSTfvLkz8DqjiXyfSS160AmmvDUS01fFB4LWJMq7XvK7xWg1xV0q/s200/IMG_3900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378736927668466338" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0T2SFcRZIaABbNO1ag-jd02Ji2xu-3fwFyjAJsHMEcXRyt6w3FVGINlbHEsmS10-7ruZEAtBlg8qoBF6Cg5zNcnrMzSHL9COgtUeZn1Aopmzj3-Cob4DubxI9-iXQX3-3Ccgm13vbK-y/s1600-h/IMG_3896.jpg"><img style="float:left; 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margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSAkifYtGv2ThEGLnKk9ug2D-1kXRWlw0q-rBtyRlcSE5IuT1ekGVI9KSnmrrNCPr2hEMz2GFqKZ_9DtfVwZce-0l5j7oCXQtsWGSqz19siaCxrMBT_IEDHZPvKbNPtLT32d65MDq_NL_R/s200/IMG_4152.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378740776869495490" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg87OBu1hjE6ocRcIusTpyuTssOtBQsRKG8qJH8RLWEOKQiAX4h-1RB6KF_KNzGqFcpW8FPSMIZTNEswoPxaQCOiwmKE7kEUTIuLUXvbXA7GX12fQEg_2BnLEqwPt2XygZs11YGNG2-C-yD/s1600-h/IMG_4149.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg87OBu1hjE6ocRcIusTpyuTssOtBQsRKG8qJH8RLWEOKQiAX4h-1RB6KF_KNzGqFcpW8FPSMIZTNEswoPxaQCOiwmKE7kEUTIuLUXvbXA7GX12fQEg_2BnLEqwPt2XygZs11YGNG2-C-yD/s200/IMG_4149.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378740769230836770" /></a>SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3054603677289930024.post-70384374471102516562009-08-30T12:51:00.002-04:002009-09-21T14:52:05.345-04:00Hatagaya DJ NightAfter the previous evenings marathon, getting up early wasn't one of my highest priorities today. In fact, the only thing that woke me up was the call from the front desk at 11 AM asking if I needed to get my room cleaned. I barely managed to pick up the phone and say no before I looked around and had one of those odd moments when I realized I was in a small business hotel on the other side of the world. Switching on the TV is always a hotel thing for me...even if I don't watch it. Soon the room was filled with sounds of frantic male announcers and high-pitched saleswomen. Seems the only quiet commercials are the beauty ads!<br /><br />Since today was the last day of the exhibit at Eki gallery I decided to take a long walk around the neighborhood and then hop a subway in Shinjuku to the gallery to help close up.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFR1eE8Y9W2Tc8b8Yh-gKObiBiG9lkqGzdwOpQshB_DbmKC1mepJpA_V-BCXTvfmZ30RL0QYjvbVORxSjSVVCyg5CDlD61d6bSLNDZ-Ss90TI3z38Z0UvVXmRGRypbfEyqh5OIN8tpDl2m/s1600-h/IMG_3828.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFR1eE8Y9W2Tc8b8Yh-gKObiBiG9lkqGzdwOpQshB_DbmKC1mepJpA_V-BCXTvfmZ30RL0QYjvbVORxSjSVVCyg5CDlD61d6bSLNDZ-Ss90TI3z38Z0UvVXmRGRypbfEyqh5OIN8tpDl2m/s200/IMG_3828.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378574325349957266" /></a>It was a cloudy but quiet afternoon. The quiet narrow backstreets provided a great way to ease into the day. Also, by this time I was somewhat used to looking over my shoulder-in the correct direction-to make sure I wouldn't suddenly become a road statistic. I could see the headlines "Gaijin flattened by Honda". Lovely. We all noticed a few days back how oddly pedestrians, cars scooters, and bikes all coexisted on the same narrow streets. Tiny, frail, little old ladies calmly walked with the assurance that they lived too long in this world to be worried by getting taken out by a mini-truck.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtCKMilgF8jNJil9BlDh73UHHex6K1mLj0f0TW-O4ucDFe3SEvF-Kt3yTme596QQETLEDbsmWy99ERRZNz7Ns4aNzgbWWjpYKcfCaGG5nZPG1gEuOPhNqtcyzkRSWKAeTatirckEfm5hC0/s1600-h/IMG_3826.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtCKMilgF8jNJil9BlDh73UHHex6K1mLj0f0TW-O4ucDFe3SEvF-Kt3yTme596QQETLEDbsmWy99ERRZNz7Ns4aNzgbWWjpYKcfCaGG5nZPG1gEuOPhNqtcyzkRSWKAeTatirckEfm5hC0/s200/IMG_3826.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378574581527081314" /></a>Besides the plethora of campaign posters everywhere (the big election was today) one of the interesting things I saw was a cue of young men making a line that snaked around a corner. As I got closer I realized that they were lining up to have some sort of a CD signing. Quiet possibly by the idol beaming from the surrounding posters herself. The reason I say quite possibly is that I was not able to see what they were waiting for. The organizers had created a maze-like environment inside created with temporary dividers that made it all but <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDnh12CQx_EyGwsQDDMdbPMmDWKcaX4i54CQgInrg8eQuOafxdggsSmd_Cq0UX9LaoRMmR7rRJOpsz34VyxhTigR2xGCv5GZkCfEO6QXthZpzZKMRjAnh6D3Le0du43VXpGCbB5PJ3curq/s1600-h/IMG_3831.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDnh12CQx_EyGwsQDDMdbPMmDWKcaX4i54CQgInrg8eQuOafxdggsSmd_Cq0UX9LaoRMmR7rRJOpsz34VyxhTigR2xGCv5GZkCfEO6QXthZpzZKMRjAnh6D3Le0du43VXpGCbB5PJ3curq/s200/IMG_3831.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378575053666570898" /></a>impossible to see anything -- even inside the store. No one...I mean no one got to even glimpse the <i>tarento</i> unless you ponied up the bucks for a disk.<br /><br />Once I arrived at Shinjuku Station, I was met with the usual crowds one would expect. Although many had mentioned how crazy it would be, it didn't seem too different from the typical Grand Central/Penn Station crowd during any rush hour. Confidently, I walked up to the ticket machine to buy a ticket to my destination. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQUHYcFtzbIUzGT_iH7pq-ib5-fdOtnTWFs9yW1M7l2HfDUVkLK1X4oCILZlmhKX2c8OQ0PE5cZFO23Lca_a0t9nUV2bvl-cAKpmEyf7zWnSulCMU3x6FVy41Sg1QP77o0KyShkCRSbKD/s1600-h/IMG_3838.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQUHYcFtzbIUzGT_iH7pq-ib5-fdOtnTWFs9yW1M7l2HfDUVkLK1X4oCILZlmhKX2c8OQ0PE5cZFO23Lca_a0t9nUV2bvl-cAKpmEyf7zWnSulCMU3x6FVy41Sg1QP77o0KyShkCRSbKD/s200/IMG_3838.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378575605480855522" /></a>By this time I had somewhat grasped the concept of moving myself around the city and except for a few hiccups where I had to match some kanji (Chinese characters) the reading of maps wasn't too difficult.<br /><br />While I was on the train I got a call (oh, you can actually get reception in some stations...but its still frowned upon to yap unabashedly) that one of my SF friends was at the gallery. Making a beeline to Shimo-kitazawa I met up <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPsRf-BbWy-svYvMr0y5U1uQ5Tv5d6QVJ5sxCp0t9NkoQGubSEFqPWCozux928a1Rzf_hpNopwD6tekNRV9JoKwTmUV767WgKhJgMBxTE-M1sGSsKoqqh-y-lXgf45EPyIcDpAgYruoaxC/s1600-h/IMG_3847.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPsRf-BbWy-svYvMr0y5U1uQ5Tv5d6QVJ5sxCp0t9NkoQGubSEFqPWCozux928a1Rzf_hpNopwD6tekNRV9JoKwTmUV767WgKhJgMBxTE-M1sGSsKoqqh-y-lXgf45EPyIcDpAgYruoaxC/s200/IMG_3847.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378576087997556354" /></a>with Yoshie and her husband who I had both met while visiting yet another pal in CA a few years back with my dad. Both looked great and after a nice lunch in the area we bid each other goodbye. Yoshie was nice enough to bring some photos of my late dad she took back during that trip. Our last together. It was really great to see those photos and reminded me how dad had always been one of my biggest supporters. The fact that I was able to see those shots while still in Japan was very apropo and touching.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXbFsl1NNmjVjxCSkszjMV6yuHk29NZEnkPdID6k4LJ6FQC2AJvUQkgbywokNuxOzbbbdk0SvI4MCMYfXtNov9qMHWK3fLPMtSyOf4_CWVlui9wxDJnGUzzw9bvxc5OOxYN-HXHwnb0Zbj/s1600-h/IMG_3853.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXbFsl1NNmjVjxCSkszjMV6yuHk29NZEnkPdID6k4LJ6FQC2AJvUQkgbywokNuxOzbbbdk0SvI4MCMYfXtNov9qMHWK3fLPMtSyOf4_CWVlui9wxDJnGUzzw9bvxc5OOxYN-HXHwnb0Zbj/s200/IMG_3853.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378577250275890754" /></a>Well, once 6PM came around Junichi closed the doors and went to get his car to help transport the photos to his shop, Erostika in Harajuku. I stayed behind and started the process of taking down the frames and packing them up. It was the first time I had ever taken down an exhibition, so it couldn't help but be a bittersweet moment. Although, pulling those damn nails off the wall sort of took care of that.<br /><br />After all was down, Junichi and his girlfriend, dropped me off at Heavy Sick club where Billy and Miriam were to be spinning disks that night.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ygtcYTKbLliXGYWM6nZAPllk6l4Ab56upmHyQBrWOFtiXkk_iZ6hWbDsVTGuAHR273wN4Nvp81n927JtLJnVCjltySWdYdf8wzv1nFJReLw6JB8GolFpusACHxchAg0mCgYcbtaDSyAF/s1600-h/IMG_3858.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ygtcYTKbLliXGYWM6nZAPllk6l4Ab56upmHyQBrWOFtiXkk_iZ6hWbDsVTGuAHR273wN4Nvp81n927JtLJnVCjltySWdYdf8wzv1nFJReLw6JB8GolFpusACHxchAg0mCgYcbtaDSyAF/s200/IMG_3858.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378578023566256434" /></a>The A-Bones were already there so I sat down to chat with Lars, Marcus and Bruce in the side room adjacent to the performance/DJ space. Heavy Sick is tiny. Two minuscule rooms side by side. Each about 1/3 the size of the Maxwells band room. But it did draw a nice amount of garage and rockabilly fans to hear Billy and Miriam play 45s. There was a rockabilly band that night called Los Rizlaz. Great fellows and a neat little band. They even did a few covers of Norton material in honor of the Millers. When Billy and Miriam hit the decks though the dance <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyl7yvBeR6_jcDz28E2VzCDMIHPgK-VwqwYn0pbW7h_D_CFmWMHZvyz5TT8rjgm56SyXXJOCmYSKpbxMa-mTJVtgfK8JChcRFa3iT2dE8eVOyTWPGP24xG5S9g3_2qatdYawv2eOp4K7jV/s1600-h/IMG_3876.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyl7yvBeR6_jcDz28E2VzCDMIHPgK-VwqwYn0pbW7h_D_CFmWMHZvyz5TT8rjgm56SyXXJOCmYSKpbxMa-mTJVtgfK8JChcRFa3iT2dE8eVOyTWPGP24xG5S9g3_2qatdYawv2eOp4K7jV/s200/IMG_3876.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383994177782218450" /></a>floor broke out. What was originally just a few people dancing turned into small enthusiastic group. When Miriam started dancing I couldn't help but join in. What was funny was that while Miriam and I enjoyed ourselves the younger set was decidedly more sedate. With proper coaxing though we did get some of the locals to let loose a little bit. After the show ended up with a rousing version of "Tallahasee Lassie" autographs and photo ops closed up the evening.<br /><br />More pictures below!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTvOdK3KR3yJj9zBy7eNqGyDrhucu4Xlkiy89DxuE9-UWeRo2ybRsDYqljUR2wFzZs8okJjOs-SLjNH4AA5uuC6iKPU3d9F_fX56zjR2FQvuhFdW54cGogBQ3RHXZVcIOtOODhT3RSYlR0/s1600-h/IMG_3845.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTvOdK3KR3yJj9zBy7eNqGyDrhucu4Xlkiy89DxuE9-UWeRo2ybRsDYqljUR2wFzZs8okJjOs-SLjNH4AA5uuC6iKPU3d9F_fX56zjR2FQvuhFdW54cGogBQ3RHXZVcIOtOODhT3RSYlR0/s200/IMG_3845.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378580042134788562" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCkoypSmAExfdZeP3gtnGpw5H4_K8UmrsFR8VoMQfjIq01bqGDhwmW2g5pUKctgz2OGkfOWzeXYLnWvo7O5WP_prJWwqN-Te4gbodJ4qVHa7voNhKtkGE6l35BSoqHkq5-aIEDhkMMW8EV/s1600-h/IMG_3842.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCkoypSmAExfdZeP3gtnGpw5H4_K8UmrsFR8VoMQfjIq01bqGDhwmW2g5pUKctgz2OGkfOWzeXYLnWvo7O5WP_prJWwqN-Te4gbodJ4qVHa7voNhKtkGE6l35BSoqHkq5-aIEDhkMMW8EV/s200/IMG_3842.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378580033690146866" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLEBHXidZo6jqZwNkst0-Pc3BXwOIPKeuf0OKPj2NF1hj57pOCQTc7QSY7s9zNz75Il6d3RVNkauRG8hfgAmTu9dEJuum9BoxbcibbtxkjQ-PcPDlkVGRRSPQDS0sAf-kMOSTPHRe8UZMH/s1600-h/IMG_3839.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLEBHXidZo6jqZwNkst0-Pc3BXwOIPKeuf0OKPj2NF1hj57pOCQTc7QSY7s9zNz75Il6d3RVNkauRG8hfgAmTu9dEJuum9BoxbcibbtxkjQ-PcPDlkVGRRSPQDS0sAf-kMOSTPHRe8UZMH/s200/IMG_3839.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378580027023610146" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd9xCjLsjct70Dv-r59IW-pmdV1o0FuC4n0KHJ21SaE3E3bxRYN6Db34GlqNCTQTODMGRNay8mGgFef44itbTLKqjCf0tERMdTCMkMlBve5TzlQVCoKTVFNjY99Fngg221iu1BsaRxEmGC/s1600-h/IMG_3837.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd9xCjLsjct70Dv-r59IW-pmdV1o0FuC4n0KHJ21SaE3E3bxRYN6Db34GlqNCTQTODMGRNay8mGgFef44itbTLKqjCf0tERMdTCMkMlBve5TzlQVCoKTVFNjY99Fngg221iu1BsaRxEmGC/s200/IMG_3837.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378580023997649042" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizkh8_VEqT_7VZByICQl32uMK3p9eZ3OOWdhn9dpdqGBXRy4_hg7OpJ960RQ06sUzXHdMXA-LxZcMBPe9gBf_j7tkoPBnG8nl4cq8J8bB_YvCcuCXtPosrjG527aLh2Jm391NAL9JQabFb/s1600-h/IMG_3836.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizkh8_VEqT_7VZByICQl32uMK3p9eZ3OOWdhn9dpdqGBXRy4_hg7OpJ960RQ06sUzXHdMXA-LxZcMBPe9gBf_j7tkoPBnG8nl4cq8J8bB_YvCcuCXtPosrjG527aLh2Jm391NAL9JQabFb/s200/IMG_3836.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378580017699687154" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKQdoWl9JJoabUFUgUfY22WM6XkkTRprTTSMEn-boMDa196cnlPM0fo5R0a_QHlQb-4rp0hHlq_5mDjotGu7HTlCrdMdSe7SHpFXCoaZmRQTf2MDBEDEZtyTUZ8oVrPHItjtwSrkZf2Cv/s1600-h/IMG_3852.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; 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margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuU_LQS0YHXKPbnbvq8fuFyRvNkTiFVrA6vT6HFc9EFBLHMTxu8KdNI3-mIIZV7WJQRsDZiVwV5eSb7XOQufW2K-Tp-O6v4rqqv30cmznYsdvhOoGYb3B7inVG5vC0mdw4M5bzRYceGDcQ/s200/IMG_3870.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383994994968774338" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbE1PSL416n0A6LloSkmlggd58CD2qgk5CdvNLbDVB_Z7pECD-wQ_zSyNmZscETc34K_fnFU2ppHaUWkA_ShK86ZLV1vgBMNYRf-XFTBZrvvo_ioLMzkKOJ56MEvBe_pDRrjfL-6684HF9/s1600-h/IMG_3866.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbE1PSL416n0A6LloSkmlggd58CD2qgk5CdvNLbDVB_Z7pECD-wQ_zSyNmZscETc34K_fnFU2ppHaUWkA_ShK86ZLV1vgBMNYRf-XFTBZrvvo_ioLMzkKOJ56MEvBe_pDRrjfL-6684HF9/s200/IMG_3866.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378581338761671378" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfMcT1gAzMxNlfIbojXMRhZOZddL4XO7ELjUNPb7O6U8bpbshYgG6tJI1Fp-iXdZ3tN7LpDmrEYpAmSDNBJstwnxAEXLspr50jln8De04Y_BP6_y_FzieQvMokb8-F18dbxhixMkPFn1FJ/s1600-h/IMG_3859.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfMcT1gAzMxNlfIbojXMRhZOZddL4XO7ELjUNPb7O6U8bpbshYgG6tJI1Fp-iXdZ3tN7LpDmrEYpAmSDNBJstwnxAEXLspr50jln8De04Y_BP6_y_FzieQvMokb8-F18dbxhixMkPFn1FJ/s200/IMG_3859.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378581336581480114" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUnYbW77uRdj43V2xUfLJMfNwe-QQXR1FLeNSGWMPC7RnKeDfzEngWwS5srz9yBIcWei80l0GXfxMlI8akcMTKChMBmbDMoJXkpf8PN-Os9I4sKVc6F2ZQYLC9LeXYnb8UJXQN3NBV1O4X/s1600-h/IMG_3878.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUnYbW77uRdj43V2xUfLJMfNwe-QQXR1FLeNSGWMPC7RnKeDfzEngWwS5srz9yBIcWei80l0GXfxMlI8akcMTKChMBmbDMoJXkpf8PN-Os9I4sKVc6F2ZQYLC9LeXYnb8UJXQN3NBV1O4X/s200/IMG_3878.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383995367809508578" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOJGOjKAfPf7EilrwNXrZII6pVaf95edLriV7YsWMLv4apVrxU1WfLkbEIyK7N6OksCLyF-PVQNBHbRe5UIMCELMsWIDAalXw0NsUcz1OyewpQqDO9uhUiyoCwAfYAQYb-sCpFkDkIAnvs/s1600-h/IMG_3877.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOJGOjKAfPf7EilrwNXrZII6pVaf95edLriV7YsWMLv4apVrxU1WfLkbEIyK7N6OksCLyF-PVQNBHbRe5UIMCELMsWIDAalXw0NsUcz1OyewpQqDO9uhUiyoCwAfYAQYb-sCpFkDkIAnvs/s200/IMG_3877.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378581587456408402" /></a>SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3054603677289930024.post-35081437495119621132009-08-29T09:36:00.001-04:002009-09-21T14:54:38.528-04:00Loft Madness<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdlJbJu7QbtJxHb74QeAoCQCuG9WvFvVjpDPWlCDlGdGMIxPdyuhYEwatY-xyjBZ99hyROR2LtaLB6omHW0OWDuPypW_yGuRyolRx8PnvvEboLbJAMEBMR_svJnsrELgjf5A2HlkfMcnUn/s1600-h/IMG_3481.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdlJbJu7QbtJxHb74QeAoCQCuG9WvFvVjpDPWlCDlGdGMIxPdyuhYEwatY-xyjBZ99hyROR2LtaLB6omHW0OWDuPypW_yGuRyolRx8PnvvEboLbJAMEBMR_svJnsrELgjf5A2HlkfMcnUn/s200/IMG_3481.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378019732434780674" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtir1OFCFyq8FVd0itk8CpHBIRmO7kCZ2GavRoRA7yp_8yq9A4sfzu68bep7dx4shH1hNFqcXHyLYt6qmkgdU7hX99NbITibaHhL9HGzQFXMESgMsXSA6UoCNdPsa8Gegrd5YCt37IWSgj/s1600-h/IMG_3480.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtir1OFCFyq8FVd0itk8CpHBIRmO7kCZ2GavRoRA7yp_8yq9A4sfzu68bep7dx4shH1hNFqcXHyLYt6qmkgdU7hX99NbITibaHhL9HGzQFXMESgMsXSA6UoCNdPsa8Gegrd5YCt37IWSgj/s200/IMG_3480.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378018537363870338" border="0" /></a>The day started pretty early as I met Billy, Miriam and Marcus at a coffee shop near our hotel for a much needed jolt of caffeine. We all had some sandwiches with the crusts cut off (a common practice here) leading us to wonder where the crusts for all these millions of Japanese sandwiches go. With not much to do until soundcheck, I decided to tag along with Billy, Miriam and Bruce as Rockin' Jelly Bean took us to a local Norton distributor in Shinjuku.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFy-OtH7F_CnB1P6jOHX215ZWhafeZ0QkeFkh1jve5_ABNad6aypg2R80sww0rhGG2vvRqLeOx9teOE7zClM4w2PJGzrd0Gq9eACfn5Rvakq3wPjVo8QZqPUZ-YIg-s5sTD62anc__kIh3/s1600-h/IMG_3486.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFy-OtH7F_CnB1P6jOHX215ZWhafeZ0QkeFkh1jve5_ABNad6aypg2R80sww0rhGG2vvRqLeOx9teOE7zClM4w2PJGzrd0Gq9eACfn5Rvakq3wPjVo8QZqPUZ-YIg-s5sTD62anc__kIh3/s200/IMG_3486.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378020097521396642" border="0" /></a>Since this was my first foray into Shinjuku/Kabukicho to say I was overwhelmed is an understatement. The fact that it was mid-afternoon did not lessen the impact one bit and luckily allowed my senses to adjust from NY-insanity to Tokyo-insanity. The easiest comparison is Times Square, on every block, but cleaner, with more noise, and more people walking on streets that are about 1/4 of the width of a typical NY street. Its pretty intense, but in an interesting sort of way.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcoMwT6rZ_PAhSmwQVieRnQ1htQ0TnJQiHDIlqUa8rsFjhVJSRv4qyiK9QKRJ6im8pL__MjvwqQKLIGmEgiEMkdDQ5enIzP5ikD4UIQE0zWdKdowhj7UWTOGpWZPA8AutWKGxoGpuBQO25/s1600-h/IMG_3488.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcoMwT6rZ_PAhSmwQVieRnQ1htQ0TnJQiHDIlqUa8rsFjhVJSRv4qyiK9QKRJ6im8pL__MjvwqQKLIGmEgiEMkdDQ5enIzP5ikD4UIQE0zWdKdowhj7UWTOGpWZPA8AutWKGxoGpuBQO25/s200/IMG_3488.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378021558905667282" /></a>The shop, Barn Homes, is quite special in that it stocks new and used 50s and 60 s related music. Its pretty comprehensive as far as stores like this go and is totally on par with similar shops here in NYC. The owner, Kunio, is an exceptionally kind and soft-spoken man that has been in business with the Millers for 15-20 years or so. In fact he was so grateful for the merchandise Norton releases, everytime the Millers tried to pay for something, Kunio kept giving them a below cost discount. This happened a couple of times until Billy convinced him to sell him a third purchase without a discount. He then quickly bought enough to cover what Kunio had literally given away previously!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAXz3qv4LI0RIOs82AF9fjkeAwUNKgDk7jIogNwBZiBbVs7z_qZVUMjcFTB5T9BqY5TvOudtb4D00VaF6Mvp6ZtFLPPS_VqnHAbrHWAqLza_pTiUre7aUDO1LZ7RF09rEGJ9ax28cKEZtr/s1600-h/IMG_3499.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAXz3qv4LI0RIOs82AF9fjkeAwUNKgDk7jIogNwBZiBbVs7z_qZVUMjcFTB5T9BqY5TvOudtb4D00VaF6Mvp6ZtFLPPS_VqnHAbrHWAqLza_pTiUre7aUDO1LZ7RF09rEGJ9ax28cKEZtr/s200/IMG_3499.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378036895272163282" /></a>Soon after we walked back into the heart of the entertainment district Kabukicho to meet up with the rest of the A-Bones for thier soundcheck. Loft, I was told is a pretty well-known club. Similar in status to CBGBs. Except that this club originated elsewhere and relocated to Shinjuku about 7 years ago (if I recall correctly.) Anyone, who is anybody in rock has played Loft. The club itself is located in a sub-basement of a pretty modern building. Its divided into two sections: a large stage room and an adjacent small "bar" room. With each half separated by a soundproof door, its easy to see two separate shows being staged at the same time.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZcIigAmBWTL2MhgWzJkw6O7kDkcW8uSybQURF6jWmq13VCr1Wuuwe8hMhpVs28aNdTxXfLwNdGk__PNAB0Khe5_bzHhv7Yr9eqG0itkHaA9hKmIHJDQH6zS45RyXcEHhe2MF2T8e9410g/s1600-h/IMG_3529.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZcIigAmBWTL2MhgWzJkw6O7kDkcW8uSybQURF6jWmq13VCr1Wuuwe8hMhpVs28aNdTxXfLwNdGk__PNAB0Khe5_bzHhv7Yr9eqG0itkHaA9hKmIHJDQH6zS45RyXcEHhe2MF2T8e9410g/s200/IMG_3529.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378037526532143058" /></a>The A-Bones were slated for the big stage. What was perplexing though was that the bill had about 15-20 acts scheduled to play. Leading to worries that the A-Bones would see the stage around daybreak. Luckily, the promoter, Daddy-O Nov, saw to it that as one band was playing, the other stage was being prepared. The second a band hit their last note, the announcement for the next band was being made on the other stage. Leading to an amusing shuffling of kids from one room to the other all night. Still, it worked like a charm. Only in Japan could this have been pulled off as well as it was. By the time the 10th band had played the schedule was only off by about 15 minutes. Still, with a later slot, the A-Bones had a lot of time to kill. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsBV7sjNW-BI715SRBkurPQoDnKTXdATiHPthqPIrBy8rpSNcS09h9bxHMdTBLdn1cHp7qz__1ZZpbO4JcPgXkQREmU7tg6xuAkfIE3my1YNAQZMtUxPyJCV5uYlxVg9EcCZNJ_U9xjmef/s1600-h/IMG_3585.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsBV7sjNW-BI715SRBkurPQoDnKTXdATiHPthqPIrBy8rpSNcS09h9bxHMdTBLdn1cHp7qz__1ZZpbO4JcPgXkQREmU7tg6xuAkfIE3my1YNAQZMtUxPyJCV5uYlxVg9EcCZNJ_U9xjmef/s200/IMG_3585.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378038713564879090" /></a>One of the best things about being the "headliner" was that the band had an actual air-conditioned dressing room. Fully decked out with a couple of sofas, fridge, private bathroom and a cable feed from the main stage. The rest of the groups shared one tiny crowded room. It made an otherwise hellish wait easier to take. Well wishers came and went. Naps were taken and we all ventured out into the wacky Kabukicho night at different times.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSp3jaBFir5ztdci7099SHDsSsk02Dp-hD2_zui2vFqfsKdOvb623zxJBnZFU1fezb_N450-Yv7-LnMegXD9HdKo-7Mp1TQjPJDQBCUIkHYiLPE5FBzGaU3X3Aiq0GTUipROv0P2Ty9mou/s1600-h/IMG_3512.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSp3jaBFir5ztdci7099SHDsSsk02Dp-hD2_zui2vFqfsKdOvb623zxJBnZFU1fezb_N450-Yv7-LnMegXD9HdKo-7Mp1TQjPJDQBCUIkHYiLPE5FBzGaU3X3Aiq0GTUipROv0P2Ty9mou/s200/IMG_3512.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378039378545337170" /></a>One of the famous highlights of the neighborhood is its redlight district and its accompanying workers. You literally cannot walk a block without being hassled by some guy trying to convince you to go to his joint for a beer and companionship. And ladies, don't think you get off easy either. For every guy/girl trying to steer you into a female host bar, there are just as many bizarrely coiffed guys trying to talk women into the men host clubs. It makes walking to the local food joint quite an exercise. Throw in some arcades, punkers, cosplayers, college kids, businessmen and you start to get the picture.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWqgy05Mo0vB8dlGeKxGExVBO25SyI_cozv2p6XF9LHAmMvsJ1wM48Dk1MXYI7hTYW1pxSdI6x-gKpxqmNA6st6V5EN80nKUG2stcwPLzd4S4UhRn6MZN0QJ0MEgTopx5IpM17PnHe9na/s1600-h/IMG_3528.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWqgy05Mo0vB8dlGeKxGExVBO25SyI_cozv2p6XF9LHAmMvsJ1wM48Dk1MXYI7hTYW1pxSdI6x-gKpxqmNA6st6V5EN80nKUG2stcwPLzd4S4UhRn6MZN0QJ0MEgTopx5IpM17PnHe9na/s200/IMG_3528.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378039911817416642" /></a>One of the amusing things was that Loft was in the basement of what seemed to be a high end host club upstairs. So anytime one of us came up from the club for a breath of fresh air we were side by side with these host guys. Which led to some quite amusing looks from passing women who wondered what the hell planet we came from.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkhGfdkHMtUqfr0MA5IAuAjkq_iKNk-CaZMqlR29-RAojxguiwYzOdSw6bO068EugUIJLkzNr4dEgY1CVtJCdrhyyek0ohpmONjELB6kqUzITdsMm9Ta0Dc6ZaiToeocHZf7zxtghUBqjp/s1600-h/IMG_3614.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkhGfdkHMtUqfr0MA5IAuAjkq_iKNk-CaZMqlR29-RAojxguiwYzOdSw6bO068EugUIJLkzNr4dEgY1CVtJCdrhyyek0ohpmONjELB6kqUzITdsMm9Ta0Dc6ZaiToeocHZf7zxtghUBqjp/s200/IMG_3614.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378045132531615650" /></a>The bands at Loft were fantastic. What was surprising was how well the bands in the small room were compared to their better-known counterparts in the larger room. The bands in the smaller room were often younger but still quite often blew the crowd away with their energy and enthusiasm. The Moonlights, The Fadeaways, The Mighty Moguls, The Stompin Riff Raffs, The Fly and Miss Tarantula were but a few of the bands that stood out.<br /><br />In the large room, The Minnesota Voodoomen, Jackie and the Cedrics, The Raydios, Los Rizlaz, 5,6,7,8s all put on great sets as well.<br /><br />By the time the A-Bones came on the crowd was worked up into a frenzy and the band just went with it. Highlights included Bruce getting saved by a pit photographer after slipping on the edge of the stage and falling on top of him. and of course the 5,6,7,8s doing backup during the encore, Wooly Bully.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBnJ3M4CuHZhTtGT7sk3PXbb-yDZfFGH-q2_8PPKehXvehyhMtPp_ZEuRvflFlhTvF1oAxcVmxwUGuP6CLJeuhN8UToPknDiOe5GqXpneeH9qwp-Ii7L23WEmi7q3e_XMMIwCU1r5o2mp9/s1600-h/IMG_3817.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBnJ3M4CuHZhTtGT7sk3PXbb-yDZfFGH-q2_8PPKehXvehyhMtPp_ZEuRvflFlhTvF1oAxcVmxwUGuP6CLJeuhN8UToPknDiOe5GqXpneeH9qwp-Ii7L23WEmi7q3e_XMMIwCU1r5o2mp9/s200/IMG_3817.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378046102364627522" /></a>I stuck around til the bitter end and stumbled out, bleary-eyed into the Kabukicho morning around 6AM. Dazed, I sat on the front steps of the club and watched the parade of hosts heading home as well. Some fellow even came out into the street wearing a yukata and geta sandals talking on a cell phone. Like he was in his backyard or something. Not really knowing the exact way back to the hotel I wandered around until I saw some familiar landmarks and found my subway. All-in all a great night....but a strange one. More photos below:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvUbQeXn-i8lDgNY6uAhwrb4jeAYf6elp5WfjgT2w-vOOPQD2YBnSLMydTJXbtQCKN7V6F4R4qhMx-NfhK0XalS2W17o_7jiBmwcieqg6x2J7KfnAhm0LEL7k7RtNZ1UHjgxcY0DMcUj_/s1600-h/IMG_3494.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvUbQeXn-i8lDgNY6uAhwrb4jeAYf6elp5WfjgT2w-vOOPQD2YBnSLMydTJXbtQCKN7V6F4R4qhMx-NfhK0XalS2W17o_7jiBmwcieqg6x2J7KfnAhm0LEL7k7RtNZ1UHjgxcY0DMcUj_/s200/IMG_3494.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378047322658228178" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvzanbeEvs6IIImdB69YfNLUoCim1GqANtdNjXfdXsTPtFTidHjRXE1mKjVHgLYGCWA9jJb6aDOIF4FzyyKicWfr5AstOOKICxmxoFzcrKonk1ogrYnFLYTIc2JiNuJySgVIaRw6716zDu/s1600-h/IMG_3518.jpg"><img style="float:left; 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margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTBr2V-vpuCKSUa-4yELSlGE2rt9-Z_h-x-yNO_6pTBjM7wkQ0UyysxXN7WJzEIp1jaL8jk_fHxjUIOxo3O9HEod7MZryM1ApJ0CBWhU_lpzss08gJh98jAdpYNJXl9luC7dH3ENu903xD/s200/IMG_3815.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378054385568062690" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh359y7H5an6rxU8R2KJu8_8i0eim788oc9oJln4Vxa8DWSXOQ7Ta7X54pVVxbRZ4cKbBW9eNIBGmSVZ4IuT6E1L1aLOpFV7qudzUkRn0yis9KK4ofbi7EKAQTk4SZOyetv0YRJFu_jkOTy/s1600-h/IMG_3813.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh359y7H5an6rxU8R2KJu8_8i0eim788oc9oJln4Vxa8DWSXOQ7Ta7X54pVVxbRZ4cKbBW9eNIBGmSVZ4IuT6E1L1aLOpFV7qudzUkRn0yis9KK4ofbi7EKAQTk4SZOyetv0YRJFu_jkOTy/s200/IMG_3813.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378054384534876098" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9gO1anBdHgShqcgahelm89n8WUT-njDBKnDT2j79hP4ZZUCn7TTn9gBLOmBY5ZxVa0da2NyETGaQPBQMxM8OfCr4sKkcznYBTK3n-wfWHlcyQCbds4ovkk2J7BtDPQSEhMFfxgW6TBm8M/s1600-h/IMG_3806.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9gO1anBdHgShqcgahelm89n8WUT-njDBKnDT2j79hP4ZZUCn7TTn9gBLOmBY5ZxVa0da2NyETGaQPBQMxM8OfCr4sKkcznYBTK3n-wfWHlcyQCbds4ovkk2J7BtDPQSEhMFfxgW6TBm8M/s200/IMG_3806.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378054373382598386" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYjJmNf41YDB9g5S8ENsz5hjMJvU0poKtLlIK-52808y_Cq7SiCDLLk5I1Rhc4Jf1vKqjx6c9grtS_0LAdSjirntaeCno8Cob2fPzlAjUELizO8BC-8v86m98Gk8LObFIhmsl-13yuqCJc/s1600-h/IMG_3805.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYjJmNf41YDB9g5S8ENsz5hjMJvU0poKtLlIK-52808y_Cq7SiCDLLk5I1Rhc4Jf1vKqjx6c9grtS_0LAdSjirntaeCno8Cob2fPzlAjUELizO8BC-8v86m98Gk8LObFIhmsl-13yuqCJc/s200/IMG_3805.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378054371731604658" /></a>SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3054603677289930024.post-1499609623997506702009-08-28T22:48:00.018-04:002009-08-29T01:03:35.086-04:00Here we go!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7h3tC-hlLwFhwT1AVy9d8pEVa6fFvIZIBxyECF84Sja7cucsxEqDknTpFtyXgXNqN6ztpi2d7771GlCvxbLYM2FupD0cDbmG3-38loWV7U34Qpb_cIekbLxjmu9GMdK9JBi2OhJ5VIzUt/s1600-h/01ShimoA.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7h3tC-hlLwFhwT1AVy9d8pEVa6fFvIZIBxyECF84Sja7cucsxEqDknTpFtyXgXNqN6ztpi2d7771GlCvxbLYM2FupD0cDbmG3-38loWV7U34Qpb_cIekbLxjmu9GMdK9JBi2OhJ5VIzUt/s320/01ShimoA.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375225577411426690" border="0" /></a>After last nights dinner, both our camps were set to go. Well, sort of. Not really knowing where to get breakfast, I sort of decided to skip it and test my newfound knowledge of the subway system. Having paid attention during our trip out to the gallery I figured it was time to make my way there by myself.<br /><br />The subway system in Japan is pretty wild. A smooth, clean, efficiently run machine...thats owned by a dozen separate companies. How that got to be that way must make for an interesting story. I'm sure it made for a phlanx of politicians first getting greased and then apologizing endlessly on TV.<br /><br />After my misstep yesterday I was able to find my local station and buy a ticket for Shinjuku station where I had to not only to change to another train, but also another separately owned line. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx0T-DUDr8NcWl3Fq-Zi0VWXTIRYrUtbTaU9qiwvCXch7j0Lbap3Hl5NFOBy5Cm42tBdMWmiDr_misHgtFvLlJ-3H9KdO4TvvNHSr68-rXji6IIojFrxMEf7qqbOUotr1GjXbATaf89Mwk/s1600-h/02ShimoB.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx0T-DUDr8NcWl3Fq-Zi0VWXTIRYrUtbTaU9qiwvCXch7j0Lbap3Hl5NFOBy5Cm42tBdMWmiDr_misHgtFvLlJ-3H9KdO4TvvNHSr68-rXji6IIojFrxMEf7qqbOUotr1GjXbATaf89Mwk/s320/02ShimoB.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375225719485959906" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Shinkjuku Station is about the size of three Penn stations. So to get anywhere requires a lot of walking. And on a weekday, amongst a huge amount of people. The good thing is everything is labeled in both English and Japanese, so as long as you know your line name, you're set. If not, well, good luck to you buddy. Actually, the maps are informative but the combination of lines and languages crammed into them leave even the most seasoned traveler scratching their heads. After wandering around for about 20 minutes I did manage to locate my line and was on my way.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKYzL3nb-FTjN-gJb0bOlgRNjoCo8J3yrVHgTuGj-99Dtt3VLGth5hFmX5chpIa8PqjxFqzBIWOASSZuLcIgZFy9qusvUj867xmNayTl5s5ZhDeJ3aY1wxehJC4sRojm_XpMo95eug5duU/s1600-h/04Gallery.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKYzL3nb-FTjN-gJb0bOlgRNjoCo8J3yrVHgTuGj-99Dtt3VLGth5hFmX5chpIa8PqjxFqzBIWOASSZuLcIgZFy9qusvUj867xmNayTl5s5ZhDeJ3aY1wxehJC4sRojm_XpMo95eug5duU/s320/04Gallery.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375226335965337698" border="0" /></a>The gallery was already open by the time I arrived thanks to Jun. Since it was early there really wasn't much to do. Jun had suggested that I walk around the neighborhood and check out a few shops. I found a few record stores and spent some time flipping though 45s. Looking for odd stuff. A return trip back to the gallery found it still quiet. Time for lunch.<br /><br />Not wanting to deal with looking for a bento box I spotted a KFC nearby. Just out of curiousity I figured it was worth checking it out. Besides the fact that it was immaculately clean and the servers were lighting fast, it was pretty much the Colonel as usual...with a twist. I got some interesting BBQ/teriyaki type sandwich. A little on the hot side but very delish. As I'm eating I hear a young woman scream next to me. I look over and it turns out this field mouse is scooting around the floor. An employee then just walked over and calmly using an upright dust pan swept the little fellow into it and disappeared in the back. The woman, while visibly creeeped out, just continued with her lunch. Even the diners waiting to be served, didn't seem phased by it! Vermin 1 KFC 0.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgF2uK6Z_JJjDzYMJ23h088tAdEhCjJuPjigcM2JGTQb-7Xy9oGpzt2o1QGcfPuGCOHEkwWSqFsMIRFxSNfyKOP3Frc4adw-81Dww1OAwlb_YYd9GhQz8ZaDytFUC8ZYAe-1-4BteGiul7/s1600-h/05GalleryB.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgF2uK6Z_JJjDzYMJ23h088tAdEhCjJuPjigcM2JGTQb-7Xy9oGpzt2o1QGcfPuGCOHEkwWSqFsMIRFxSNfyKOP3Frc4adw-81Dww1OAwlb_YYd9GhQz8ZaDytFUC8ZYAe-1-4BteGiul7/s320/05GalleryB.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375226702668730034" border="0" /></a>Upon returning to the gallery things were starting to pickup. Its a Friday night and people were out and about. Soon Rockin' Jelly Bean stopped by to give his well wishes along with his bandmates Jacky and Enoki. A few other performing bands stopped by and the resulting crowd did create a small amount of sales.<br /><br />The A-Bones popped in shortly before their gig just down the block at Shelter. They were tired but in good spirits and looking forward to the show.<br /><br />Shelter is probably like a lot of venues in Tokyo. Underground, and very discreetly located. In fact despite the fact that its a block away I walked past it about three times without seeing it. The size is small, in comparison to Maxwells in Hoboken. 150-200 people tops. Another interesting detail about shelter is the access to the backstage area. You literally have to leave the club, go around to the back and then snake your way past some long narrow corridors to get to the stage. Made for fast exits I suppose.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDl16fPvkx4fSa1_CNVC3J_bbXHvgInFpcotlwb4CjWyhYlNKNxB1uqZofcB0XYtgvsmfxwDyFRT0ZhlzXea_j2wpL0xvOcGcdheeYgccQk2D_fyKpKEgNiQ6zihxpT3CdlaWVw8z7bETP/s1600-h/07FirestarterB.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDl16fPvkx4fSa1_CNVC3J_bbXHvgInFpcotlwb4CjWyhYlNKNxB1uqZofcB0XYtgvsmfxwDyFRT0ZhlzXea_j2wpL0xvOcGcdheeYgccQk2D_fyKpKEgNiQ6zihxpT3CdlaWVw8z7bETP/s320/07FirestarterB.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375227151474749890" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0PBiiOgK_fU7H6RpROcJmJw7T41j-MsO1bF3NSfEGhkeGvpVpGdiyFKe6thkG9CV0ZIJl3-JWfUaXnZIsdEHa2zLLOBDYd7bPhzCzEhMLGVWacnOHk3zjG1FhCzmga0flxvkSZrzfXWSG/s1600-h/06FirestarerA.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0PBiiOgK_fU7H6RpROcJmJw7T41j-MsO1bF3NSfEGhkeGvpVpGdiyFKe6thkG9CV0ZIJl3-JWfUaXnZIsdEHa2zLLOBDYd7bPhzCzEhMLGVWacnOHk3zjG1FhCzmga0flxvkSZrzfXWSG/s320/06FirestarerA.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375227141359816274" border="0" /></a>A few of us hung out at the gallery until closing. Unfortuately that meant missing the openers Supersnazz. But as soon as we closed we all headed down to the club and caught Rockin' Jelly Bean's amazing instrumental group. Jackie and the Cedrics. Just phenomenal. The followup band was Firestarter who put on an admirable performance. Next was the A-Bones.<br /><br />It was around 9 or 9:30 PM and an oddly early time but for Japan standards, I guess thats normal. Who wants to miss the last train (midnight) and get stranded?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjG9N-IFVIotRC8JGkgQhZzkh4A-12oTxBrpmbaOMo_HvknHRBAeP5Z9aLc2AEUNNBzwsQIpnr3R2q0tBYI_on13KX1sdags3o6-Vza38iiHNPMl9pvnBIr5q8OEWLwE4omVwC27tPX33Q/s1600-h/09BonesA.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjG9N-IFVIotRC8JGkgQhZzkh4A-12oTxBrpmbaOMo_HvknHRBAeP5Z9aLc2AEUNNBzwsQIpnr3R2q0tBYI_on13KX1sdags3o6-Vza38iiHNPMl9pvnBIr5q8OEWLwE4omVwC27tPX33Q/s320/09BonesA.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375228023156444450" border="0" /></a>The crowd had already whipped itself up into a frenzy as I stuck myself in a far corner of the stage. Having been on stage before, its a great perspective to see groups of smiling happy faces in front of you. As any band will tell you it really makes your day and helps push the band perhaps farther than they themselves thought possible.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqi-vROZAuO0d6Z117AlH9YD_anb6VkLvsxDT9URHIq14pSl10qQDhZfw0Bk3Ukkya8vILRQz_u7ElrdLO67wT50G3awDcxdCHiRvnPLtv97YcvIcUMchCK62CGKCpybC6INVOUiRg6juB/s1600-h/10BonesB.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqi-vROZAuO0d6Z117AlH9YD_anb6VkLvsxDT9URHIq14pSl10qQDhZfw0Bk3Ukkya8vILRQz_u7ElrdLO67wT50G3awDcxdCHiRvnPLtv97YcvIcUMchCK62CGKCpybC6INVOUiRg6juB/s320/10BonesB.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375228419315688546" border="0" /></a>As soon as the A-Bones hit the stage you could tell it was going to be a good night. Great crowd, psyched band. The energy between the band and the fans was palpable. Billy, was all over the stage, Marcus was jumping around, Bruce threw himself all over the stage, Miriam had a constant smile on her face and even Lars was in motion.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIXtHnYnhjl_orVAFBalnS5GljRjvMmxWwlT-sKAKLpXp6KmDEVx2Xh_FrUy6Hu7CduRqYN0NYdEg4fGPYVMpdL1n1PqTOwRdlNTO-XmkCtCyNKlmW6rxpPG_ChlkGYRvVZpc_eD4b9G2h/s1600-h/15BonesG.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIXtHnYnhjl_orVAFBalnS5GljRjvMmxWwlT-sKAKLpXp6KmDEVx2Xh_FrUy6Hu7CduRqYN0NYdEg4fGPYVMpdL1n1PqTOwRdlNTO-XmkCtCyNKlmW6rxpPG_ChlkGYRvVZpc_eD4b9G2h/s320/15BonesG.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375229220746679250" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG7twVwilyPeWMg2r49CGFSc5R7M_QumTzNmtSusTR0L57GxrhEg4_87epDpANhrmPm4LxyTL6ZiNvJU_Z0WClFASI2GAKz5Uqt11rp09IiyW9QdqmBJMFE-HFQLQdk92EDRgNZYDBD_Cm/s1600-h/14BonesF.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG7twVwilyPeWMg2r49CGFSc5R7M_QumTzNmtSusTR0L57GxrhEg4_87epDpANhrmPm4LxyTL6ZiNvJU_Z0WClFASI2GAKz5Uqt11rp09IiyW9QdqmBJMFE-HFQLQdk92EDRgNZYDBD_Cm/s320/14BonesF.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375229217078419154" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0pZ0WOFgUX6LKX-FQOONopCbik1rascGF7vdQ-j-3YYKLP-8zF08qawJewgvSYNKMj94wmcYYUplDv9xD-TrlW0koeBThuCh6I51ix6g966ghGAypIgyuSEl5H9webdDgqUKlLxkGDxS9/s1600-h/13BonesE.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0pZ0WOFgUX6LKX-FQOONopCbik1rascGF7vdQ-j-3YYKLP-8zF08qawJewgvSYNKMj94wmcYYUplDv9xD-TrlW0koeBThuCh6I51ix6g966ghGAypIgyuSEl5H9webdDgqUKlLxkGDxS9/s320/13BonesE.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375229210771766546" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXGzNkTEEM__5HJMPs3A6uDubjo5ypLujRmUiPyMften1JZCvPqAizkVwHioGLwBY5pG1sOyr5_ZD6eNrT1mEfyIS96PpOBI_vAV_rit85tjtDdoE3UyRZiEEYLbqSEpkpyqL686Ra5DXB/s1600-h/12BonesD.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXGzNkTEEM__5HJMPs3A6uDubjo5ypLujRmUiPyMften1JZCvPqAizkVwHioGLwBY5pG1sOyr5_ZD6eNrT1mEfyIS96PpOBI_vAV_rit85tjtDdoE3UyRZiEEYLbqSEpkpyqL686Ra5DXB/s320/12BonesD.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375229199210680578" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP85XMjovQatNAwdunwpPNiuRD9ekTUUFAn4GmP8UX1caaVEHFQ7YunR3mVOntb1tpQagTzthA6C0Ko3bM72QyVkXS3Lh7w5RgWKyWmviFdgeHpifjveib77UWAY_aQLMMRdtnrmmbdNYG/s1600-h/11BonesC.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP85XMjovQatNAwdunwpPNiuRD9ekTUUFAn4GmP8UX1caaVEHFQ7YunR3mVOntb1tpQagTzthA6C0Ko3bM72QyVkXS3Lh7w5RgWKyWmviFdgeHpifjveib77UWAY_aQLMMRdtnrmmbdNYG/s320/11BonesC.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375229195287216946" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdsLWcyMUVu-nxE9ozt3WQYonXPB35LroFkmgx_ADL5NO2kVr8aAxxYUedG0uYJbzpbDzwYUVk2XsRkZrqa7oME8ai6GcgQ6Gh4oP3AsLoP-RcjcoHrggsz7lg1JfsjXp3D-d05WE7zuYb/s1600-h/20BonesL.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdsLWcyMUVu-nxE9ozt3WQYonXPB35LroFkmgx_ADL5NO2kVr8aAxxYUedG0uYJbzpbDzwYUVk2XsRkZrqa7oME8ai6GcgQ6Gh4oP3AsLoP-RcjcoHrggsz7lg1JfsjXp3D-d05WE7zuYb/s320/20BonesL.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375230146462404018" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhS-6umKrrj6yXVTIsFgtNqwmRLRxRVKWwsmdjBA10zp0tWniLzRk6N5xQeJy8THHXDDy3uedkcEsu06fjR6k04ykvZ_7cI5hFXaMHLHC-aKDolms-uNIieei-TlqWniVv33xcOzioIQr6/s1600-h/19BonesK.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhS-6umKrrj6yXVTIsFgtNqwmRLRxRVKWwsmdjBA10zp0tWniLzRk6N5xQeJy8THHXDDy3uedkcEsu06fjR6k04ykvZ_7cI5hFXaMHLHC-aKDolms-uNIieei-TlqWniVv33xcOzioIQr6/s320/19BonesK.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375230134718904178" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBp2yfaAkV9oUsV1Adt-I39aRjgd_jE34_yU6b5ZUW7UIuSLuwo6mp48llP6CZGHAowz_b6t5gOASNQVyWP8PyWok_5sh-2WCcG0WIHj6Mr2FIIyWgGRnNIpl_2v4eMPtxclmZ8n0rTUx/s1600-h/18BonesJ.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBp2yfaAkV9oUsV1Adt-I39aRjgd_jE34_yU6b5ZUW7UIuSLuwo6mp48llP6CZGHAowz_b6t5gOASNQVyWP8PyWok_5sh-2WCcG0WIHj6Mr2FIIyWgGRnNIpl_2v4eMPtxclmZ8n0rTUx/s320/18BonesJ.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375230127568439714" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQtM0EAwNu6ccoidWkNMhuglRJyBG1uLQZe53IhzVy9yPhc0s3m5YYOrfKD_g09SiwgtYUeIYWh5EkBetHr8kIfppQTNOdouaRBlw2djLg3zWBRzG0CkcMi5iL6wLadGcmjxaIBjUPrVwU/s1600-h/17BonesI.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQtM0EAwNu6ccoidWkNMhuglRJyBG1uLQZe53IhzVy9yPhc0s3m5YYOrfKD_g09SiwgtYUeIYWh5EkBetHr8kIfppQTNOdouaRBlw2djLg3zWBRzG0CkcMi5iL6wLadGcmjxaIBjUPrVwU/s320/17BonesI.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375230124946705394" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgylvL3Flyaeghd52rxa9zR143DU-bWKDXbAhfLOppp1Sen-BIiV4kCk3wXVrRx6SWVwyFqz6TM-ynUTIRGo4Dml2fonHVUrsJ7NnB917-XAG-TXQR9ECUYVQAiF4TAfrPFijy9Iqh3v-0Y/s1600-h/16BonesH.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgylvL3Flyaeghd52rxa9zR143DU-bWKDXbAhfLOppp1Sen-BIiV4kCk3wXVrRx6SWVwyFqz6TM-ynUTIRGo4Dml2fonHVUrsJ7NnB917-XAG-TXQR9ECUYVQAiF4TAfrPFijy9Iqh3v-0Y/s320/16BonesH.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375230113222904610" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />After the gig, everyone was beat, but not enough to miss doing a meet and greet with the leftover fans, who were elated to chat with their heroes. After a quick stopover at A "Rock and Roll" cafe owned by a local fan, Enoki piled us all into his van for a trip back to the hotel. Quite a night...and its just the first tour day.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0jel6lNVw2QiU9sro4WaRhrJnetU2q4x_ttpN-S0uDy5AfZdQzhf735KMUHcVWqstCkJy41H7X57JAHOGwKjg1D_ra5P64E-crvL00lb8dCwwAnB4jJYYLJlhstNliAAdpnCt5h2JBhTC/s1600-h/25BonesO.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0jel6lNVw2QiU9sro4WaRhrJnetU2q4x_ttpN-S0uDy5AfZdQzhf735KMUHcVWqstCkJy41H7X57JAHOGwKjg1D_ra5P64E-crvL00lb8dCwwAnB4jJYYLJlhstNliAAdpnCt5h2JBhTC/s320/25BonesO.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375231577848629522" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTKq3WGuw2YLyYdaN_viXz0qmwKgit43WpJn-gBv8TfaV8wD9ELKwbEDqA6U0QMuDYDiF9TB06OQlCdw83yLSHwm8IUfxO6l8ztmpfn35jclGW6Xn5t8DcqcJ2cLKHgoxQtgAuEgrpt3Bx/s1600-h/24BonesN.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTKq3WGuw2YLyYdaN_viXz0qmwKgit43WpJn-gBv8TfaV8wD9ELKwbEDqA6U0QMuDYDiF9TB06OQlCdw83yLSHwm8IUfxO6l8ztmpfn35jclGW6Xn5t8DcqcJ2cLKHgoxQtgAuEgrpt3Bx/s320/24BonesN.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375231571653879922" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyba7MTI2W9x9lRVInWJAT6l32K_KuuYD_InPsr6a5fCKFLsBy-lZNWbzYE6fnsxdau0gGtTsS_WAua1nTGwAb4n9NODmd9IZNpWVlwDPeTz0wR0ukAkxyu80rxteUpR131eJI3IoDjRKF/s1600-h/23BonesM.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyba7MTI2W9x9lRVInWJAT6l32K_KuuYD_InPsr6a5fCKFLsBy-lZNWbzYE6fnsxdau0gGtTsS_WAua1nTGwAb4n9NODmd9IZNpWVlwDPeTz0wR0ukAkxyu80rxteUpR131eJI3IoDjRKF/s320/23BonesM.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375231566174259314" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ2bwjK4klLxyLaAjtSTtmzsKSLFrBKBuLpR0U5na7LjFwvOkOBdK6zBpFk95unp1ik_vwZv4-Zu5wgOIwj8QruMUrWbwTApg6itII1AoJaytqXW9o2TV2-JyUepzBa9QOyOB_VFxRC9pM/s1600-h/22BonesN.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ2bwjK4klLxyLaAjtSTtmzsKSLFrBKBuLpR0U5na7LjFwvOkOBdK6zBpFk95unp1ik_vwZv4-Zu5wgOIwj8QruMUrWbwTApg6itII1AoJaytqXW9o2TV2-JyUepzBa9QOyOB_VFxRC9pM/s320/22BonesN.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375231556972938242" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUn4Ym1RYfgYaZz2-zKb0yvh2mix6zhqagRKp9MkOcOIdVdMGDcX_A1tft3yVRKBBpURSoVsz1DzmoS26IhVPf7ww2CfoD4PuBVKQUOpwcKHRLnfUZZjUnpbXL4rDM3V1ODd59s7wB2041/s1600-h/21BonesM.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUn4Ym1RYfgYaZz2-zKb0yvh2mix6zhqagRKp9MkOcOIdVdMGDcX_A1tft3yVRKBBpURSoVsz1DzmoS26IhVPf7ww2CfoD4PuBVKQUOpwcKHRLnfUZZjUnpbXL4rDM3V1ODd59s7wB2041/s320/21BonesM.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375231555726301346" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0LisSReCacwmPF2ZgpmkI-JttWxsm1ykhs1Jjx86vKDlWx-Ws9uttwiHLSEKK-s5cZglzcG1Ph9-pPoT3AjpiPsWUrwwLA1OrcA8AjW4F1bmt1WSlQd9duLd7dpuhu2ROg9x-vQ0fKK8q/s1600-h/28BonesR.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0LisSReCacwmPF2ZgpmkI-JttWxsm1ykhs1Jjx86vKDlWx-Ws9uttwiHLSEKK-s5cZglzcG1Ph9-pPoT3AjpiPsWUrwwLA1OrcA8AjW4F1bmt1WSlQd9duLd7dpuhu2ROg9x-vQ0fKK8q/s320/28BonesR.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375232209696165650" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFGBpOZnJBj1TbwsKDcIbhfvOL8nbzYQYlzEOtq0hjxRXdIvBknJnM0gE4fRByJwjSRDVjZVK6nm3c-yQegCgvDlOvDNCJBkSQhXhOfC9g4A50dxuv0PiP8Lma5kE7WFKZSiZI4NJoLe8a/s1600-h/27BonesQ.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFGBpOZnJBj1TbwsKDcIbhfvOL8nbzYQYlzEOtq0hjxRXdIvBknJnM0gE4fRByJwjSRDVjZVK6nm3c-yQegCgvDlOvDNCJBkSQhXhOfC9g4A50dxuv0PiP8Lma5kE7WFKZSiZI4NJoLe8a/s320/27BonesQ.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375232205458240242" border="0" /></a>SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3054603677289930024.post-78260094036945098852009-08-27T21:09:00.065-04:002009-09-13T16:13:02.026-04:00Welcome to Japan<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkamIJdFSPdkIFkRrFyXlovsHeLzigPwObf6Oc2WocW0bwzGooREvianXM6wZB4EEjoEepOK8YyWT6tnpnmoxVSIiHHq_CNkLya9WpEa_yUrDddCgdYYqjl0VTY-inM6z1cxFL9wF3zY-W/s1600-h/IMG_0415.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkamIJdFSPdkIFkRrFyXlovsHeLzigPwObf6Oc2WocW0bwzGooREvianXM6wZB4EEjoEepOK8YyWT6tnpnmoxVSIiHHq_CNkLya9WpEa_yUrDddCgdYYqjl0VTY-inM6z1cxFL9wF3zY-W/s200/IMG_0415.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381046948418036034" /></a>Well, after a surprisingly quiet plane ride I arrived at Narita a bit weary but otherwise elated at how fate had transpired to bring me here. Narita is pretty similar to any large terminal and made me wonder if I stayed in the US and someone just switched the signs. Well, that fantasy was quickly dashed when I hit customs and got fingerprinted and photographed. I was carrying a few homemade DVDs to hawk at the show and wondered it they would catch any flack. Surprisingly, they just looked at my passport and waved me through. in fact I saw no one being pulled over for further inspection.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBeL8PI64Cyhtfgq9Qv_dAFdwMq4hsh4C7PmX04sGecf4b0oSrk25tTT8cnflHoiiRVUtkGYedAER08aGFuUqxmUlWjeAemtvJOLjK3HFmOFAAI7oioocUZolCzrnPVlZb_sSv8a672v_I/s1600-h/IMG_0419.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBeL8PI64Cyhtfgq9Qv_dAFdwMq4hsh4C7PmX04sGecf4b0oSrk25tTT8cnflHoiiRVUtkGYedAER08aGFuUqxmUlWjeAemtvJOLjK3HFmOFAAI7oioocUZolCzrnPVlZb_sSv8a672v_I/s200/IMG_0419.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381047127119679682" /></a>The next hurtle was getting my butt to the hotel as no one was available pick me up. As had been suggested to me I took the oddly-named "limobus"...which was pretty comfy and whisked me off to the massive transportation hub that is Shinkjuku Station. So far, to my surprise, I really did not find the need to speak Japanese. That changed though when I had to hail a cab to get from the station to my hotel.<br /><br />"Hai, sumimasen. Hotel Park Inn?" I fumbled as I showed my printed map to the driver. He smiled and took off. We tried to engage in small talk. I told him in fractured Japanese I was a photographer and after saying how long I would be there, we sort of reached a stalemate when speaking about baseball. A few Ichiros and Matsuis later we arrived.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZXQIpaqgpgSSQFR4rnvzLPaMuVNQJOP7DNhRsGu-OJPGZ4JPUDSwdVxkRsQ-Sshl16yh_nDIOpOezyQbxzv1cU4HNQEp55-FXHp9G_wFfhI9FaNAp-Fc8IBWhopH06SBOAIAqvMuZCyF/s1600-h/IMG_3254.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZXQIpaqgpgSSQFR4rnvzLPaMuVNQJOP7DNhRsGu-OJPGZ4JPUDSwdVxkRsQ-Sshl16yh_nDIOpOezyQbxzv1cU4HNQEp55-FXHp9G_wFfhI9FaNAp-Fc8IBWhopH06SBOAIAqvMuZCyF/s200/IMG_3254.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381016819635451154" /></a>Soon after picking up my rent-a-phone at the hotel counter, I received a text from my contact and owner of Erostika gallery/shop, Junichi "Jun" Noro. Checking in to make sure I made it in all right. Skipping the baseball story, I just told him I was fine and all in one piece. However, after that mother of a trip I there was no way I could keep my eyes open a second longer. Fully dressed, I crashed on my bed until the following day.<br /><br />The morning brought some new challenges. Mainly, getting myself BACK to Shinjuku station to meet Jun and get to work setting the show up. After wandering round for about 10 minutes <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglzn0hjytaHBBHM6LQM59aZoh0u1xt2Mgw8Kn7_HtxtSAa3EpXLEY48R9Xg3LXXwcvfcSWsY8ji6G3umqqU9o7_GG-JG6drt0_7Pt2Rq-QRW8iF2vCjffQ18Yj893-gGKGVMUmngy0ab3d/s1600-h/IMG_3268.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglzn0hjytaHBBHM6LQM59aZoh0u1xt2Mgw8Kn7_HtxtSAa3EpXLEY48R9Xg3LXXwcvfcSWsY8ji6G3umqqU9o7_GG-JG6drt0_7Pt2Rq-QRW8iF2vCjffQ18Yj893-gGKGVMUmngy0ab3d/s200/IMG_3268.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381017518001389074" /></a>within the vicinity of my hotel searching for a subway entrance, I gave up and took a taxi. More baseball talk.<br /><br />I arrived quickly at the station meeting point ... sort of. Shinjuku station is so large there are East, West North and South entrances....each about a good half mile apart. Already sweating I called Jun and told him I'd be at the West entrance. No sense to get heat stroke on my very first day. There was still time.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijXe6c21x5fWQEqUKlMHcwd9nCFoNHl8b_ql12-jLUQbtmakGDqSwv4dCF8qgPC9BaaVXlhXwXpHY0Uc2jdzbFmWRWQucJa9FLKqqiIVZ6pBzwQtqd0HNd6T9t-NIMxBLB5RUp-E1hWjGp/s1600-h/IMG_3261.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijXe6c21x5fWQEqUKlMHcwd9nCFoNHl8b_ql12-jLUQbtmakGDqSwv4dCF8qgPC9BaaVXlhXwXpHY0Uc2jdzbFmWRWQucJa9FLKqqiIVZ6pBzwQtqd0HNd6T9t-NIMxBLB5RUp-E1hWjGp/s200/IMG_3261.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381023420537327762" /></a>For the first time after about six months I was finally able to meet Jun face-to-face after only email communications prior. With a nickname of "Wild Ox" I had already pictured several scenarios. None of which panned out. Jun definitely was larger than your average Japanese guy, but also possessing a kind welcoming smile. And, surprisingly a very good grasp of English due to a stint on the West Coast for several years. After some warm greetings, we took off to meet his assistant for the day Toyozo. Also a member of the garage band The Fadeaways, Toyozo met us sporting a classic striped shirt and black vest circa Sunset Strip 1966. A great fellow, we shook hands and all took off via subway to the gallery, located in nearby Shimokitazawa. <br /><br />Expecting to be crushed in a mass of people, the subway was relatively quiet. The fact that it was midday was definitely a factor, but immediately I began to realize a lot of my preconcieved notions were being put to the test. The subways were of course immaculate and sped in and out at precisely timed intervals. It was a wonder to behold.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi03x3YoiVlr0AzCfjRrorvoxoK40XFd1DLptn3nw0Z2JJ6OaCOEZlFzfXK1fIiYQ9cO_-ZVbBLolpLi0Zj-nNewAngv3z6qMiM5b5ZchkOwX1wX22yoVL3VwEe7UsUA0MDb07wO8Q6pJeQ/s1600-h/IMG_3269.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi03x3YoiVlr0AzCfjRrorvoxoK40XFd1DLptn3nw0Z2JJ6OaCOEZlFzfXK1fIiYQ9cO_-ZVbBLolpLi0Zj-nNewAngv3z6qMiM5b5ZchkOwX1wX22yoVL3VwEe7UsUA0MDb07wO8Q6pJeQ/s200/IMG_3269.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381023925720626610" /></a>Upon arriving at Shimokitazawa, I finally got a chance to see the space I rented for three days. It was small but in a fantastic spot a few blocks away from the station and on ground level. A big selling point in a city where different stores are routinely on upper floors. Once settled in, we spent a good several hours placing the photos in the brand new wooden frames we ordered. It looked spiffy. Stopping only for a quick lunch, we headed back to mounting the actual finished photos on the walls. Not surprisingly, hanging photos is not easy, but <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjF6SG-OO8eIT6PlmZlfy1iVpc9Wt9qqIlqpbYHUf9l6uaj24zFUkAPNBL9fr7jI6WKAatt7ZNGsuJ96qnAxNs_u2E3VxKxIopzJPPXjcywZq4pKOGrkc0XcsEAOvubqMx-RqOzKIjDwj/s1600-h/IMG_3278.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjF6SG-OO8eIT6PlmZlfy1iVpc9Wt9qqIlqpbYHUf9l6uaj24zFUkAPNBL9fr7jI6WKAatt7ZNGsuJ96qnAxNs_u2E3VxKxIopzJPPXjcywZq4pKOGrkc0XcsEAOvubqMx-RqOzKIjDwj/s200/IMG_3278.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381024175324323298" /></a>with Jun and Toyozo we pretty much flew through it in record time. Erostika had also printed up some postcards which needed to be colated into sets and enveloped. Another monotonous, but necessary task. Despite the hard work, it was a pretty enjoyable afternoon. Several people stopped by after hearing the music we were playing and asked when the show was opening. One was even a 70 year-old woman. Cool Obaachan.<br /><br />Soon it grew late and Jun told me the fellow in charge of picking up the A-Bones, Harry, had just picked up the jet-<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEityMah9m7QATE7euXsSzVu8aBm35UccE76xXNLrbx2gKbzOTOORlYKCQR-yJg56gHs5zNULUsKryrOkKh3Lx1VFXkM9OjbJNchIRU8MNfKb3GMsfu9KFxEKwY8_DJ1sZoW7ikFOpyns5OS/s1600-h/IMG_3306.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEityMah9m7QATE7euXsSzVu8aBm35UccE76xXNLrbx2gKbzOTOORlYKCQR-yJg56gHs5zNULUsKryrOkKh3Lx1VFXkM9OjbJNchIRU8MNfKb3GMsfu9KFxEKwY8_DJ1sZoW7ikFOpyns5OS/s200/IMG_3306.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381033728661345762" /></a>lagged bunch was bringing them to a restaurant in Shinjuku for dinner. At the restaurant greetings were exchanged all around and we proceeded to a typical workingman's eatery.<br /><br />The restaurant was filled with typical white-collar guys just unwinding after a long day at the office. I am sure seeing our crew come in probably surprised them. We sat down shoe-less on tatami mats and stared blankly at <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEXDR4pB0IL2XStpSKWa240Eo3PUJZqIgmntpBQPfT3zVYuTmAP1zf516OsEPViuIdiHjTK7lTKgxlLsM9oHrbAn4R9xv1hp3Edg7geSNSDXwk9E05i1enkqQXiZaKOxHjr-eFu1XKya4d/s1600-h/IMG_3285.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEXDR4pB0IL2XStpSKWa240Eo3PUJZqIgmntpBQPfT3zVYuTmAP1zf516OsEPViuIdiHjTK7lTKgxlLsM9oHrbAn4R9xv1hp3Edg7geSNSDXwk9E05i1enkqQXiZaKOxHjr-eFu1XKya4d/s200/IMG_3285.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381034062678426274" /></a>menus written entirely in japanese. Harry, sitting by Billy, Miriam, and I, translated as best he could but for the most part we dealt with blanket descriptions of chicken, fish or tofu. After a while we just decided it was best for our hosts to just order.<br /><br />We got some interesting appetizers that for the life of me I cannot recall right now. But, they were tasty. I do recall getting some <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOihM4WU9dIfPYZRWrBhAtgSmTKU0EHX91vbbmIGN_cTveDH_xSTTQZH5BpbKhSWYTRyEqq-ogZKiuaA9adY4NTtlufQQjeTJYvP2yHQVqH_tiy-_9eE9ibykwAbZq9lKswthr5ocFrRsU/s1600-h/IMG_3290.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOihM4WU9dIfPYZRWrBhAtgSmTKU0EHX91vbbmIGN_cTveDH_xSTTQZH5BpbKhSWYTRyEqq-ogZKiuaA9adY4NTtlufQQjeTJYvP2yHQVqH_tiy-_9eE9ibykwAbZq9lKswthr5ocFrRsU/s200/IMG_3290.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381034465890653858" /></a>full size prawns though that were....big. Dutifully, I apologized to the big crustacean and separated his body from his tail. Not really being in the mood to feast on his shrimpy guts.<br /><br />As dinner was in full swing, Miriam decided to pull a prank on Bruce when he got up to use the bathroom. Grabbing his blue Chuck Taylors from <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikXRKY5ZOA9WAXpy1t5Zj7PIz5xXB1E2PjFKVEJw_2pP2VWRLSk5UW6sjdpGo5TfGJbgcxI0oU7mPuC8wjiffDYFDJx4YaAuVMknkSoz-Tk-Z81DHpDWe10f7ojvaeTWpFNPhfV4ISyUWQ/s1600-h/IMG_3301.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikXRKY5ZOA9WAXpy1t5Zj7PIz5xXB1E2PjFKVEJw_2pP2VWRLSk5UW6sjdpGo5TfGJbgcxI0oU7mPuC8wjiffDYFDJx4YaAuVMknkSoz-Tk-Z81DHpDWe10f7ojvaeTWpFNPhfV4ISyUWQ/s200/IMG_3301.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381034927553352370" /></a>under his spot she quickly donned them and wondered how he'd react. Billy remarked "Let the games begin."<br /><br />As we were eating one of Harry's friends Rie, the bass player of a band opening up for the A-Bones, The Stomping Riff Raffs stopped by and said hi. Jun came over and all three joked about like any old three friends would. It was nice and reminded me how similar both our little subcultures are both here and in New York. Pretty much everyone knowing everyone else. I'll stop here I <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcJRnGyzlyX7CSgTLMBP1dY07PxivXRWCpW5EFowe1QBLBPAgTdlqCjAR4vi138siP0n0iC2jOr8jSP-15ozQrh1cM0x8tTjYwhWGEekm0k0DBKCjQFmcYCFbr7RhS39aKiyq2JcPp6Zhx/s1600-h/IMG_3297.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcJRnGyzlyX7CSgTLMBP1dY07PxivXRWCpW5EFowe1QBLBPAgTdlqCjAR4vi138siP0n0iC2jOr8jSP-15ozQrh1cM0x8tTjYwhWGEekm0k0DBKCjQFmcYCFbr7RhS39aKiyq2JcPp6Zhx/s200/IMG_3297.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381036312285204226" /></a>think lest I wind up humming It's a Small World After All. Damn Disney...<br /><br />On the other side of the table, Bruce was accepting saki shots and things were getting goofier and goofier. Lars grabbed some chopsticks and started making walrus tusks out of them. His host noticing a severe breach of etiquette lest he not join in, did <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp08C8JylxYLZW-nkJzwzxfnZg4SDsZeT54cecgBgPiX2LtpmGfhNYTwUjTUw5jEOL48057w2GY8hKvZz5piPYQkFLALwWP_t1hxKAmYrXllEDzB0w6nVGy6zqYVR5OZnzePf0l87Ese9L/s1600-h/IMG_3292.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 144px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp08C8JylxYLZW-nkJzwzxfnZg4SDsZeT54cecgBgPiX2LtpmGfhNYTwUjTUw5jEOL48057w2GY8hKvZz5piPYQkFLALwWP_t1hxKAmYrXllEDzB0w6nVGy6zqYVR5OZnzePf0l87Ese9L/s200/IMG_3292.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381036656292603778" /></a>similarly. Miriam started feeding Bruce using her chopsticks, Bruce started paying up his "baby" role to much laughs while the locals probably wondered whats up with these wacky Americans? Can't take 'em anywhere. It was great though to see the guys in such lighthearted moods. Especially after that grueling 13-hour flight that knocked me on my butt just the evening before. Not being strangers to <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8O3tI2dOZqXua2rhYNvKpGSy_8DZRHDJYjfo2sjFJBTSdRN1U6onIxqO-fRJsHJANrRAaNip0rPKzlkkxNE9XxUY7rGF5R6moWSz7uPzATWpdyKV7uo0F5y7VMMvoAZXfbCfPk4vDWTeX/s1600-h/IMG_3304.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8O3tI2dOZqXua2rhYNvKpGSy_8DZRHDJYjfo2sjFJBTSdRN1U6onIxqO-fRJsHJANrRAaNip0rPKzlkkxNE9XxUY7rGF5R6moWSz7uPzATWpdyKV7uo0F5y7VMMvoAZXfbCfPk4vDWTeX/s200/IMG_3304.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381038212522382226" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUqDxGJQKReBZ2gTGUrlzY-yHZakcQuVBXYMr84UlHsMBUOxHj2Q5Sr0DmZBEWTr5D1pHnzvSW7f4aciyKcdpnNQwMNJQ25kf0JRFRAX_V9-JQKeyHNjmH3CEydZP9uRVpx5wPs_zQuZ7b/s1600-h/IMG_3287.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUqDxGJQKReBZ2gTGUrlzY-yHZakcQuVBXYMr84UlHsMBUOxHj2Q5Sr0DmZBEWTr5D1pHnzvSW7f4aciyKcdpnNQwMNJQ25kf0JRFRAX_V9-JQKeyHNjmH3CEydZP9uRVpx5wPs_zQuZ7b/s200/IMG_3287.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381038204005472930" /></a>international touring, these guys knew how to deal.<br /><br />After dinner, we all posed for the first group shot of the tour. With the camera flash <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhlf1JsnAOd6_g7T8UmelCRw_ms5Tne8Iti0E44Wvetr5Fl7taihyhuWC3bxiTtCtBobynDY7bzLKwPckeKijqsYdCFhO50rZ0YUX2iQ8r-2cDCc-masZSHy2hYzT2jccUwtP6281hsMRP/s1600-h/IMG_3311.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhlf1JsnAOd6_g7T8UmelCRw_ms5Tne8Iti0E44Wvetr5Fl7taihyhuWC3bxiTtCtBobynDY7bzLKwPckeKijqsYdCFhO50rZ0YUX2iQ8r-2cDCc-masZSHy2hYzT2jccUwtP6281hsMRP/s200/IMG_3311.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381038922684071826" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBLPF9tm5TkDYR1RZyuoLUMTsMUqt9iM3WT6u7uhYMvTf6X57JkgLYijrh3Xg8tSoa4C8gggRVPlUwGRysJQSJa1sSIEGQjk_trk1_dXaV69NvhjnVi-OWYA43GryL6rxAhxo7QnGZNcJv/s1600-h/IMG_3308.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBLPF9tm5TkDYR1RZyuoLUMTsMUqt9iM3WT6u7uhYMvTf6X57JkgLYijrh3Xg8tSoa4C8gggRVPlUwGRysJQSJa1sSIEGQjk_trk1_dXaV69NvhjnVi-OWYA43GryL6rxAhxo7QnGZNcJv/s200/IMG_3308.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381038915732105266" /></a>eerily making Marcus' Figures of Light t-shirt glow the way any shirt named such ... should. The walk back to the hotel was not far and gave us our first taste of strolling through the quiet, but safe, neighborhood back streets and alleys.<br /><br />As luck would have it. Our hotel, had a 24-hour supermarket. Not a <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Pxhj4BEl96q6r156xpOpsf7l6AA67tEkU4AH-ZmAL0HJGYRUAPxnfV1UTCiG7skcOP0asU09hJmxmE9pamP91mUNp0WLEHKjk2mZj6ws5a7BDxO3ZjYrj3FjLWpCCKyClTgzV-Qan_Y8/s1600-h/IMG_3320.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Pxhj4BEl96q6r156xpOpsf7l6AA67tEkU4AH-ZmAL0HJGYRUAPxnfV1UTCiG7skcOP0asU09hJmxmE9pamP91mUNp0WLEHKjk2mZj6ws5a7BDxO3ZjYrj3FjLWpCCKyClTgzV-Qan_Y8/s200/IMG_3320.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381039207382868146" /></a>convenience store....but full-fledged supermarket right across the street. As the days would go on that small store would be everyone's outpost for snacks, food and liquids. Although with two drink vending machines on pretty much every corner, there was no lack of liquid refreshment....anywhere. Big day for both our camps tomorrow. So we called it a night.SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3054603677289930024.post-55814150988714966152009-08-01T18:59:00.001-04:002009-08-01T19:02:44.979-04:00Gallery Web Page Up!<p style="clear: both"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/G-JAxblrCuBgV2h2Ziw6lg?authkey=Gv1sRgCI_UyoqswOS7Ew&feat=directlink" class="image-link"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYPL51og7Z0RhFLjp9BWhzEyeUUlFGCJ-qOrDLLmTKVe_Y2B_jlYZQd-iOAgXFgTb6VUlBE_askT3nZK2nWxJONwdNBtaroX6pS0FKI_abinCT6dyHivfMq8PbXLPChr1lp3N5u_Wy4bkE/s800/WEB-thumb.jpg" height="312" align="left" width="229" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>RJB did a fantastic job of setting up a neato gallery page. The description of the scene looks interesting I wish I could read it! </p><p style="clear: both"><a href="http://www.erostika.net/jeff_cuyubamba/" target="_blank">http://www.erostika.net/jeff_cuyubamba/</a></p><br class='final-break' style='clear: both' />SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3054603677289930024.post-68944754338191528862009-07-26T23:26:00.001-04:002009-07-26T23:26:19.954-04:00Flyers Arrive!<br /><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD6-EWY5xO83y4Xbuzl_KlQhG2XSG4bhM1zfVIOkkNVxxGNEfD9xjq90OYrglYNg75Z8UkG66CyuwUCrwPUXxqpm2puYjHYCJ2gdXSLvAsguHXhZpXOH0be8DVgFqmdCkFHy6NYjCZ6cPO/s800/abones_flyer_omote2-full.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVZPpHwC1rvkwn_F3xl31K6l1qKjqhirYj4WAD98u2aKyuqJtgzmnF1Sk7emEp075rWfDJ4_5UqoMHa9TEiFn0ywOxTnn_dRbahrN1JnnfnTwhPVoQ1pHx9E67h5ZlARIftE2kg5Osw-3M/s800/abones_flyer_omote2-thumb.jpg" height="538" align="left" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a>As the date approaches for the trip I'm starting to see some promotional work courtesy of the great Rockin' Jelly Bean starting to appear.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtfQUvXZ5hFTSDTwJc10xDnoNv71rOMcfSLOuBhmX8VAhw7cvuJ95TMZX5bAdDlLmRNOVDnHiPNIxI5b4VoBkiFvUo2khSsouhHDXf-IPgicLDmeHt6S51KXDsmV7ISjifj_qUAf7EExjE/s800/abones_flyer_ura1-full.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLixjkdTAFyEftDOLRHaUXE8z_4F76qMVVxZ66DYpxuMmVxWVsY_yHafTThLV5uCOSwXqBywJFo8eWu45f7b12oywENX4xRN6yI6M1rmk3WeF5jLidzxauj0vTInukV705X61I8B2WZ9y3/s800/abones_flyer_ura1-thumb.jpg" height="538" align="right" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>Its still a kick in the pants to see something with your name show up in flyers. More so if its in a foreign language.</p><br class='final-break' style='clear: both' />SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3054603677289930024.post-53680852508757885152009-07-25T01:00:00.000-04:002009-08-02T19:16:11.209-04:00A Trip For the Ages<p style="clear: both">Greetings folks! I decided to start a small blog to document the preparation and eventual opening of my first overseas gallery show. Thanks for coming along for the ride.</p><p style="clear: both">While I often wanted to visit Japan, the last way I would have ever guessed it was going to happen was by having a show. Never in a million years. And especially consisting of photos I shot of garage punk bands during the crazy days of pre-Giuliani NY.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkKps6EIWasiFQQBe3DGUIuTKKT6G2i9Tf4BMvC4eVJ_Xzv4YP09lVL7ITDAng_xk1nkBC2QemiU6zs2zXgXtN_IbtoMsbjhfrjar2I2LFndAuPL79Hff3_OKz0bkiHI4N-Am4oobZH2Ro/s800/41woayPq2iL._SS500_.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpdgMifEc12iT6JPsGcJRog-DkJXfkB9NqQNqhLhSV26H0O3d-tFZff2RZ7GM8zaw-u7Z9xvEDSAKyCTJ7UJ-hlCV4nVm7bUijlkuoAn9d4vW1AWUgt454v7IA82Eqbjtf2ZStiGA1OGII/s800/41woayPq2iL-thumb._SS500_1.jpg" height="123" align="right" width="150" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>It all started innocently enough when I happened to visit the <a href="http://www.icp.org/" target="_blank">ICP Gallery</a> in New York for an exhibit by NY icon <a href="http://www.bobgruen.com/" target="_blank">Bob Gruen</a> for a new book on the NY Dolls. Holding my copy of my book in front of him to sign, I timidly mentioned I also had photos of a "scene" I shot years back. He was very amiable and encouraged me to see about getting them published. Encouraged by his words I did a search for my old shots that evening. Soon, encumbered by work and the upcoming holiday season, I forgot about it.</p><p style="clear: both">Fast forward a couple of months. One evening it occurred to me that not only had I forgot about the shots, but the whole publishing plans as well! To make up for it I decided to create an end of year project. I scanned several shots and posted them online for friends who happened to be at the shows with me. Specifically with an eye toward linking them to NJ mod's Bill Luther's new Facebook group. One that was strictly for people who had frequented an out of the way nightclub on W.29th St called The Dive.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFMhr1P5Ne0MkgWRgtfjrN7SN2ldIaFZimcIYyPe0E8GKBkPL_1v0Y5lQYRCo6H_iXMK_KgOvLEKOme8QybD7PgAd9NROfKbBeG1aBOnAfpBasl516MucpCWzywrIvhxvJ79HDbwsGllAy/s800/DiveCompNu-full.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSeNFnLtfIj7kdhqi5v8aBN9wcNHIftC7cPejBY6mZmCPR2jDnUF-n6-Xyj27SzswobEUHqkQjFLYJRh-WVptRlliL4OyvYVYM6TyYvTualu-J6zus7aivj9yOASW8cC8RKTabYhckH5Ug/s800/DiveCompNu-thumb.jpg" height="249" align="right" width="380" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>For several years the Dive was the place where a consistent group of like-minded souls could congregate and actually hear music that was not only ignored during its time...but in the eighties as well! Mainly music created during the mid-sixties by any one of a thousand bands that sprung up in the Beatles wake. And while a small handful did become successful, the vast majority of bands stayed local phenoms if only among their friends.</p><p style="clear: both">The group that attended the Dive shows were aware of other musics but mostly disillusioned at the "softening" of the primacy of rock music. Which, at its core, was music of rebellion. We all looked at the tradition of "punk" attitude as really going back to the 50s and 60s. And while some were more attracted to the Mod elements and others were into the folk, pop, psych or straight-up rock flavors. One feeling was a uniform. We all felt it was "us" against "them".</p><p style="clear: both">Well, once I started to send the link out. I kept getting emails saying things like. "Great shots, you should show them somewhere" Which was far more than I ever expected. But they all advised the same thing. And that was to show them outside of the US.</p><p style="clear: both"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EQ2tAD9UeXx1YMFieHKcUFQyBTJKSv2NJNYHC467cYmIDrh6Y6diIo1C2Zzh5zRKRLD8XnoLHL_s9uBEU3VfMWJr_wF4SIU8wkVbPNmWt2rASXc4V7qlZU1kWQNmkT9up6UyjLm7wWtW/s800/a_bones_posterSM.jpg" class="image-link"><img class="linked-to-original" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidal3vpIzdtfGsf-y82xOlk6Dpahm50-xIQD-VHTef9amUGaQR3fgViX9tNjmvM2irYKR_YMAh5Ydud0SNH5PGTrnoj6dLaBfqa3Md0qJtnMLqJIsPHA9ONyrc2JF6suhcCNnYK9jdM3Jh/s800/a_bones_posterSM-thumb.jpg" height="570" align="right" width="269" style=" display: inline; float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 10px;" /></a>So, one day I emailed a few art/music people in three different areas. Barcelona, Paris and Japan. My Barcelona connection had actually moved to Berlin and could not help, my Parisian pal said it would be pretty difficult to arrange something but good ol' <a href="http://www.rockinjellybean.com/a-bones.html" target="_blank">Rockin Jelly Bean</a> (member of Jackie and the Cedrics and gallery owner) was incredibly enthusiastic and suggested I come to Japan this summer with my photos.</p><p style="clear: both">Within a month I had my flight booked, reserved space at a gallery (on recommendation of RJB) and had my photos printed in Beijing. In retrospect, it was a total combination of luck, timing and a little bit of belief in my own abilities. More to come!</p><br class='final-break' style='clear: both' />SeñorDolorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383589451421368500noreply@blogger.com0