Satoshi Hashimoto looked up from his cameras and spotted me. He is the manager of RLTCB,
doing his best when he’s not writing copy for an ad agency. An amazing coincidence. His English
skills made him the de facto interpreter for the rest of us.
These guys are troopers. A ninety-minute set outdoors, in November.
Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible wasn’t going to work for me. Satoshi pointed me out
to Rieko. Rieko introduced me to the faithful, who applauded this curious stranger from California.
I resolved to pay for the band’s indulgence by offering ten thousand yen for their CD. It seemed fair
to me. However, that wasn’t going to work either. Rieko didn’t understand. Then, when she did,
she refused to take anything for the CD. And she gave me the demo of their Christmas single.
I lingered for a bit after the set as they packed up. Satoshi asked me to wait...then suddenly we were
off to Shibuya Future, an aluminum-and-glass cyber cafe annexed to the Shibuya-Ax concert hall,
hidden a few yards away inside the fence surrounding the athletic stadia.
I’m reminded of the face Liloo makes in The Fifth Element when Korben Dallas doesn’t understand
her warning about the “big badda-boom.” We started talking, scribbling on napkins and notepads.
Making faces. Offering the words and phrases we thought we knew. We raced to the computers
and used the Nifty online translator. I was able to show them my house, my cat, my guitars.
We talked about music. Jiro and Shoiji are jazz players. Jiro admires Wes Montgomery and
Grant Green. Shoji prefers Scott LaFaro and Jaco. Satoshi likes Eric Clapton and YMO.
Reiko is thrilled that I saw Janis Joplin once. And so we find a bridge on the basics.
Rieko told me she was writing a song called “Don’t Forget Me,” so we worked on
her pronounciation of the chorus. It’s amazing how easy it is to work with someone
in spite of speaking different languages. For a first meeting, we do well.
I insist on paying for the drinks, which leads to an invitation to dinner.
Down the street we go, into the periphery of Shibuya. What should
we eat? I suggest Japanese, but I’m told “...no, there isn’t any good
Japanese food in Shibuya.” We agree on a a Mexican restaurant.
Think about that for a second.
Just up the street from the Tobacco and Salt Museums, we ascend
a glass and metal building, and step into a reasonably plausible
Mexican restaurant. Shoji’s bass gets stashed behind a sign beside
the elevator and we find a booth on the other side of the room. I guess
no one would really think of trying to pocket an upright bass, would they?