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Concert
Review by Dave Broom |
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JOE YAMANAKA
The Crocodile, Tokyo, September 3rd 2009 |
| Serge,
as well you know when a rock artist decides to do
“a reggae number” one heads for the
hills (or the door), but I’ve found that normal
rules do not apply in Japan. In any case, this country
is home to the Ska Flames and the Tokyo Ska Paradise
Orchestra and if they aren’t the best in the
world at their chosen genre then I’ll eat
your beret. Tonight, I am also prepared to waive
my usual aversion to attempts to master reggae by
artistes who should know better [or AMRAWSKB for
simplicity’s sake] because the man in question
is Joe
Yamanaka. |
| Do
I hear you ask, “who is Joe Yamanaka?”
He’s the 6foot, half-Japanese, half-black
singer who fronted Japan’s pysych legends
Flower
Travellin Band in the late 60s and early 70s.
If you’ve got yourself a copy of Julian Cope’s
book ‘Japrocksampler’ (and you should)
it’s the FTB who are on the cover.. naked..
riding motorbikes. Their music was a mix of Sabbath,
Can, Indian scales, drones, crazed guitar solos
and Joe’s three octave voice screaming above
it all. If there was a band which typified Japrock
it’s FTB, especially on their second record,
‘Satori’. Check the track ‘Satori
II’ to see what I mean. |
|
Flower
Travellin Band, circa 1971 |
| Anyhoo,
these days as it transpires, Joe has ditched the
wild Afro of FTB days and opted for bum length locks
and as his very tight band kick into a roots reggae
groove it appears that he’s also forsaken
his former vocal style for one reminiscent of a
Japanese-inflected Horace Andy. |
| I
should also mention that tonight is Joe’s
63rd birthday and tonight’s gig, in a tiny
Shibuya dive called Crocodile, promises special
guests. The audience consists mostly of old bohemians
(FTB fans no doubt), but there’s also table
comprising a couple of Russian hookers hostesses,
a 50-something local actor doing an impersonation
of Fat Elvis and a pimp; while at the bar sits a
woman who appears to be wearing a lap dog as a hat,
sitting next to a clutch of old rockers, all black
shirts and leather. Oh.. and us ... The Whisky Mag
Japan crew: the Giant Gaijin -- a man who has just
the day before discovered Joe and FTB and finally,
thankfully, thrown away his Hayley Westerna cds
-- the Fixer, the Yokohama Bureau Chief, the Boss
and myself. |
| The
thing about Joe, I realise, half way through the
set, is that he sings everything with complete belief,
so that even the clunkers, ‘Banana Boat Song’
anyone? are imbued with such sincerity that he somehow
gets away with it. The numbers are interspersed
with well-wishers giving him presents: flowers,
a cake and a watch from Fat Elvis whose table is
ordering increasingly frequent rounds of buckets
of beer and tequila shots, many of which are being
passed to the guitarist. |
Joe
Yamanaka |
| First
set over, the stage is taken over by a bunch (posse?
pose?) of rappers average age 12 - or so it seems.
There’s a lot of posing, grabbing of crotches
(maybe to check if their balls have dropped) and
RnB crooning -- though in a vocal style that brings
to mind a mosquito in a jam jar. I really do believe,
Serge, that virgins shouldn’t be allowed to
sing about sex. Still, it is all rather amusing. |
| The
Russian hostesses disappear to the john -- which
despite being little more than a portaloo is still
furnished with a heated, spraying, bidet-equipped
toilet. This is Tokyo after all. Joe then re-emerges,
dressed in black with a reggae tam and red gold
and green waistcoat. The music’s heavier,
dubbier -- for a while anyway because then he starts
crooning standards. Meanwhile, the Russians have
returned, though one of them appears to have her
knickers on back to front (she’s wearing hipsters,
standing in front of me, I can’t help but
notice); more tequilas are ordered and given to
the guitarist, while Joe starts singing “You
Are So Beautiful.. To Me” and once again,
despite the maudlin nature of the song, manages
to make it genuinely touching. |
| As
this ends the band leaves and two of the old rockers
get on stage. I look at Giant Gaijin. Can it be?
FTB back together? The drummer kicks into a mororik
tribal beat, the tequila-fulled guitarist unleashes
long phased raga-like runs, then hits the riff to
‘Satori II’. Joe lets out a Tarzan-like
howl. Suddenly its gone from chicken (or crocodile)
in a basket to deep psychedelia. More tequila arrives,
fat Elvis is screaming, the Russians are wiggling
and the 12yo hip-hoppers are throwing shapes. Heads
are being banged, arms are waving, quite where the
lap-dog has gone I know not - trampled junderfoot
perhaps and all the while a 63 year old Japanese
rasta sings his lungs out. It’s one of those
Tokyo moments where you shake your head, shrug,
smile and leap right in. |
 |
| Joe
and the FTB leave and a bleached blond soul singer
(whose name we find out later is Shark) leaps on
stage to grind out the most lascivious version of
‘Mustang Sally’ that I’ve ever
heard. Elvis is sweating, one of the Russians dashes
out to throw up, the pimp following shouting “Anya”,
there’s a breakdance competition on stage,
one of the hip hoppers’ trousers fall down,
Joe is bouncing around, we’re all singing
Happy Birthday, it’s total, hilarious, chaos.
Joe Yamanaka. Hero. What more can I say? –
Dave Broom |
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