after that i go to a concert, at the Loft, in the infamous Yakuza-controlled neighborhood of kabuki-cho. My friend says that it’s mostly run by Chinese triads now….
I thought it would be this cool punk-bands-plus-hip-hop-dancing-in-between-sets combo thing. I forgot the mafia passed a law that says ‘there will never be a good gig in kabuki cho ever.’ The venue charges like 30 bucks, and confiscates my water bottle at the door (so i will supposedly buy their overpriced beer or something), makes everyone wait in this little cramped firetrap hallway for an hour before opening the doors to the main hall, and my friend I came to see is in the back and won’t come out and say hi.
The first band plays. They are pretty good. They have the old singer from ATOMIC FIREBALL. he’s only 4 feet tall but i swear 90% of his body must be vocal cords…. he makes the guy from DEICIDE sound like Pat Boone In A Metal Mood. but about the band, i forget their name. sorry.
Then some DJ plays. It’s a weird kind of performance. He obviously CAN scratch really fast, but most of the time he’s just pushing buttons on his drum machine, and occasionaly going ‘witty wit wit’ on the turntable.
the dj thing is aggravating — it’s too techincal to be danceable, but not technical enough to be interesting for 3 hours. i look around and no one else has any idea what to do either. they’re all sort of nodding their heads to the beat — the hip hop equivalent of a guy scratching his chin in a museum, as if to say, ‘yeah, i get it. i’m not dumb. i TOTALLY get it. yeah, think about it.’
all these bozos trying to look hard and intillectual at the same time. dude, you can’t even pull off one, let alone two totally contradictory poses…… the only thing those two poses have in common is a total lack of humor.
Then there’s like 4 horrible rap bands in a row. Not only is Japanese rap is the worst thing on the planet, but also…. no one dances. pictured above is the only band remotely decent — they had this totally neurotic flow, and the grunge looking guy was all concerned looking, as if the doctor said, (just before he went onstage) "son, your prostate is wicky wack.". but then again they kept breaking into fake reggae singing. for somereason, a lot of the goofy electronic music, distorted-bass-drum guys over here like to talk Jafakin.
Then finally, DEATH COMES RIPPING plays, and all 6 of us who aren’t wanna-be gangstas just go nuts and dance around and it’s amazing, then I go home.
above, here’s the whole band PLUS, see that towering geyzer of golden lava? that’s Rika caught in mid-headbang.