I had never been concerned with “home.” Not beyond superficiality anyway. But lately I have been forced into thinking about the concept by a bombardment of holiday, travel, and domicile inspired references. “Did you go home to the States for the holidays?” “When are you coming home to London?” among other such statements. I had wanted to spend the holidays in Japan again as 2017 ended and 2018 began, but with recent events in my personal life turning things upside down, and American family and friends asking when I was going to visit “home,” a longing for the US increased while Japan took on a new emotional weight I didn’t feel I could yet carry, and didn’t yet dare try. So I decided to book a trip “home” to the US. But to someone like me, is that really home? A vagabond’s dilemma. What is “home” anyway?
As the tattoos on my right arm will attest, I love Mutant Monster. Not just because they are a great band, which they are, but because they are an important band. They are also three of my favorite people in the world. The trio operates on the fringes of the Japanese “girl’s band” movement; a broad sub-scene operating within and across myriad genre-cultures currently redefining what it means to make exceptional music in transgressive genres grown stale with western tropes of sociologically emphasized and exoticized femininity. A fringe operation befits their punk-rock ethos, and punk is not something that has ever really connected with me in a meaningful way.
I hadn’t been to Norway in 3 years. Last I was in the land of social democracy, black metal, and salmon trousers was in mid-2014 when I was finishing up my first MA degree and, after giving up my flat in London, lived in a variety of European locations. This included five weeks in Oslo. The capital was where I had always spent most of my time, the longest stint being three months in 2012 as I attended a short course at the University of Oslo. Seems a lifetime ago now.
It’s been…forever. Actually, in 9 days it will have been one year since my last post. One year since Babymetal at the Tokyo Dome! Damn! It’s ok, I saw them in London twice at the O2 with RHCP and at Asakasa Blitz in Tokyo in a tropical downpour just this summer, so life has maintained it’s most important regulatory principles. But I have missed writing these entries as both personal and academic exercises allowing me a chance to spill part of what’s tumbling around this brain of mine thus clearing room and clarifying thought. I am disappointed in myself for not following through on my promise to keep this somewhat consistent, but I have a good excuse, I swear. Continue reading
Every trip has them. The unexpected moments—the random and chance occurrences. A nap in a cathedral’s shadow in Paris. A perfect meal at a shopping mall in Fukuoka. The Utah capitol building at dusk in Salt Lake City. They tend to be just as memorable as the larger experiences anchoring travel and exploration. Though unexpected, they are something to look forward to because while you know they’ll happen, you just never know where or when they will occur or why it will affect you. No surprise, sometimes these moments for me are musical or music is at least at the root of them. My last trip to Japan was no exception. Her name was Mei. Continue reading
My sis moved to Melbourne, Australia. Inconvenient to be sure, but it proved a great excuse to see at least part of a country I’d never visited. 10 days of 80-something weather in February was also attractive to a vagabond feeling stuck in a dreary pacific northwest winter. I went in knowing little about the city other than it gave the world AC/DC, The Crocodile Hunter, and Kylie Minogue (two out of three ain’t bad?) and has a reputation as an arts hub. Since my motivation for going was to see someone important, I did no research, made no plans, except for seeking out a George Costanza themed bar, and just took Melbourne as it came. Continue reading
My friend and I landed in Sapporo, the capital of Hokkaido—Japan’s northern most prefecture—feeling rather confident we could score a ticket or two to the sold-out Babymetal show in a few days time. A flurry of assistance spurred on by our pathetic and desperate Big Western Eyes of Sadness® had brought ticket success in Osaka a few days prior and along with the excitement of seeing a new city in a new region, this second-guessed and rather expensive excursion to Japan’s gorgeously mountainous north had become more than a worthwhile adventure. Continue reading