radiohead

Radiohead in Osaka. Got a nice ring to it I think. I hurtled away from school and two thirty, was in Osaka by five. Was watching the band by eight and home in bed just after midnight. What kind of world is this that I can zoom through such an important experience? I kept saying to myself: take it in! take it in dammit! but there was so much. it was too hard.

If I have asked Toby really nicely and he has said yes, there will be a photo of the concert at the top of the blog? Is there one? I hope so.

The venue was like being in an almond shaped crystal with a thin layer of icing over it. got it? ok good. It probably could hold 10 000 people but was only holding I'd say, maybe 5 000. I was waaaay at the back of the standing section and we all know what that means for a shtoempic, a shorty. No view of nothing never. Ah no! And it is a fallacy that Japanese people are short. Maybe you get less 6ft monsters per capita but everyone is sill taller than me (that is to say they are all over 5ft). So its not like I could see any better here, than a concert somewhere else in the world. Not being able to see doesnt help when you are trying madly to take it all in, drink it all up. But fears of missing the biggest thing to happen to the littlest Jemma were assuaged; I did find a pretty descent angle of visibilty, at the expense of physical comfort, of course. and then the lights went out and the opening band (called i-dont-know-who-they-are-and-

im-sure-they-are-very-nice-but-be-a-sport-and-
piss-off-now) came and went and then then radiohead came on.

There were four different kinds of lights on stage and all of them had so totally transcended the toggle ability of lights, I kinda feel I am insulting them by just calling them lights, such a small word. - first off at the lintel of the stage was a plantation of millions of little lights that could become any colour under the sun - it was the sun! only better coz it could change colours and do things clouds can do as well. Then, hanging down from the roof, running from stage front to back were long dangly tube lights of different lengths that made it look like the band was deep inside a church organ. perched high above, all over the stage were grapefruit bunches of lights. running the length of the back wall was a low bank of fiber optics, i think thats what they were. they were used for general scratchiness, the Kubrick effect. bzzt bzzt, fear, nervousness. that kind of thing. All the lights were synchronised and each song had had a light show delicately crafted to peak and troug
h with the music, utterly transforming the stage. At times it looked like green toxic ooze was bubbling up from thr floor and bleeding over the crowd. At times it looked like they were in a hyperspeed blossom storm. Other times it looked as if the band was in a bleached and blown out victorian photograph - but moving, sometimes it even looked like a rock concert. Above the Kubrick lights on the back wall were three utterly enourmous screens that were used mostly to give video feed of bits of the artists. Thom's head, drummer's foot, Greenwood's fingers etc. The clarity of the images was breathtaking, they could also be twiddled to become monochromatic, blown-out, polarised or whatever. Insta sexy MTV. They crescendo-ed during paranoid android when suddenly everything went psychedelic green pink orange - explosions and seizures of light and screaming jerking close-ups.

From the description above you might imagine the concert was pretty wild, but the funny thing is, it wasnt at all. The reasons for this are multiple. Firstly, it was Radiohead in Japan and Japanese people dont go mental; they might wiggle their bums a bit but thats it. Not that they are bored, just quiet appreciaters I think. Secondly, due to my position in the arena (my carefully chosen spot for maximum visibility), I spent the night leaning perilously over a railing to my right. Imagine being in an aeroplane isle seat, straining sideways to see if the loo is available. Yeah, that was my posture for three hours (but standing). If i rested my head on my hand it was actually quite comfortable but it did mean my bum wiggling, even my clapping and hollering were extremely limited. So a calm crowd and a calm me. Then Radiohead themselves who are chilled out, but happy. Happy you say? Surely no! But Indeed yes! I think I was expecting to see Thom Yorke wheeled out in a chair, twitching a
nd crying but he seems pretty happy, pretty normal. He likes to dance, well twiddle about and laugh and stuff. Just like a real person. Their set wasn't so much sad as dreamy (the other worldly lights and sleeping head angle of mine being contributors). Whenever I did lift my head upright it felt like I was waking up - that sense of where am I? Who are these people? Whats going on? But in a good way. I had it really strongly once when Thom Yorke finsished or started some song with a friendly 'hello. heehee.' it sounded so familiar - like an old boyfriend saying 'hello' just as you wake up coz he was watching you sleep.

The music was awesome　- in Japanese SUGOI, MONOSUGOI - すごい，ものすごい．
Just amazing. Imagine what you would want Radiohead to sound like. They sound like that. But with unexpected details that make you say wow. wowee.

Because I only know their old stuff, two thirds of the set was just pretty new noise to me (I had to abstain from post concert conversations - 'what was your favourite', 'what was yours' - because I would have said 'ooh! the pink song and the one where the lights went white in the middle' and disgraced myself in front of the die hards). The stuff I did know was orgasmic - seriously: paranoid android, exit music for a film, the bends, idioteque, everything in its right place, airbag and my personal ultimate bestest - climbing up the walls. For exit music for a film there was just a smoky white spot on Thom Yorke. You could have heard a pin drop. And in terms of stamina? Prowess? Tightness? Talent? Aw man, anything I have seen hithertofor (eh?) is just wiped off the map. That man can sing, but fuckoff!! sing. and the instruments are so so tight and everyone plays like seven of them. You can hear they have been together for ages but they still love doing it.

And then it was over and we streamed outdoors and 3 000 of the 5 000 crowd veered right to the demarcated smoking section (there had been no smoking or drinking permitted inside). And before I knew it I was being shooed into a taxi and then dragged through a train station by boys at breakneck speed to make the last Shinkansen home. And then we were on the train staring at eachother in exhausted, elated disbelief. And then I was home.

Weekend of Wonder

Last week I was starting to feel down about being in Japan. I miss home. The monotony of my job borders on morbid. My town is, honestly speaking, an armpit (close to nice places but smelly in and of itself). Jenkin-san had given me the advice 'Stay active, stay happy!' and you know what, that was my problem indeed. Of course I was miserable in my tiny flat watching dvds and feeling lonely and wretched. The job is boring yes, but in my own time, dammit, i gots to do things rather than lamenting. So, from a much happier Jem in Japan, the next two posts are a run-down of my weekend which saved me from getting onto SAA and coming thefuck home. A weekend of new things that are so new I never knew they were there. Look at photos on flickr.com

Enjoy.

Gondry's Japan

At a moment's notice on Saturday I headed out into the mountains to a tiny music festival hosted by various artists, musicians and other cool people from Onomichi - my favourite dinky town ten minutes from Mihara. It was tiny, maybe 150 people in total and, without being too effusive, I have to say it was the best thing I have done in Japan thus far! The setting was too beautiful to be true - a tiny clean campsite surrounded by pines and mountains with a steep slope on one side leading to a deep grey damn. The weather has finally let up and the days were crisp, the night pleasantly chilly. There wasn't a stage so to speak, in the middle of the clearing stood one lone pine tree under which was a wooden bench for musicians (which at night, like everything in this country) was lit spectacularly. It seems everyone who attended brought their own stall or display or toy and everything was free and available at all hours. Under a clump of trees someone had brought two fat white goats who lazed about and made children hysterical with delight and terror. A small wooden desk next to the goat had a notepad and pencil. You would write a letter (private wishes and secrets) and hang it from the trees from coloured string and at the end of the festival the letters were lowered and fed to the goats, your secrets excreted as tiny turds all over the field. A particularly ingenious addition to the festival was a blimp size white balloon made from hundreds of garbage bags and inflated by a fan. Inside the floor was covered with patchwork quilts, the light was clean and surreal. It was like being in a whale in a particularly friendly picturebook. At night the blimp was illuminated with projections from the outside of fireworks, water and trees. You could just sit for hours watching the colours leak all over, every now and again sharp shadows of men with guitars walking around you. There were rainbow hammocks (that were again there, it seems, to delight and terrify children), stalls selling chai and tom yum and curry. There was an enourmous cardboard house lit with dangling bulbs that you could walk inside and decorate with paints and crayons.

If this all sounds psychedelic its because it was! I kept thinking to myself, where are the drugs? people do this without drugs? indeed! they do! which means it had the magic of a hippie festival but none of the filth and none of the sordidness. It was truly truly magical. I'll post the photos on flickr soon and you can see for yourself.

The highlight of the performances was a man in dungarees who did a one-man-band guitar n harmonica puppet show. I didnt understand what he was saying but he was very fervent which made it very funny. I especially liked the two photo cardboard cut out puppets which were mini replicas of himself (big sunglasses, floral hat) with which he did a short but slick dance routine.

Everyone at the festival was so kind and chilled out. Ah! I thought, this is where the cool people in Japan are, the ones who arent teachers and salarymen (who until now, were the only people I had encountered). The food was delicious, the music was gentle and sweet, the stalls really did make you feel like a five year old (except maybe you werent scared of goats). It was like living in the movie Science of Sleep. Utterly surreal. Utterly magical. The best place in the whole world. I almost feel like I shouldnt be writing about it, like it doesnt actually exist, it was just a dream made of plastercine in a forest with a snow white goat.

the elders

There is a group of old politicos called The Elders who I only found out about recently. Its Madiba, Tutu, Jimmy Carter, some Scandewegian, the Ex Irish lady president, a whole bunch.　Because they are old and respected and not technically part of any government they can take a stand against big wold issues and speak their minds freely without recourse. Pretty cool. Well this weekend I hate a date with what felt like Mihara's answer to The Elders.

On friday afternoon, Gunch asked me if I woudlnt mind our daily lesson being a field trip today, after work. I said that sounded most excellent. At five o clock I met him in town and together we walked the short distance to his old friend Machan's okonomikayi shop. The shop is called Sachan, after his wife. It is a tiny eatery consisting of a long hotplate surrounded by stools. There is a wall of manga on one wall for patrons with no one to talk to I suppose, although in this place everyone knows everyone and conversation swings around the little place so rapidly I cannot imagine anyone having a moment, or the inclination to read. There is also a grotty seventies TV mounted in the corner. As it is sumo season, sumo was playing when we entered and it provided mild distraction and a conversation piece to the patrons.

Okonomiyaki, incase I havent explained previously, is a Hiroshima prefecture speciality. Batter is poured onto the huge iron hotplate and gently moulded into a paper thin crepe. on top is piled a mountain of cabbage, noodles, fish, meat and veggies. Once these have simmered down an egg is broken on top to form an omlette covering. Its doused in sauce, decorated with ginger, you are armed with a spatular and it used pushed toward you with a giant spatula. Voila. Dinner. The okonomiyaki Gunch and I shared had cuttlefish and strips of pork. It was delicious.

Gunch is 67. Machan and his wife are also 67 and they have all been friends for 50 years. Everyone else who came into the shop was introduced to me as being an old friend of Gunch's too and they all, it turns out were 67 with the exception of a tiny little old man who looked like a bean with enourmous spectacles who didnt like the fact thatI ate left handed. This bean could have been 95. He wore bright blue plaid golf pants. 67 year old no 4 wore a battered straw hat that made him look like he should be in the Caribbean. Machan had a pale yellow polo shirt and the beginnings of a Tom Sellek moustache.

Initially I did what has become my routine introductory performance. Lots of smiling, yes, I am from Africa! It is far, seventeen hours on a plane. Machan was particularly interested in South African currency and how long it took my to save the money to get to Japan and how much beer was in South Africa etc. Straw hat knew a lo0t about South Africa: Kimberly, the Cullinan diamond and Gary Player. But soon enough Gunch put an end to the prattle and settled down to our lesson which he scratched out on folded up flyers and bits of napkin (which I now have stored in a box of my most precious possessions). He explained to me that although you get okomiyaki all over Japan, the people of Hiroshima have a special attachment to it and he asked why I thought this was the case. 'Because!', he said (before I could answer), after the devastation of the war, and the bomb, people in Hiroshima had nothing to cook with, and nothing to eat with. Everything was destroyed. With no pots, no pans, no nothing they took to okonomiyaki because it requires no utensils at all and can be compiled out of anything - an egg, a scrap of fish, a bit of flour. He told me about his experience of the war; how his father (92 and going strong!) had not joined the army because he was a railway man; a valuable and necessary profession during the war. They had suffered massively from food shortages, everything that could be eaten was sent to the army. People had barely anything. I have just finished reading a manga by a man named Nakazawa called 'Barefoot Gen' about living in Hiroshima during the bomb and when I mentioned this Gunch nodded furiously. Yes, yes, he was just like Barefoot Gen! Ah! says a man with long orange hair and fingernails sittng at the other end of the shop, Barefoot Gen, yes! He read it in high school. This is how the evening progressed with people all over the tiny shop putting in their two cents worth and laughing while Machan furiously produced okonomiyaki and his wife poured beer.

I enjoyed myself most when my presence was forgotten and I could watch all the people just talking amongst themselves in rapid fire Japanese. I think they spoke for some time about a Russian competitor in the Sumo tournament. Gunch told me too about the throwing of salt I had witnessed at sports day that is an integral part of Sumo - it cleanses the arena and is a most ancient and respected tradition. Yes, its true the Bean concurred.

When we left Machan and his wife greeted me so warmly! Gunch told me that Machan had said I was welcome to come without Gunch as often as I could. I think I have a fan!