Many of you checked out my Sniff Sniff video a week or two ago, which surprisingly went “mini-viral” across Tokyo and led me to meet some really cool people. The event promoter held another party, called “Next Sniff Sniff” and here are a few pictures. A short video is coming soon, shot in a similar theme of black & white. Just like before, this party was held at Trump Room, in the exciting hot spot of Shibuya.
Hello Kl!tty killed it. They played an awesome set.
Tokyo food blogger Fashimi looking delectable as always.
Mr. G, we go waaay back!
All must kiss the moose head. Or is that a deer?
Didn’t realize I got this awesome shot of photographer Alex Wuillaume doing his thing at the event.
A lot of people have been saying this is a really cool spot. I passed through on a rainy Wednesday night and snapped a few pics. Will return on a weekend and see what the real deal really is. I liked the decor and the energy of the place.
I appeared on Nihon Terebi for two seconds (literally) in a small acting role for a mini-documentary on world-famous Japanese dancehall queen, Junko. Was a good experience! You can watch the entire video on youtube here. (Japanese only). I also attached it below.
Checkout the picture from my previous post about the TV shoot, here.
Summer Sonic is everything you’ve heard about and more. Tons of great bands and a performance space so big you won’t even realize someone famous is performing a few feet away from you as you walk from stall to stall, snap pictures, nibble snacks and drink beer. I was invited to work with Japanese pole dancer performance group Polish for the duration of the Summer Sonic festival, and when I had free time I was able to see such performers as Keri Hilson, Jay-Z, Uffie, Stevie Wonder, K’naan and many more. I even got to see Jay-z back stage and get a head nod as he walked past… that is, not before getting strange looks from his fridge-sized security. But hey, it was Summer Sonic!
Fiat Cafe is a small, upscale bar in Aoyama-Itchome. I was invited here by my friend and Tokyo MC Ayanne to chill out. I snapped some pics and shot video JIJ episode coming eventually. It was okay, despite a bizarre performance by two people in bodysuits covered in glittery rhinestones singing show tunes. A cute girl brass band, complimentary Moet and a few celebrity appearances made the evening pretty sweet.Oh, and girls dancing on stage in virtually nothing near the end of the night : D
Akiko is a talented Japanese artist I met through my travels here in Japan. A few months ago I went to the photo shoot and shot some pictures and video. This is what I produced as I followed her around during the photo shoot for “The Vibes”, her debut album to be released by Domo Records of the U.S.A.
Update there is a video for this blog post available: Read the article, then view it here. – Marcus
Two Japanese girls are lying on either side of me. One, a cute girl named Wakana has a sleeping mask on her face, the other is in a bundle by my left arm. My head is spinning from drinking an entire bottle of Vodka but I’m smiling. I’m in a tent, in the mountains two hours from Hamamatsu, in Japan.
A week before, I was invited to the party by a tall bartender named Hachi. “It will be good man.” He said to me. I wasn’t sure what to think. At first Hachi asked me if I wanted to DJ for the event, then seemed to forget about me after I enquired if the DJs would be paid. Another guy, a young Japanese man I see at a bar I frequent, told me his friend was going.
“She is very cute, you will like her.” He said. I wasn’t sure. I still don’t have much faith in the Japanese girls I’ve been meeting, but I said okay. He told me this the day before the party, on Friday
night. She came to the bar later than night to see me (at the guy’s request) and she was wearing some kind of Kimono.
“I just came from work.” She said with a smile.
I smiled back and made light conversation with her. She was very cute, but generally Japanese women dressed in traditional clothing don’t do anything for me. I would need to see her later in A regular outfit. We decided to check out the party.
My routine in Hamamatsu had been cyclical. The stream of the same bars and clubs wasn’t fun, or thrilling. Half the places I knew I already knew the people who worked there and a couple of the regulars. Going out often felt saturated and required too much energy to socialize. A trip to the mountains with a fresh face seemed like a good idea.
I rode my bike to Zaza city and parked. Their car, like most I’ve seen, was a compact cube-shaped vehicle. They looked small but were generally spacious. My mood was good, and when I came into the car, I heard dancehall reggae playing through the radio.
“It’sDJ Kenny.” Wakana said with a smile. I chuckled. A DJ Kenny mixtape in a Japanese car in Japan always seemed weird. In fact, anytime I’m at a reggae party and I’m the only Jamaican there, and I see the Japanese girls scream “Bap! Bap! Bap!” when they like a song gives me chills.
Something about it doesn’t seem real. Thegirls are both very cute and genki, and I fall into my routine of stories, jokes and fun conversation. We stop at a convenience store to grab some snacks for the trip. It’s an estimated two hours from Hamamatsu to the party. On the way there, we stop at another convenience store and I received a free coffee for a reason I still can’t explain. We drive and talk about life, mostly about Jamaica and I constantly tease Wakana’s friend.
After an hour or so, it becomes apparent that we are lost. We are on a road so narrow it feels like being in a tunnel. We are surrounded by trees so big they block the sky and my phone has spotty service. Every few minutes, the girls stop the car and consult the GPS on their phones, but to no avail. I toss in my iphone for good measure and it doesn’t help.
There were a few dangerous moments as well. Once we had to turn the car on a narrow road, with the back of the car near a fifty foot precipice. Each time I felt the half a second period between the touch and release of the car brakes, I saw us in the car, falling through the darkness until we hit something solid with a sickening crunch. After a few more wrongs turns and wasted time, we end up near where we started. The girls are determined to find the party.Being on a main road after traveling through the claustrophobic mountain roads was a relief. A street light was like a bottle of water after a long run. We drive for a few more minutes, and the consensus if we are “probably” going in the right direction. We left Hamamatsu at eight-thirty. It was now past eleven o’ clock. A huge dam comes into view and I marvel at it. I probably marveled more because out of boredom I opened my bottle of Vodka I purchased for the party and started chasing it with soda. In the nighttime, the dam was a gigantic looming structure. A powerful monolith of man’s will and desire. It was between two mountains, way up here and very old. The section of the dam that connects
to the road forms a bridge between the two mountains. On our side, near the entryway of the bridge is a parked car. Near it, are a man and two boys. The boys have what look like small fish nets in their hands. They are a few feet in front of their father, walking around in the darkness. Wakana asks him directions and he gives us a good idea of where to go. When I ask her what the
boys were doing, she said they were collecting bugs.
A larger, more modern road comes into view and we cheer because we’ve found whereto go. After several hours, a few near misses on the mountain roads and one DJ Kenny CD on repeat the whole time, we were on the way to the party. It was still at least forty-five minutes away, and I spent some of the time watching the vegetation go by the car in a dark green blur, or asking the ladies questions about their lives. Eventually we saw a few horribly made signs that indicated where the party was.
The roads became somewhat narrow again, but nowhere as frightening at the roads we were on earlier. After going up a stretch of hill that revealed the night sky and moon to us, we saw several parked cars in the darkness, and bodies moving in the distance on a large field. We had found the mountain party.
The party was on a large open field, where a lodge was built. From what I could see, there wasn’t any gate, any guard or anyone collecting money for that matter. It was about twelve thirty by now, and the party was in full swing. We walked in, our bags of drinks in tow. A bonfire blazed about thirty feet from where I was standing, with Japanese guys with shaggy hair and baggy jeans dancing around it. I turned a corner to see a sea of familiar faces, all residents of
Hamamatsu.
“Hey!”the voices chanted in chorus.
Everyonewas drunk, high or both already. Several tents were setup and I proceeded to erect the tent that Wakana, I and her friend would sleep in later. After setting it up, (with the help of two or three drunk people) the drinking started.Thisis where things get a little fuzzy. I certainly remember chatting to an English girl I know, who seemed to reprimand me for being nicely dressed and coming to the party with two Japanese girls. There was some conversation with a friend or two from Hamamatsu, but it most likely involved nothing worth remembering. Then I danced with two rave cones beside the bonfire, fueled by liquid confidence. Then as the night progressed, everyone started playing the drums and drinking beer at the same time. Somewhere, I could smell marijuana smoke, but I wasn’t sure where it was coming from. After the drum fest, there was more drinking, spotty conversation and obvious sexual innuendo. I tried to make a move with one of my girls, who told me she had a boyfriend.
Day broke and the sun started to rise and some genius decided we should all play early morning soccer. Drunk, shirtless and filming at the same time, I fall on my first pass, slashing my elbow but not feeling much pain because of the alcohol in my system. I hail up a few DJs and some people who are still dancing by the bonfire and eat some rice from a huge bowl near the drum area. People
are settling down and things are getting quiet.
This is when I retreat to the tent, and make myself cozy with the two girls. Once I zipped up the tent, the pounding of the music outside became a dull throb.Later,driving down the mountain, I c could really see where I was. Ancient trees swaying in a morning breeze numbering in the tens of thousands were all around me. I could see far away, the lines of other mountains in the distance.
I saw small hill towns and old railway cars, little groves with brooks and gushing rivers
and tons of vegetation. I was still tired and a bit hung over, but it was a good time. I stepped groggily out of the car when I got back to Hamamatsu, giving both ladies a weak but smiley faced goodbye. I found my bike, and started riding home, laughing at the fact that I was raving dancing only hours
before, in my purple shirt, with a bonfire blazing behind me.
I’m in the Hamamatsu station, looking out for Kori, the guy I’m traveling with. My phone rings, and I hear a voice ask for me. “I am here, where are you?” he asks. I raise my hand. “Ah, I see you!” he shouts into the phone. I hang up and a short man with a very angular face runs up to me. His smile is so big it recedes into his face, making his eyes tiny and white. It frightens me for half a second.
“Are we ready to go?” he says.
“Yes.” I reply.
We go into his car, a small red vehicle , and drive off.
My Nagoya trip is the culmination of a few random events, and a few not so random events. One year ago, I went to the Cannes film festival. During the crazy two weeks that is Cannes, I was shooting a short film and somewhere during that, I ran into Daiki, a slim Japanese fellow with a calm demeanour. He was holding a small, expensive camera and helped us out with the shoot. At the time, I could barely communicate with him. My Japanese was below basic. Even so we still made a connection. “If I come to Japan, ” I said back then, “I’ll link you.”
Now, I’m making that link. Kori is Daiki’s friend who happens to live in Hamamatsu, where I live. Daiki is having a film event in Nagoya, and I’m tagging along for the ride.
Our first stop is small café where Kori buys some, onigiri. “This is Japanese fast-food.” He says. The café is at the foot of a small hill on the outskirts of Hamamatsu. Inside feels very comfortable and artistic, with the smell of incense and wood. I sit at the counter, and I pause.
I see a young woman busily making some food. She is tall, with lovely eyes and a face that reminds me of an actress I saw somewhere. Her skin is bronzed dark. As she moves, oblivious to me watching her, I feel like time stops. She is intensely focused on the food and moves around the kitchen expertly. Another woman, and they move in unison, occasionally chatting to each other about the food they are making. Then, she walks past, her green skirt swishing and swaying. I paused for a second and started breathing again. Her name was Umi, and she was beautiful.
I don’t often feel this way about women I meet initially, but this is the first time in a while I remember just staring at someone. Her outfit wasn’t risqué and she didn’t seem to have a shy bone in her. I was intrigued.
I chatted with Umi and the other lady in my most chill Japanese (meaning I spoke at a regular tone with no pauses) and found that they were mother and daughter. They owned the establishment, which made a select set of clothes along with food. “I’m a designer as well.” I told them. The mother seemed very impressed. “Her name means beach,” her mother told me, in reference to Umi. “I know.” I replied as I left.
We hit the road, leaving Umi in our wake.
* * * *
One of the most interesting things about traveling are the experiences you have meeting people. For, me conversation is always the treasure. When I was in Germany, I chatted with a politician about his music (he was a part-time house DJ). Today I’m talking to Kori about religion.
“What is your religion? If you don’t mind?” he asks. I tell him that things are mixed in the way I grew up, that Jamaican is a relatively conservative (yet not ) conservative society and my perspectives shifted as time passed. Like anyone, I said, I’m still searching. Kori was similar. He had spent ten years traveling through different countries. He loved rock and Jazz. “ACDC is the best ever!” he said to me with his super smile. He had the sinewy, wired body of a person who is very active. This was confirmed when he told me he was a surfer. “I went to Australia for school, but then I realized that surfing is my life.” He said. His English is very good, and I asked him where he studied. “Listening to music is one of the best ways to learn language,” he said. “Axle Rose was my first English teacher.”
His car was a mirror of his lifestyle. A guitar was wedged in between a tattered biker jacket and a skateboard in the back seat. Beside the skateboard was a mid-sized plastic box was filled with CDs and minidiscs. Rock paraphernalia, little cups and empty boxes of cigarettes were everywhere. We drove along the highway listening to Kyioushiro, (the Japanese John Lennon). Every twenty-five minutes we made stops. “I have to get coffee.” He would say with a laugh.
We listened to ACDC’s back in Black, a Lenny Kravitz CD and Velvet Underground. I was getting a rock education from a Japanese surfer. When we reached Nagoya, we hung out on the roof of a SEIYU supermarket while we waited for Daiki to arrive at the Café where the film event was being held. Sayuu is a chain of large supermarkets in Japan. On the roof, I could see Nagoya’s landscape; a sea of angled roottops and cream colored buildings. Far away, I could see hills. The sky was a quiet blue and cotton ball clouds lazily coasted across the sky. I slept for a few minutes. I grabbed Kori’s skateboard and did a few lazy ollies, alternating between that an Mafia live on my Iphone.
Kori’s phone rings.
“It’s Daiki, ” he says. “He’s here.”
We hop back into the car and it comes to life with a growl. Ten seconds later, we are at the Café. I see Daiki, and remember him immediately. When I saw him the first time, he had a goate and a moustache, and was wearing what I’ve dubbed the Japanese “superV” t-shirts. Its like a V-neck, if a V-neck exposed your entire chest. Now he was clean shaven, but was instantly familiar. The last time I saw him was in France, now I was in his hometown in Japan. Life is funny.
We drink chai tea and catch up. The film event is a mixture of traditional Japanese story telling and Daiki’s Miru movement. The idea is simple. You shoot some video, and do one take. It has to be a minute long and silent. That’s Miru, or roughly translated, “Seeing”.
The presentation is in a studio beside the café, and I walk inside a quiet place with wooden floors. I’m instantly reminded of any dance movie I’ve ever watched, or old episodes of Fame. I take off my shoes and slip into some tiny indoor slippers. After a minute or two, I sneak to the bathroom to wash my feet. Even though I washed my socks a few days before, they were a tad smelly. I didn’t want to be the smelly foreigner. In the bathroom, it took me four minutes to figure out how to flush the toilet. There was a touch screen panel with instruction in Japanese, no less than ten buttons and and white exterior housing that resembled a large thermostat.
The toilets just get more complex and feature-ridden. I sneak back inside, (my feet smell like hand wash now) and I watch the first show. I’m not entirely sure what the story is about, but I think it had something to do with dragons that like oranges. A little girl cried throughout the entire performance. Daiki showed some Miru films, and we sat in silence for a few minutes, watching grainy videos on a large screen.
A play started, following the narration of a storybook illustrated by Eric Carl, the Canadian artist. It was an interesting experience. Afterwards, we ate curried chicken and chatted about nothing in particular.
The night was winding down and Kori said he probably wasn’t heading into the city. I have a rule about new cities; I cannot go into one without experiencing the night life. I did a quick change in the bathroom, slipping into the nice pants and a slim tee.
“You need to go to Sakae,” Kori told me. “That’s where people party.”
Like Tokyo the week before, I was ready to go. I wouldn’t be able to take a train back to that area in Nagoya until seven in the morning, so I had no choice but to have fun. Kori and Daiki dropped me to the station. He gave me some quick instructions on how to get to Sakae and I ran into the train. I was immediately lost, but a nice girl helped me figure out where I was, and where to go. In a few minutes I would be in Sakae, and it would be a great night.
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