Wednesday, May 25, 2011

A weekend in the country

To pick up where I left off, I went to the jam session in Namba on Friday.  It was worth the 1000 yen, and although there were very few people there, they were all quite good.  There were two guitarists, two drummers, a singer, a saxophonist, a bassist, and myself (although besides us, the only people in the place were the waiter, the cook/bartender, and a drunk at the bar who smelt of rice crackers).  All of the musicians were great.  They all swung like gates.  I was/am still quite rusty, but I hung with them.  The only rough spot of the night was the vocalist who, though actually being quite a good singer, sang so close to the mic she drowned out the entire band and was far and away too loud.  I’ve never had my ears bleed whilst listening to ‘Come Rain or Come Shine’ before. 

One of the drummers spoke English and we talked a bit before I headed back to Tennouji on foot (it was 2AM when I left the place, and the subways had ceased running some hours earlier).  On the way I ran into four Russian guys heading uptown from what I presumed was a night of drinking down in Tennouji (drinking to say the least).  We stood on the street and talked for a while.  They all spoke English, and as it turns out, were members of the Russian State Symphony Orchestra on a tour of Japan.  We talked about music for a while before parting ways.  I got back and passed out a little after 3.

I overslept the next morning.  I had meant to get up at 7 to catch the train to Nara, but woke up at 9:30.  I made some quick phone calls to my hostel in Nara (to make sure it would be open when I got there), quickly packed and hopped on subway to Nipponbashi station.  From there, I caught the Kintesu line going East over the mountains to Nara.  The ride was short, the seats were comfy, the train was quiet, and the views were great.  The train climbed into the mountains (giving me a good look back over Osaka) before going through a series of tunnels and emerging in Nara Prefecture on the other side, green and flat.

My hostel was kitty-corner to the train station.  It was very small, and run/owned by a man named Koskue (I may have his name misspelled).  There was a long common room with a decent kitchen and dining area, plus a shower and toilet.  The dormitory was small, covered in tatami mats (very comfy) and equipped with eight bunks.  As I was settling in, a French-Canadian couple showed up.  I was never sure if they were married or not, although they both had rings and had been together since high school.  Their names were Emile (I think that’s also misspelled, but it sounded a lot like ‘Emily’) and Fabien. 

I didn’t have much time, though.  I beat feet towards JR Nara to meet Miki, whom I had met at the Jazz Ya session early in the week (she’s a pianist, also).  She’s from Nara, had offered to meet me and show me around town, and had told me to meet her at the bus terminal at JR Nara station at noon.  Finding this place was crucial, as I do not have a cell phone.  When I arrived, I discovered the station has not one, but two bus terminals, located on opposite sides of the station.  I spent the next 30 minutes walking back and forth between the two.  After a while, she appeared at the East terminal, and we headed into town for lunch.

I did not know where she planned to take me.  We had lunch, discussed language and music, then walked to Nara Park.  Silka deer, once believed to be sacred, roam freely in the park.  People feed them (you can buy this biscuits, though I abstained), brake for them, and generally treat them with respect.  They’re strange deer.  Their faces are more canine-looking than the deer I’ve seen back home.  Still, they’re quite tame, as one would expect, although signs warn people they occasionally bite, kick, butt, or knock-over people.

Later on, one of the damn things tried to eat my map.  I found myself in a tug-of-war with an angry Japanese deer.  I won, of course, but what I won was a badly crumpled map covered in deer saliva and teeth marks (not exactly a grand prize).

After a while, we reached the outside of Todaiji temple, the one of the largest wooden structures in the world.  The temple complex is quite extensive, as well (and used to be larger, with two seven-story pagodas flanking the main hall which were lost in a fire).  Inside the first gate stand two guardians, each maybe 6 or 7 meters tall, and carved completely of wood.  The real sight, though, was the 50-foot metal statue of the Buddah in the main temple hall, which is surrounded by several more guardians (made of metal and wood).  The hall is massive.  It’s not like a cathedral, but the fact that’s very open to the air and made of wood made it unlike anywhere I’d ever been.

Miki speaks English, and she did her best to explain everything to me.  She did a good job, though like me, she’s not up her spiritual/religious knowledge.  That wasn’t what really interested me anyway.  I’m fascinated far more by the tangible. In other words, the temple itself, the guardian statues, the artwork and the craftsmanship, and history behind all of that are what truly amaze me.  I was awed, much as I was upon entering my first cathedral in Europe (Eglise St. Eustuche in Paris, by the way), but by the wonder of the structure and the creativity and work that went into making it, and not because of something higher.  If I was a man of some faith as well, I probably couldn’t have handled it.  

Like the castle, the zoo, and aquarium, there were hoards of screaming children.  There just seems to be an endless supply of them.  A few (older than the rest) interviewed me for what must have been an English class, and Miki and I took a picture with them.  Miki would occasionally inform me she heard chatter amongst the crowds (young and old) about me.  She never said what exactly they were saying, but just that the sight of a guijin (non-Japanese person) was a slightly unusual thing at some of these places.

We walked up a the hill a ways to a small temple and looked out over the city as the sun went down, then headed back through the city to get some food (passing by another temple, a pagoda, and a small lake populated by turtles).  She took me the kind of place I’d been dying to visit but was too trepidatious to enter due to the language barrier.  We feasted on okonomiyaki and beer and discussed music some more before parting ways for the night.  I headed back to hostel and spent several hours sitting on the tatami mats in the dorm chatting it up with the two French-Canadians.

The next day I took the train to nearby Oji and met Miki once more.  After lunch, we hopped a bus (my first Japanese bus trip) to Horyuji.  The temple complex there is one of the oldest wooden structures in world (built in 7th century, then rebuilt in 9th).  It was raining, and there were yet again scores of school kids who once more practiced their English on me.  Inside the main temple hall, a man gave me (via Miki as interpreter) a history of the temple, the surrounding area, and the arrival of Buddhism in Japan.  Although enlightening and fascinating, I started to feel bad for Miki.  Her English is very good, but admittedly not quite up to the task of translating lofty philosophical/religious concepts (to be fair, my Japanese is barely up to the task of asking where the bathroom is).  She did an amazing job, though, so much so that it shocked me that the man thanked only me when he left.  Chauvinist pig.

After touring a small museum and having tea/sweets at a cafĂ©, we took the bus back to Oji.  She got off in front of her house (she lives there), and I took the bus back to the station.  I got groceries at the nearby market (chicken and rice, and a Guinness for dessert) then took the train back to JR Nara.  I ate dinner with Koskue back the hostel, then took a night stroll around Nara.  It amazes me how safe and clean Japan is.  After I got back, Koskue, the French-Canadians, and myself talked a bit over tea before going to sleep.

I awoke to rain.  Hoping it would eventually stop, I took my umbrella and walked towards Nara Park.  The deer were still out, and there were still kids running around Todaiji Temple.  I veered South and headed into the park.  The path was covered by a blanket of trees, so the rain was tolerable inside the park.  I meandered for an hour or so down the muddy trails past stone lanterns, small shrines, and a temple before turning up a road that would take me to the summit of Mt. Wakakusa.  It hadn’t let up at all, but I wasn’t going to let a little rain stop me.

The hike wasn’t that hard, only 4.5 km.  Incline-wise it was a cakewalk, and the path was clearly defined (parts were even gravel-covered).  Winding up through what’s known as the Primeval Forest (where the wood for all the temples had been collected so many years ago), the trail would occasionally dissolve into fog, as clouds would slowly drift down the mountainside through the forest.  Although a clear day would have been better, I suspect not many people get to see what the woods look like in that weather.  It’s quite beautiful.  I also had the entire forest and mountain to myself (save for the crows and deer).

I reached the summit after a few hours.  It too was devoid of people.  The view was a mixed bag.  On one hand, you could just barely see Nara City below, but on the other, the sight of the fog drifting down the mountain, through the trees, and out over the city was spectacular.  The hills were rolling and green, like what I imagine the Scottish Highlands must look like.  The rain beat down on me so hard my umbrella started to leak, and my backpack got soaked through.  I had just about had enough of rain.

After wandering around over the summit for a while, I headed back down another (shorter) trail through the foothills and wound up back in the North end of Nara Park.  I cut across the park and headed to a sushi place Fabien had told me about.  Indeed, when I showed, he and his girlfriend were inside.  We ate (oishii!), then parted ways.  They headed back to the hostel, and I went for a beer down at a jazz bar at the extreme far end of that shopping arcade.  I sat at the bar, listening to records for two hours.  I was only going to have one beer and split, but then she started playing a Bud Powell solo record, and I sat down for brew no. 2. 

After taking the subway back to hostel (I was sick of the rain), I settled down at the table for several hours of bs-ing with Fabien, Emile, and Koskue.  The couple were gone the morning when I woke up.  I had breakfast with Koskue and then caught the train back to Osaka.  I had made reservations at Hotel Mikado once again.  I know the area, and this time I got a Japanese style room, which was cheaper.  It’s basically the same as the Western-style room I had been staying in before except it doesn’t have a bed and the floor is covered three tatami mats.  There’s a sort of roll-out mattress I sleep on.  It’s not ideal, but it’s certainly cost-effective, and I can deal with it for a few days.  It’s best if I sleep on my back.

Once back in Osaka, I spent the day chatting with folks at the hostel.  I am learning some Japanese, but only little bits at a time.  Still, I feel somewhat comfortable with some basic phrases and questions.  I headed to Jazz Ya for the session.  Most of the players (save for a guitarist and the pianist from last week) weren’t that great, and frankly, I sounded like poop.  A Canadian bassist named Thomas was there, though, I so I talked with him quite a bit.  We went out for some grub later in Shinsekai.  We had some Kushiage (deep-fried food on skewers dipped in sauce) and washed that down with beer.  He lives quite near where I’m staying, actually, and so the place we ate was quite close to our respective pads.

Incidentally, five separate people have told me that Tennouji (more specially Nichinari-ku, which is where my hotel is) is not only dangerous, and not only the most dangerous area In Osaka, but the most dangerous area in all of Japan.  If this is sketchy, I can’t imagine what the safest part of Japan is like.  This place may be a little dirty and dingy, and possibly a little scary at night, but it’s still safer than 90% of the US.  I’ve heard 15 years ago it was pretty bad, and that all these hotels (there are many in the area) were flop houses where you could get a room for 500 yen a night.  You could also get your stuff stolen and possibly your ass kicked, but that was a while ago.  The place is much better now, if a bit dirty.

I’m heading to another session in a few hours.  Thomas told me of a free on in Fuse.  Finally!  I’m looking forward to not having to pay to play.  Miki explained to me that, since jazz was foreign and therefore something special, it usually costs a lot.  That plus the fact that the dollar sucks makes being a jazz enthusiast/musician in Japan quite the expensive hobby, but I’m willing to shell out the cash sometimes.  At least there’s an audience here.

Soupy twist,
Edward

Saturday, May 21, 2011

This past week, in a nutshell

I’ve been caught up in doing so many things, both productive and non-productive, that I’ve had no time to write in a week.  Some notable events have occurred, and I feel obliged to make some note of them.  Again, I will attempt to be brief, descriptive, and to the point.

Last Saturday I got to meet my cousin and his family.  As per Alphie’s instructions, I headed North to Umeda in the morning.  However, instead of taking either of the two subway lines he recommended, I hoofed it instead.  The walk covers most of Osaka, and including a short 20 minute lunch break, took a grand total of 2 hours and forty five minutes.  I was able to find Hankryu Umeda Station, and thanks to a nice guy who spoke a little English (and who later very kindly lent me his cell phone to call Alphie), I arrived in Mino-o sometime in the early afternoon.

Alphie (his real name is David, by the way) met me at the station with his two children, Henry and Clara.  Henry is 7 and Clara is 10.  Together, we walked a good ways up this beautiful path that leads from the town into the hills, up a winding trail through the woods, and towards a waterfall.  We didn’t make it all the way up, but that was fine.  Along the way, we stopped at a Buddist temple and a Shinto shrine, with Alphie enlightening me on the difference between the two.  He also filled me in on several things relating to Japan, culturally and socially.  Some things that hadn’t made sense before were starting to. 

On the way back down the mountain, we also stopped at the bug house, a favorite of Henry and Clara.  I was actually reluctant to go inside because of my totally irrational but intense fear of spiders (among other bugs, though it’s mostly just spiders).  However, I was pleased to discover very little unsettling content inside.  The strangest (and scariest) thing was that, unbeknownst to me, many bugs that exist in Japan are MUCH larger than they are in the rest of the world.  There’s a breed of wasp here that a) lives underground and b) can be about 1 ¾ inches long and ¾ inches wide (gggggiiiiiiyaaddddddddd!!!).  There are also dozens of stag beetles here, which are also popular pets.  Henry and Clara have raised them in the past, and are raising more now.

Incidentally, one word… MOTHRA!

After making our way back down the mountain and back through town, we met briefly with Keiko (Alphies wife and the mother of Henry and Clara), before heading into a local grocery store to requisition supplies for dinner.  Alphie explained more about Japan as we toured the aisles, and Clara (whose English is quite good) started speaking to me more.  There were lots of signs in the shop in English, or sort-of-English.  As Alphie explained, the Japanese often tend to translate into English very mechanically, so you end up with a phrase like “LIQUOR, tonight you go out to meet my friend LIQUOR” suspended over the beer/liquor aisle.

After getting foodstuffs, we trekked to their home.  It’s a beautiful wooden structure which Alphie built himself (with some help from Keiko’s cousin, a builder).  Next to the door was a wooden carving (also by Alphie) with the name of ‘Kornhauser’ emblazoned across it, along with some Japanese characters alo.  The inside of the home was also amazing, especially with the view of the mountains and the trees rolling out ahead.  He couldn’t have picked a nicer spot to build.

After resting my (very) weary feet for a moment, Keiko was kind enough to let fiddle around on her grand piano.  Not playing every day, I’m getting quite rusty, but it’s still good to play where/when I can.  I fooled around for a while, at one point playing along with the kids as they pantomimed me playing (it’s hard to explain, but it was terribly cute).  Dinner was served, and we all tucked into curry with chicken and rice, plus a salad (among other things), and after dinner we had tea and something akin to flan. 

During dinner, I discovered Henry has a penchant for dinosaur bones and Clara is quasi-obsessed with the green aliens from Toy Story (she has dozens of pieces of alien paraphernalia).  Both kids are very smart, and seem to enjoy the learning process (something it took me a lot longer to come to grips with).  Clara, switching effortlessly back and forth between English and Japanese showed me a globe she had that glowed in the dark, but it only glowed where there were cities and people (thus showing what the Earth looked like on the dark side, away from the sun).  It was quite cool, or “Ii desu nee!”  In turn, Henry showed me a bird skeleton that he and his sister had found in an old house.  It was remarkably well preserved and still resembled a bird.  I flashed back to finding a grasshopper exoskeleton in the garden when I was about 7, perfectly preserved, and immediately running to find a mason jar in which to store it.

Alphie and Keiko were the most gracious of hosts to have me for the night, and I was sad to leave.  Alphie, Henry, and Clara accompanied me to the train station, and I was just able to make it.  They waved goodbye to me as the train pulled away.  It was a good feeling, and it made home seem a lot less far away.  I missed the connecting train in Ishibashi back to Umeda, but another came along promptly and I was back on course again. 

I headed back to Bricks, and spent the evening drinking with Tohyama-san, an older business man/blues guitarist, and a local TV director and his girlfriend.  As before, the music choice was just that: choice.  What’s more, while talking with the TV director (whose name is Sunahara Kazuyoshi), it became apparent we both really liked jazz (hence our being there).  More talking, and it turned out fathers were both engineering professors.  After even more conversation, we discovered that both our fathers had taught at Brown, at the same time.  What an incredibly small world!  I’ve currently got an email out to an old colleague of my fathers, Barrett Hazeltine, inquiring about whither or not our fathers may have known each other.  After sitting there a little before midnight, I made my way to the subway and caught literally the LAST train back to Tennoji (and by a matter of seconds, too!).

The next day, mildly hungover, was spent mostly at the hotel.  I spent the evening working on my Japanese, and bs-ing with Franz, the Finn, whose last night in Osaka it was.  Once again, history was a topic of conversation.  He enlightened me to fact that one of Americas founding fathers, John Morton, a delegate to the Continental Congress from Pennsylvania and a signer of the Declaration of Independence was half Finnish.  While on the subject of the Declaration, I filled him in on John Hancock and his ‘I’ve-got-something-to-prove’ signature, as well as the corresponding expression for a signature deriving from his name.

It was good to speak in English, to both Franz and cousin Alphie.  Besides music, I’m also getting rusty at conversation in my language.  I’ve gone two or three days here at a time without saying much to anyone, though that’s not exactly a choice.  Besides feeling stupid and arrogant for not knowing the language, this mild loneliness is also driving me to increase my Japanese repertoire of phrases, words, and general understanding.  I’m still hovering well below kindergarten level, but it’s a start.

Monday I tried again to visit Osaka Jo, this time determined not make the same mistakes as last time.  To make a long story short, I did, although in my defense, I had also left my map in my room.  I tried navigating based on the last mental image I had of the map, but it was no use.  I gave up, walked around a bit, then headed back into town to go souvenir shopping (I’ve never seen more shopping arcades, malls, and underground shopping complexes in my life).  I walked maybe 20 miles that day, and it hurt.  I mean it really hurt.  On the last leg of the journey back to the hotel, my feet were in serious, serious pain.

Tuesday I mailed some stuff back to the US (the post office can be fun when everything’s written in a foreign alphabet and the guy helping you doesn’t speak English), then I tried for a third time to find Osaka Castle.  I took the Osaka Loop line, a slightly less expensive but slower train that, as the name suggests, is a beltway around the city.  I eventually made it to Osakajokoen (literally ‘Osaka Castle Park).  It’s the largest park in the city, and is covered in trees.  Birds, some of the tamest I’ve seen, dart in and out of the trees.  I made my way though the trees until I hit the moat.  Over the top of the outer barricade (there’s what’s called an Outer Baily and an Inner Baily, the later of which is where the keep, or rather the main tower, is) I finally saw the top of Osakajo.  It felt good.

Still, success was mixed with failure.  I had taken too long to get there, and by the time I made it through both gates and into the Inner Baily, the castle was about to close.  Content with a small victory, I explored the parks summit for a while.  Around 5, it started to rain, and the distant thunder claps told me the being on top of a small mountain was not a good place to be.  I left via the back slope, whilst behind me some loudspeakers blared the tune to ‘Auld Lang Syne’ for reasons I’ll probably never understand.

I caught the Osaka Loop to Temma station.  I had read there was a jazz club nearby that had a session, and I surrendered myself to paying to fee.  After some searching, I found the place, but I was early.  I went to a nearby grocery store, picked up some grub, and took it to a nearby park, eating my fried-fish, rice, and ginger ale in the last hours of daylight.

Upon returning to Jazz Ya (‘Jazz House’) and paying the fee, I took my seat up front.  The rent there must be very cheap, because the place literally lies DIRECTLY under an overhead train.  The sound is near deafening, and I can’t believe anyone would have opened a jazz club there.  Still, once the jam got going, everything was alright.  The house pianist and bassist were solid players, and some of the other jammers were terrific also. 

One pianist of note, an ex-pat Briton living in Tokyo named Simon Cosgrove, was astoundingly good.  He swung his ass off, had access to bank of tasty chords, his soloing was melodic and slick, and to top things off, piano was his double.  He’s mostly a sax player.  If I had a tail, it’d be firmly between my legs.  Simon’s a real nice guy, too.  He gave me his CD (which I can’t listen to, because this laptop has no CD drive), and his info, telling me to look him once I got Tokyo.  I plan on doing so.  He’s got a weekly gig at the hotel where ‘Lost in Translation’ was flimed.  Basically, he has my dream job.  That bastard…

I played six or seven tunes, had a beer, and made a few friends (including a singer from NYC, who gave me the heads up on a few sessions and clubs about town).  The session was run 100% in Japanese, but a girl named Miki (another pianist) in the front row was nice enough to translate for me, especially when the session leader was either telling me to stay on the piano or let someone else take a turn.

Wednesday I bought some lunch and headed back to Osakajokoen.  I sat down in a small orchard just inside the Outer Baily and ate my noodles and milk tea, shaded under what I assumed were cherry trees.  I should mention at this point that although Osaka Castle is a reproduction (built in the ‘30s), most of the monumental stone fortifications and two of the old turrets are not.  The pictures on the Facebook show their impressiveness better than I can describe here.  There was one rock just inside the main gate of the Inner Baily that stood about 5 or 6 meters tall and weighed about 105 tons (I think it’s called the ‘Octopus Stone’).  What’s more, as I learned later, a lot of the stones came from different parts of Japan.  Some even came from islands.

Once inside the castle, I was bit let down.  Although I was aware that it was reproduction, I thought it was one inside and out.  The outside of the keep looks astonishing, like something out of a movie (indeed, I read it was built by movie-set builders), but the inside is just a museum about the castle.  While fascinating, I was really hoping for a reproduction of a feudal-era Japanese castle.  Oh well.  I admired a lot of the pieces (mostly letters, some statues, a few screens, and three or four pieces of armor, among other things), and the view from the top before leaving.

I stumbled around the castle grounds for a while, then walked down to a place called SUB, another jazz club/bar.  It was quite a walk to get there, and it took me some time to find it.  I was just about to give up, when I noticed a small sign made from the cover of a Sonny Clark album sitting just inside the entrance to a subway station.  I followed the chord from a light that illuminated the fan down some stairs until I found the entrance.  I now understood the name SUB, as the club is literally IN a subway station.

The place is even smaller than Bricks and more expensive (700 yen for a beer, 500 for coffee), but I stayed there for several hours while the bartender played records.  She spoke pretty good English (although it was practically Shakespearian compared with my Japanese), and we talked a lot about music.  She’s a jazz pianist, also, and she’s visiting New Orleans next week.  The club itself is owned by a bassist, who was in New York that night.  He’s had the place since ’75, during which time folks the like of Ray Brown and Art Blakey played there (the latter of which’s hat was hanging on the wall).  There was a piano sitting at the far end of the bar, as well as a bass, a cello, and a drum set.  Later in the evening, I played the piano for a moment.  I’m really, really getting rusty.  I asked the bartender if she would play also, and she was gracious enough to comply.  She’s terrific, and I’d like to see her play with her quintet before I leave Kansai.

I stayed too late, and though I made the connecting train to Nipponbashi, I missed the last train back to Tennouji.  Feeling stupid for dawdling just to fiddle around on a piano, I started the walk back to the hotel (about forty minutes).  It was midnight, and some of the crazies were about.  Still, the route I took was well lit and there were enough people on the street to make it manageable.  I was just tired, and walking 2 miles was the last thing I wanted to do at that moment.  In a bad mood, I got back to the hotel and collapsed into my unmade bed.

Thursday (yesterday) I didn’t leave Tennoji.  I made my way East to the local zoo/park.  I strolled briefly through the roses in the park, meeting a strange man obsessed with the flowers on the way (he took a picture of me with my camera near a species of violet roses he seemed to referring to as “chroking brew”).  Eventually, I entered the zoo.  It pales in comparison to the SD Zoo and to the Wild Animal Park, but some exhibits were decent.  The lions were great.  Three or four times a day they feed one in a private room outside the main enclosure, but you can sit in this room and watch (through glass, of course).  I missed the last feeding, but I got to go inside and watch it pace around for a while from a distance of maybe 4 feet.  The other big cats were also nice, although, like almost every animal at the zoo, their cages were very small.

Near one of the tiger cages, some schoolgirls asked me what my name was, and where I was from.  For the next three minutes, I was the center of a lot of fast talking in Japanese that I couldn’t understand (although I clearly heard the words ‘Justin Bieber’ as least once), and was occasionally prodded to say something in either English or Japanese.  They all wanted pictures with me, and all had camera phones.  At their urging, I did individual shots with each one, flashing the peace sign.  It was embarrassing (I started to feel slightly akin to the nearby tiger), but funny.  I pulled out my camera, and someone nearby took a picture of me with all of them, just for posterity.

After that, I didn’t see much.  They started putting the animals away, but I got a good look at a giraffe, some Chinese wolves, a group of lesser pandas, the penguins, some California sea lions, two owls, and the most ragged-looking Polar Bear I’d ver seen.  Sadly, I missed the monkeys, the reptiles, and the elephants.  I left the zoo, got some grub on the way back to the hostel, and spent the rest of evening studying Japanese, both written and spoken.

That brings me up to date.  Today I’ve been studying Japanese, writing this blog, watching Japanese TV (there’s currently something on about school bands), and making plans (I’m going to Nara for the weekend).  I’m about to head upstairs to pack, then head up to Rug Time in Namba for another jam session.  Hopefully, it’ll be as good as the one on Tuesday.  I have to be careful about my playing, though.  I can’t go for anything tricky, less my hands falter and I play a bunch of out-of-time rubbish.  I just have to start out conservative and tasty.  It’s always better that way anyhow.

I suck at brevity.

Soupy twist,
Ed

Friday, May 13, 2011

A brief account of two days

I’ve been going into too much detail, I fear.  I mean, I’m just writing a blog here.  No need to fill you in on every mundane detail of my life.  Just the facts, mam.  I’ll try not to bore ya’ll from now on.

Plus, it takes too long to write down everything, especially when my computer keeps crashing every 10 or 15 minutes.

Two days ago, I walked through Den Den Town (the electronics/appliance/anime capital of Osaka, it seems) back to ‘Jazz Coffee,’ sitting there for about an hour listening to ‘Four and More.’  After I left, I headed up to Dotonbori, where I had heard there was a camera store.  I had left the chord that connects my camera to my computer somewhere in Hong Kong, and I needed a replacement.  The store was so large two Walmarts could have fit inside it, and it sold everything from camera parts to… well, everything.  It was a department store on steroids.  I found what I needed (only $6) and then moseyed over to a nearby Ramen stand and had lunch.  People watching in Dotonbori is tops.

It’s been raining/sprinkling/cloudy since Monday, so I needed a break from getting rained on.  I headed back to my hotel, uploaded the pictures, and blogged for a bit.  After a while I got antsy again, grabbed my umbrella, and started roaming the streets.  I headed South, the direction I had explored the least.  I took the smaller streets, peering into all the little shops and itzakayas (small Japanese pubs).  I was hungry, too, and looking for a place to eat.  It was raining, but not too bad.

Eventually, I found myself in what we’d call the ‘Red Light District.’  I was surprised, though afterwards I remembered Franz telling me about the prostitutes to the South.  There are dozens, maybe over a hundred, small houses, each signified by a white lantern dangling outside.  The first floor is open to the street, and usually lit by pink lights.  Inside there’s a young girl in a nightie or something sitting on a giant pillow, and next to her is an older woman (I’m guessing her madam).  There’s either a door to a backroom or stairs to a second floor. 

These are observations I took in at a glance.  I didn’t of go into any of the places, nor did I stop and stare.  I felt it’d be rude to stand there and gawk.  Most of the girls seemed very, very young, too.  One had braces.

I had wandered into the area pretty deep, and while getting out, I came to realize how large it is.  Eventually, I stopped with the sidelong glances (they were just causing the madams to yell stuff at me) and kept my eyes forward until I made it out of the place.  I past several older, disheveled businessmen heading the other way.

Eventually, I found myself walking down busy street.  The rain was coming down harder.  My stomach pangs were getting fierce when I suddenly heard a 1982 Herbie Hancock trio recording issuing forth from a small stereo.  I turned to see a small roadside eatery, with a bunch of food items sitting in oil.  There were two people in it.  One was the owner, and the other was (you guessed it) the artist I’d met the previous day at ‘Swing Masa Jazz House.’  He said that the owner of this place is his friend.  I could see why.  In addition to a love of jazz, this guy also had cat paintings all over his place (in addition to a real cat who was sleeping directly next to the cooker).

I stopped in, ordered three kebabs of some sort of a meat, a squid (also on a kebab), a piece of corn, and later a beer.  He slapped some very hot mustard on the side of the bowel, and I sat down with the two guys, trying my best to keep out of the rain.  It tasted pretty good.  The mustard had far more kick than I expected, but it was a good mix with the meat.  The squid was my favorite.   It was an entire squid.  Body, head, eyes, and tentacles.  Very tasty, especially when washed down with a cold, cold beer.  The texture was weird, but I got used to it.

I’d been rained on all day, and was tired, so even though it was early, I decided to tuck in.  I grabbed another beer from a vending machine (!!!) and headed up to my room.

I got up at 6am the next morning, opened the window, and stuck my hand out.  When I brought it back it, it was wet, so I assumed it was still raining.  Osaka Castle was out, so I decided to visit the aquarium, which I had heard has whale sharks.  Looking to save some cash, I decided to walk all the way uptown, then take the subway West to the port area where the aquarium is, thus saving myself the money from the connecting subway (about 250 yen).  It was about a two hour walk, but I got there.  I past Namba and walked through the central business district of Osaka, past lots of high fashion and corporate offices.

I caught the green line East and got off at Osakako.  The aquarium was about a five minute walk away, next to a GIANT Ferris Wheel and a small park.  The fee was steep at 2000 yen, but once I got inside, I realized it was worth it.  KAIYUKAN Aquarium I basically an 8 story cube with seven or eight major tanks in it.  You ride an escalator to the top, then slowly make your way down in a spiral, getting different views of the tanks as you go.  There are also many other small exhibits, featuring (among other things) squirrel monkeys, crabs, river otters, jelly fish, and a baby porpoise. 

Incidentally, I could have gotten a 50% discount if I a) had been under 15, b) was over the age of 75, c) had a physical or mental disorder, or d) had an A-bomb survivors certificate.

It’s an amazing place.  My only beef was that there were about ten different elementary schools there on field trips.  Hundreds upon hundreds of Japanese schoolchildren running around and screaming in such a tight space made me feel like my eyes and ears where bleeding.  They were constantly darting in and out of people, and I had to very careful not to step on them.  I really like kids, but drowning in a sea of three or four hundred of them is a horse of a different color.

In the main, central tank, swimming amongst hammerhead sharks, leopard sharks, blue fin tuna, manta rays, spotted eagle rays, two or three scuba divers cleaning the tank, and other things I cannot remember is one helluva big whale shark!  I audibly gasped when I first saw it.  It’s somewhere between 8 to 10 meters long.  It swims slowly, but it gives off this impression of strength as it does so.  Dozens of smaller fish swim around and with it, above and below.  I was in awe.

After leaving the aquarium, wandering around the port and nearby park for a while, I caught the subway back to downtown.  Once I got off, I continued my walk North, for I thought I might check out ‘The Royal Horse,’ another jazz club uptown.  After about a forty-five minute walk, I found the place.  I went in, sat at the bar, and ordered a beer.  It was then the band started sound-checking and I realized what I was in for.

I love jazz.  I really do.  I love most styles of jazz, and I’m not that picky about who I like.  I can find something to dig about almost anyone’s playing.  However, if there’s one sub-category of jazz I’ve really soured on it’s fusion, and that’s what it was last night.  It wasn’t even interesting fusion (although the keyboardist did sound quite tasty, I must admit).  It was smooth jazz with slightly more chords and ever so slightly less lame solos.  Not good enough for me.  I managed to persuade the staff to let me just pay for the beer (which was dark and delicious) and leave without paying the ‘live fee.’  Fortunately, the barman knew the word ‘soundcheck.’

After leaving the Royal Horse, I headed back South a block or two to another place I seen on my way up called ‘Bricks.’  The sign had said something about jazz, so I was obviously curious.  They weren’t open yet, so I took a stroll around in the fading twilight.  I walked down several small streets, through a park near the hospital, and eventually back in big loop that put me back in front of a newly opened Bricks.  I headed down the stairs (the place is underground), and opened a wooden door at the bottom to find…

… my new favorite bar on the face of the Earth.  It’s very, very small, and when I went in it was totally empty.  The walls were partly bricked (made sense), and the parts that weren’t were covered in signatures, among them Rodney Green, Jeff Ballard, and Ray Bryant.  There were a pair of old, great-sounding speakers near the back, and lots of CDs on shelves.  The barman/owner was named Tohyama, or at least, that was his last name.  His first name sounded like Mitzyoshi, although I could be wrong or not remembering quite right (I ended up having a lot to drink).

When I walked in, I heard John Scofield on the speakers.  Mr. Tohyama, who spoke some English, said it was the new record.  Over the next five hours, we sat and listened to bits and pieces of dozens of records.  We talked a bit, too.  He plays trumpet in a local blues band horn section.  He’s owned this bar since 1987, the year I was born.  He has great taste in jazz, or maybe I should just say that he and I have the same taste.  Much to my surprise, he put on ‘Jazz at the Santa Monica Civic, 1972,’ a record I hadn’t heard in years but listened to non-stop in high school.  He told me how he’d bought it when it he was 22.

We listened to Art Pepper, Larry Goldings, Oscar Peterson, Art Tatum, Brad Meldau, Joshua Redman, Dee Dee Bridgewater, Horace Silver, Jimmy Smith, Ray Brown, Roy Haynes, Larry Young, Joe Henderson, Woody Shaw, and a Japanese trumpet player whose name I can’t remember but wrote down (among other things, too).  I’ve never felt more at home in a bar, and I’m glad it was empty.  Some people did come in shortly before I left and ordered some food (Tohyama san is also the cook, as well as the DJ).  I ended up drinking about five or six beers.  He gave me the ‘travelers price,’ which was the happy-hour price sans happy hour.  Very nice man, great bar, and an amazing time.  I will never forget that place, and will try to go again before I go (I would go more frequently, but it’s literally on the extreme far end of Osaka from where I’m staying).

Somewhat drunk but very pleased, I stumbled North to Umeda station and caught the subway home, making it back before they shut the doors.  I woke up this morning with a bit of a hangover, but I’m feeling better now.  It’s noon, and I’m starving.  I’m going to find something to eat.  The sun is finally out, too.  I may visit Osaka Castle today.  Hopefully I can find it this time.

Soupy twist,
Edward

PS~ That was still pretty long.  Next time I’ll try my best to keep things succinct.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Getting lost in Osaka

Today was my first full day in the city that didn’t involve travel, money, or jetlag woes.  I woke up right after 6:00 am, feeling great.  After a shower and some room cleaning (they apparently don’t have room service here, which is fine by me), I headed back up towards Namba.  It was raining slightly, and would continue to do so on an off for the rest of the day (sometimes it came down in torrents).

Yesterday on one of my journeys uptown I had spotted a little place called ‘Jazz Coffee.’  I hadn’t any money to go in at the time (see previous post), so I made a mental note to return.  The back of the sign had the cover of ‘Saxophone Colossus,’ so it seemed legit, and this morning I took upon myself to see what it was all about.

I got there shortly after 7:00 to find the place closed.  Determined to scope out the joint, I decided to continue my mid-morning jaunt.  Hundreds of suit-clad businessmen and women hustled and bustled about, all going to work.  Their walking pace was astonishing.  I couldn’t keep up with them (Korsgaden would fit right in).  I bought a little can of coffee from a machine, and I started looking around for a place to sit down and people watch.  To my astonishment, there was not a bench in sight.  I walked block after block through the business district, and there was not a bench to be found.  Even some of the bus stops were ill-equipped.  It seemed to me that the thought of wasted time to a businessman/woman was an unholy premise.

By the way, not to sound like Pat Bateman here, but the suits on these guys are cut quite well.  The three-button suit seems to be the norm here.  Black is the most common, with grey coming in a close second, usually with pinstripes.  No pleats or cuffs on the pants.  Almost every jacket is double-vented and short-cut, and the ties err on the skinner side.  I wouldn’t mind visiting a Japanese tailor if I could find a cheap one (I’d mail it home, of course).  There are also young, what you might say punkier guys running around the entertainment districts in tight, shiny suits, usually with bits of metal and chain hanging from them.  They’ve all got crazy hair, and I could be wrong, but I think they’re trying to look like badasses and/or anime anti-heros.

Eventually, I crossed the canal I had crossed Sunday for the jazz-fest, but this time I took my first right, then made another right unto a bridge over the canal.  I stood there looking out for a while, then I started strolling down the canal.  There was a wooden boardwalk on both sides, and I was practically the only one there (I saw an old man, and that was about it).  I finally found a bench and plopped down for a bit.

It was then that I noticed something, or should I say, I remembered something.  My friend Aya had told me where the best Takoyaki in Osaka could be found, or rather, she sort of told me.  She couldn’t quite remember where it was, but she gave me these three clues:

1)     It’s near a river…
2)     … near a Ferris Wheel.
… and my favorite…
3)     Look for the dragon with the lazy eye
Intrigued by the rather Arthurian-sounding quest, I committed her riddles to memory.  Upon arriving in Osaka, however, and realizing the size of the city, I had given up hope of actually located this small shop.

Back to the canal I was sitting by, I looked out across the water to see this sort of ride.  It was oblong, and not quite a Ferris Wheel, though the principle was much the same.  At that point I realized I had already met two of the criteria for finding this place.  I got up, headed up some stairs to a bridge, then I turned right down and alley and… BAM, there was the dragon with his left eye lolling up to the sky.  It was about 8:00 or 8:30 still, and I didn’t quite feel like balls of fried octopus for breakfast, so I continued my wanderings.  Before I left the area, though, I spotted a jazz club called St. James.  Another mental note, and I started heading back towards the coffee shop.

Just an observation here, but it seems pornography is less of a big deal here as it is in the US.  It’s sold openly in convenience stores and there are little street side shops offering (not that I’ve stopped to categorize) videos, magazines, and books.  One shop seems to be family run.  While passing by another store on my way to the coffee shop, I saw an old woman placing a pile of new magazines on the stand outside.  The top magazine was simply titled “RAPE.”

I got to ‘Jazz Coffee’ to find the place just opening.  The place was run by a middle-aged guy who appeared to know a thing or two about stereo (his sound system appeared to be entirely handmade… there were tubes and wiresv everywhere and the speakers were giant solid things made of beautifully polished wood… even the tweeters were wood).  There were a few ladies in there, and over the course of the next two hours, numerous people (all middle-aged or older) came in, left, and came back again.  The owner seemed to like model aircraft, as there were several lying about.

Musically, the place was tops.  It was all old school, classic straight ahead jazz.  He started off with an Ahmad Jamal record that I didn’t know (no drums… bass, piano, guitar).  I really enjoyed that.  He followed that up with some Ben Webster, some Jim Hall, and then Stan Getz.  I split halfway through the Getz  The coffee was tasty and full, but a little on the weak side.  Still, he ground the beans with a crank-operated grinder, filtered the coffee with a hand-held filter, and did a few other assorted tasked unaided by electronics (save for the boiling of the water).

I felt pretty good leaving there.  I headed back to the hotel, stopping at Flets 100 Yen Shop to pick up some food for lunch.  Skip ahead an hour, and I was ready to set out again.  I thought I might try and go to Osaka Castle, though that’d be too far to walk.  It seemed like a good a time as any to figure out the subway, so I headed East, through some more markets and the passed a small zoo before descending into the subway.

Some of the larger stations are practically shopping malls!  It’s astonishing.  I came down the steps and literally found myself in the ladies department at some clothing store.  Bras and dresses surrounded me.  I almost ran back upstairs to check to see if I had really just entered a subway when I saw another set of stairs leading further down.  I took them and eventually wound up in what clearly was a subway station.  A nice lady helped me figure out the machine, and five minutes later (the subways run clean, quiet, and fast) I was at my stop.

What happened next I’m still not entirely sure.  To make a long story short, I got very, very lost.  I started walking South, thinking I was walking North, and by the time I realized I was turned around, I had already walked more than halfway back to the hotel (the castle was going to close in an hour at that point, so I just decided to head back).  I walked non-stop for a good four hours through all parts of town, a lot of it very old.  I mean VERY old.  Here are some things, of note, that I saw:

1)     Several temples and shrines, some surrounded by beautiful parks and gardens
2)     Many old homes that are still occupied.  The only modern aspects were cars sitting just inside the rustic gates and mailboxes on the street-side
3)     Two or three ‘Love Hotels.’  I’m not exactly sure what those are, but I get the general idea
4)     About a dozen pink kimono-clad women pouring out of a shrine
5)     Taxi-cab drivers on small, nearly deserted side streets, all taking naps (most wear tuxedos, by the way)
6)     On the second story of building behind some stone walls, I caught a fleeting glimpse of a woman in a beautiful, ornate red kimono wearing lots of a makeup.  I’m not positive, but she appeared to be a geisha (she was far more exquisite than the women in pink).  I only saw her for a second, but it was kind of breathtaking.  On top of that, my inner-nerd flashed back to ‘Don’t Look Now’ with Donald Sutherland (substituting Osaka for Venice and geisha for malignant, dwarf serial-killer, of course)
7)     Young Japanese schoolboys having a pitching practice in the pouring rain (one could throw HARD!)

I had a map with me that I was constantly struggling to comprehend (not realizing I was going the wrong way).  I was enjoying being lost in this strange, very non-touristy place, but part of me was a bit frustrated because I thought it would be really hard to miss a giant, ancient-looking castle sitting on top of a mountain, and yet I was managing to do so.  At one point, while walking through a park, I realized I had dropped the map somewhere back down the road.  There were some crows circling above me, and a moment after I realized I had lost the map (not that I knew where I was anyway), they started to caw at me. 

The Japanese crows, undoubtedly a slightly different breed than their American cousins, have two very noticeable features that I have never seen in crows: 1) their beaks are substantially larger than any crow/raven I’ve ever seen, and 2) their cawing honestly sounds like ‘Ha-ha!  Ha-ha!  Ha-ha!’  So there I am, sitting in the rain in the middle of park, trying to find what I shouldn’t be able to miss, having now lost my map, and the crows start laughing at me.  I feel as though my expression at that moment may have been priceless.

My feet were killing me at this point.  I cursed myself for not wearing my walking shoes, and I vow to do so from now on.  Eventually, I spotted a building in Namba that I recognized.  I knew Namba was to the West, so seeing that made me realize that I was going South, away from the castle.  After hunkering down beneath my trusty umbrella in yet another park, I pinpointed my locale on the map (I had doubled back and found it after being called out by the crows).  I was already closer to my hotel than the castle, so I decided to bag it and come back another day.  I beat feet towards the Hotel Mikado.

On the way there, I passed a small art gallery that I seen on my way to the subway.  It was called something like “Swing MASA Jazz House.”  Earlier it had been empty, but now as I walked by, an older man caught my eye and beckoned me in.  Not thinking much of it, I followed.  He was the artist whose works were on display, and they were all pretty much derived from two themes: jazz and cats (there were also ghosts and basketball in a number of his paintings as well).  He had many different mediums, but every single painting, pendant, fridge magnet, vignette, or diorama featured housecats playing jazz.  Some had specific names, like Mal Waldron, Sonny Rollins, Monk, et…  The only one that seemed to bare a resemble though was the Rahasaan Roland Kirk pendant, in which the cat was wearing sunglasses, a top hat, and was blowing into three horns at once.

He sold me a cup of coffee for 100 yen (quite cheap in this town), and gave me some pistachios.  Apparently, the place is owned by a saxophonist named Masa, who lives/plays in NYC (I think Masa is a woman, but I’m not sure).  I was content to sit there a while, look at strange cat art, drink my coffee, and listen to whatever Paul Chambers record he had on (didn’t know the album, but it was Paul Chambers for sure, and it was very bass-oriented so I figured he was the leader).  It was then I noticed a piano in the corner.  I asked (or rather gestured) if he would mind, and he said no, so I played a few tunes.  It felt good.  I was rusty, and the place was so cramped I was pushed right up against the keys, but I was grateful.  Not grateful enough to pay for some cat art, although maybe I’ll go back and get one of the cheaper pendants before I leave.

After leaving the art gallery, I made a bee-line for the hotel.  My feet were killing me.  Upon arriving in my room, and taking off my shoes, I discovered that the rain had got my shoes so wet that the dye in the cloth on the insides of the shoes bad bled unto my feet.  The soles of my feet looked dried out and purple, like plumbs left in the sun.  My socks were also ruined.  I changed them, ate a banana and a Kit-Kat bar, put on my good walking shoes (oh, what a different that made), and set out into town for the third time.

I took the subway up to Nipponbashi station, which also spills out into an (even larger) underground mall.  Trying my best to keep my bearings, I eventually popped up to the street.  Osaka at night was amazing.  Even on a Tuesday, thousands of people were out, young and old.  All the lights and sounds were incredibly distracting.  It’s a big city, which is something I’m not used, compounded with the fact that it’s in a foreign country.  It was a lot to take in, but I kept my course and made way back to Dotonburi.

Dotonburi was where I had found the takoyaki stand earlier that morning, along with the jazz club, the latter of which I was intending to frequent (although I was planning on post-jazz takoyaki).  Dotonburi is major tourist destination, though it was so crowded I assume it must also be very popular with the locals.  Apparently, it used to the old theater district, though now it’s covered with big, eye-catching restaurants, shops, casinos, and other entertainment facilities.  It’s like a combination of Times Square, the Vegas Strip, and Coney Island (Dotonburi is actually a single street that runs parallel to the canal).

Pushing through the throngs of humanity, I made my way to St. James (strangely I had to pass through an arcade first).  It’s on the 4th floor, and quite small.  It’s basically one long room with a bar to the left and some booths to the right.  Towards the rear the room widens a bit, and there are some more tables and chairs centered around the performance area (there was a nice looking Yamaha grand there, though it was a little bright for my taste).  Upon being seated by the waiter, I realized this was going to be quite the expensive visit, but I decided to stay the course

After ordering a Kirin (the cheapest beer on the menu at 500 yen), I had a look around the place.  It was dimly lit, and a layer of cigarette smoke hung over everything (I stunk of it when I got home later that night).  The waiters wore bow ties and vests.  I was the only younger person in the place, and one of three men (not including the players and the staff).  They were playing a Bobby Hutcherson record over the speakers at first, then they switched abruptly to Sarah Vaughn.  I milked my beer and nibbled periodically on the complimentary salty crackers.

The music started a half-hour late.  The band was led by a tenor player who appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties, while the bassist was maybe about 45 and the pianist was surely pushing seventy if not older.  They played two sets, all consisting of standards I know by heart (though, through watching the bassist’s left hand, they did some of them in strange, probably tenor-friendly keys). 

The saxophonist started off pretty conservative, but as the night wore on, he took more and more liberties.  The pianist and bassist were locked in pretty solid, having, I gathered from the clubs schedule, played together a lot, though it seemed the pianist was a little uncomfortable at the faster tempos (of which there were maybe two).  Almost everything was medium swing, with a few bossas in there for good measure.  I really liked the pianists attack.  It was sharp and crisp, although he lacked a great a dynamic range.  He did, however, take some mean chord solos (a style very dear to me).  The bassist also had a strong, gutsy attack that really helped propel the time sans a drummer.  Overall, the group sounded straight out of the 1950s or ‘60s, with hardly a note temporally out of place.  I don’t mean that as a criticism.  I really dig that stuff.

Everyone was there solely to hear the music, and they were all listening 100% of the time.  The only time anyone in the band ever addressed the crowd was at the end of each set when the pianist made what sounded like the simplest of band introductions.  I was surprised.  In America, they usually yap a bit to the crowd.  Hardly a word was spoken.  I almost prefer that to a bunch of mindless gibbering in an attempt to come off as more personable.  It’s kind of unnecessary.  Let the music speak for itself.  If you want to talk, that’s one thing, but I for one do not mind the music being the only means of communication.

When the second set finished up, it was 11:30.  I seemed to remember something about the hotel locking its doors at midnight (it turns out its actually 12:30, so I could have dawdled a bit), so I quickly paid my bill, attempted to compliment the pianist (whose name was Takehisa Tanaka), talked briefly to a lady who spoke some English, and then moved as quickly as I could back to the subway.  As luck would have it, I caught the LAST train back to my part of town (which is known as Tennouji).

I made it inside at 3 to midnight, headed up to my room and that’s where I’m at now.  It was a good day today.  Osaka is an amazing city to explore.  It’s vast, varied, and though I’ve only been here a few days, I feel very safe.  If I want to turn down a small alley to see where it goes, I don’t worry about set upon by muggers, murderers, and the like.

Getting lost was in many ways better than finding what I was looking for.  That’s true in lot of different respects.

Soupy twist,
Ed

PS- My computer keeps freezing.  I could be wrong, but I think it’s due to overheating (that seems like a contradiction in terms, doesn’t it?).  I think I’ve solved the problem, though.  If it set it on a flat surface, then raise it off the surface by about an inch (I’ve currently got it balanced on two remote controls), it’s able to cool properly.  We’ll see if this continues to work.