The Grizzly Folk bring their quirky brand of avant-folk to Jah Jah, Nishijin, building on the success of their recent album. Download it for free from TADA!

Electro-acoustic artist extraordinaire, Akira Kosemura, delights the crowd with promises of new material over at LAPIN ET HARLOT, Aoyama, Shibuya.

Venue: LAPIN ET HARLOT

Akira Kosemura: www.akirakosemura.com

 By Zack Davisson & Jon Wilks

First published in Japanzine. 
Been there, done that. Years before any of us stepped onto that Narita-bound 747, these guys ruled the roost. Brave adventurers all, they faced a far more difficult entry into Japan than any titular Nova interview or exchange student application, in some cases surviving ordeal by boiling cauldron before they’d even located their business hotels. The original charisma men, they invaded with all of their gaijin charm, swooning the ladies and swooping up the easy cash; laying the groundwork and firming up the footsteps in which we would all eagerly follow. Anyone who has ever made any money at all in Japan (or abused their gaijin status to gain a privilege they would not otherwise have received), owes a small debt of gratitude to these fellows. Japanzine invites you to take a few appreciative moments and ponder on what they did for you - these, our forefathers.

Jesus Christ
Japan: 0021 (ish) - 0106(ish)
Yes, you read right. That Jesus Christ. The one whose middle name began with an H. Could it be possible that the H stood for Herai? You see, according to Aomori legend, it’s Herai Mountain that shadows his grave. The people of Shingo Village will have you know that the Messiah escaped Judea, trekked for a bit across Russia and Siberia, before settling down at the northernmost tip of Honshu and marrying Miyu, the daughter of a local rice farmer. So content was the Son of Man, that he saw out his days here, living to the ripe old age of 106, thus avoiding any kind of humanity-saving death on the cross. Which begs the question: why is his Aomori grave marked with a crucifix?
Easy money?
Rice farmer or carpenter - either way, he can’t have been rolling in it. Let’s hope Miyu had a few hidden talents.
Japanese chicks?
Yessir! Miyu-Chan. Daughter of a rice farmer, I believe we said. She bore him a few sprogs, too, so the legend has it, though his official ancestors have converted to Buddhism.
Die in Japan?
Some say he reached 106, while other villagers have it at 118. If you’re finding this really hard to take in, head for Shingo, Aomori Prefecture. His grave is well sign-posted on the local roads, which is more than we can say for that shambles in Jerusalem.

William Adams
Japan: 1600 - 1620
Samurai William to his friends - Miura Anjin, if you insist on being formal - William Adams was the man we all aspire to be. He was the first and greatest gaijin success-story, made all the stranger in that he never intended to come here. Washed up with a scant crew after a perilous voyage, in Japan he found just what he had been longing for.
Easy money?
You better believe it. A relatively unimportant pilot in the British navy, in Japan he became a samurai and hatamoto (warrior in direct service to the Shogun) to Ieyasu Tokugawa, as well as the official advisor on all things foreign. This position scored him a fief, about 80 or 90 vassals and enough rice to feed 250 people a year. Where was I when they were handing out vassals?
Japanese chicks?
Check! Adams’s long distance relationship lasted about as long as most folks, and he was quick to drop his old English wife in favor of a hot little thing named Oyuki. A few halfu kids later, and he was never going home again.
Die in Japan?
Yep. Adams shuffled off this mortal coil in Hirado, north of Nagasaki, aged 56. You can still swing by and visit his grave, if you are so inclined. Shogun, both the blockbusting novel and slightly dodgy TV series, was based on his life. For a more accurate retelling, try Samurai William by Giles Milton.

Ranald MacDonald
Japan: 1848 - 1849
Burger jokes aside, we’ve all known a cat like Big Mac. Starry-eyed and full of idealism, he planned to change the country one student at a time, all by teaching English. Really going above and beyond, Ranald capsized his own boat off the shores of Hokkaido in order to wash up as a fake shipwreck victim and find acceptance in the land of his dreams. Foreigners landing in Japan at that time faced a death sentence, so it was a risky gamble. That kind of one-sided passion can only burn, and Japan just didn’t love Ranald back.
Easy money?
No way, no how. Ranald holds the dubious honor of being the first eikaiwa drone. He was kept in an actual prison, where his students were brought in for their English lessons. After a lonely year, Japan decided not to re-contract the poor lad, shipping him out on the first Dutch trading ship to pass by. To add insult to injury, his employers suspected the dark-haired, dark-eyed Ranald of being a fake gaijin, subsequently adding blonde hair and blue eyes to any future employee requirements.
Japanese chicks?
Nada. It’s doubtful he even saw a Japanese chick, as he was always moved from place to place under heavy guard. Ranald hated moving around, as everywhere he went people would stare at him incessantly. Familiar?
Die in Japan?
Not our boy Ranald. Lacking a new contract, he was shipped back to his native US where he lived out his days in quiet reverie. The country obviously haunted him, though; according to his niece, Ranald squeezed out a raspy, “Sayonara, my dear. Sayonara”, before he relaxed into death’s sweet embrace.

Captain John Wilson
Japan: 1880 -1899
Coming over on a temporary gig as one of the new o-yatoi gaikokujin, hired to train Japanese folks in a particular skill then bugger off back home, the John Wilson-types just never seem to leave.  Much to everyone’s chagrin, they start planting roots, buying houses, and bitching about how the local supermarket doesn’t carry enough brands of cheese.
Easy money?
And how. The o-yatoi gaikokujin were raking it in hand-over-fist, and the experienced sailor Captain John Wilson was soon lending a hand in the Emperor’s armada as a Master of the First Grade. He beat back the Chinese during the first Sino-Japanese War, and then set himself up with a nice shipping businesses after.
Japanese chicks?
Got one. The dashing captain married Naka Yamazaki. Not being the acclimatizing type, he baptized her and changed her name to Sophia Wilson. The trixie little minx wasn’t all she seemed to be, however, and it is rumored that she inspired a character in Puccini`s  Madam Butterfly.
Die in Japan?
Yep. The good captain may have lived here, but he never went native - even in death. He was buried in a special gaijin bochi, a cemetery reserved exclusively for foreign residents.

Lafcadio Hearn
Japan: 1890 - 1904
At the opposite end of the spectrum, we have Lafcadio Hearn. He was that kind of gaijin - kimono in the house, geta in the streets, a bento with umeboshi for lunch; everything Japanese was just a little bit better than his native land. He even took a Japanese name, ???? (Koizumi Yakumo), and became a naturalized Japanese citizen.
Easy money?
Raking it in. Initially sent over on an assignment for a magazine, Hearn became the voice on Japan for much of the West. He wrote a bucket-load of books on all things Japanese, and even found a post as a Tokyo University professor in order to bring in some extra folding money.
Japanese chicks?
Yes please! Hearn always had a taste for the exotic, having been forced to flee Cincinnati due to his then-illegal marriage to a black woman named Mattie. In Japan he fell under the charms of the delightful Setsu Koizumi, marrying her and brewing up a fresh batch of halfus. A true Charisma Man, Hearn was thrilled to discover that Japanese people - unfamiliar with how a foreign face should look - didn’t realize just what an ugly bastard he was.
Die in Japan?
He kicked the bucket here at the age of 54. In typical Hearn fashion, he stayed away from the gaijin bochi, and went with a full Buddhist ceremony, including posthumous name. His grave marker is still in the Zôshigaya Cemetery in Tokyo.

Donald Richie
Japan: 1947 - present
As WWII came to an end, 2 Donalds arrived to take up Japanology where Hearn and his cohorts left off. Donalds Keene and Richie witnessed massive upheavals as Japan dusted itself off and began anew, and their written observations are essential reading to anyone interested in the development of this country. The more flamboyant Richie has been here since his early 20s, knows just about everyone worth knowing, and has covered just about everything worth covering  (his study of Japanese film is invaluable). A long-time permanent resident, Richie not only knows his subject inside out, he lives it.
Easy money?
Richie has written for countless journals and newspapers, and is the author of an impressive collection of must-have books on Japan. We can assume he’s not homeless.
Japanese chicks?
Errrr… perhaps. According to his journals, he’s slept with thousands of people, not necessarily women. He refuses to come out as gay, observing that labeling yourself one way or the other closes off untold possibilities.
Die in Japan?
Not yet, but the odds seem pretty high.

Marutei Tsurunen
Japan: 1967 - present
Martti Turunen lived out the first 27 years of his life in Finland, washing up on these shores in 1967 as a Lutheran missionary. Enamored with what he found, he married a Japanese woman at the age of 34 and became a naturalized citizen 5 years later. At the age of 52, he took up local politics, securing his place in the history books earlier this year by becoming the first foreign-born politician to be elected to the Japanese House of Councillors. Also known as ???? (Tsurunen Marutei).
Easy money?
From the humble earnings of a missionary, via the meagre wages of an English teacher, Tsurunen is probably doing pretty well for himself these days; his autobiography, Here Comes a Blue-Eyed Assembly Man, was a great success (which teaches us valuable lessons concerning not judging books by their lame titles).
Japanese chicks?
Like so many foreigners, Tsurunen arrived in Japan with a gaijin lass in tow. 7 years later, she’s nowhere to be seen, and Marutei’s strutting his stuff with a local broad. It’s a well-worn tale.
Die in Japan?
Not yet, but we don’t see him heading back to Finland anytime soon. He’s got his own constituency here, for Chrissakes! He’s like a daimy?! He’s living the dream!

Rick Roa
Japan: 1968 - 2006
Rick Roa was a Brooklyn-born entrepreneur who arrived from South East Asia, fresh out of the US Army. Despite perpetuating an old-school mobster image (“I’ll always answer your call - but if I call you, you better answer my call…”), Roa seems to have inspired positive responses in all who met him - with the possible exception of Bob Hope. But that’s another story. If there was a yen to be made, the self-styled King of Roppongi was there making it. His autobiography, American Maverick in Japan, flows on a river of scams and schemes - the majority of which seem to have paid off - making for fascinating reading. A real wise guy, and a memorable character.
Easy money?
Organizer of the American Music Awards Concerts during the 80s; membership of the Tokyo Playboy club; gorgeous house in Akasaka. The best things in life aint free.
Japanese chicks?
Are you kidding? Chicks everywhere, and not just Japanese. According to one report, he picked up performers at the Playboy Club simply because they worked on short-term visas. Each girl would head home after 3 months, no questions asked, and he’d “look after” whoever replaced her. Pretty smooth, eh?
Die in Japan?
When Roa died of stomach cancer in 2006, obituary columns were flooded. Despite the tough guy image, Slick Rick couldn’t help making friends.

Alan Booth
Japan: 1970 - 1993
Alan Booth was an astounding travel writer, cut down by cancer just as he was coming into his own. Well-loved as a Tokyo-based journalist during his lifetime, his reputation seems to have grown considerably in death. Most notable for having traveled the length of the country entirely on foot (pick up a copy of The Roads to Sata - a real gem), Booth was also a prodigious drinker. The amount of time his travels diverted through the nearest bar, it’s a wonder he ever got anywhere. But the man was an absolute legend. Alan - wherever you are - we salute you.
Easy money?
A well-loved writer should never be short of a bob or two. In which case, Japanzine’s crew must be unreservedly loathed.
Japanese chicks?
There’s a great anecdote in Roads to Sata, in which hapless Alan - convinced he’s seconds away from bedding the daughter of a ryokan owner - lets rip with an enormous lager-induced fart. It may have been the last he saw of her, but he wasn’t always a failure with the women. Married twice, his daughter recently graduated from a US university.
Die in Japan?
Sadly, yes. Alan actually records the onset of his cancer in his second book, Looking for the Lost, which was published posthumously. His loss is still felt strongly amongst colleagues and fans alike.

First published in Japanzine.

Let’s face it, rock’n'roll is a dangerous battle-ground these days. What with all the self-harm and ‘horse’ play, it’s a wonder anybody gets anything done. That’s why it’s so refreshing to come across an artist like Bob Log III, a one-man rock’n'roll tornado, who relies on the tried and tested formula of noise, nudity and hard-liquor to work his audiences into a tit-clapping frenzy.

Originating from Tucson, Arizona, Bob has been on the road for the best part of 20 years. Originally performing with Mondo Guano and Doo Rag, he was forced into going solo when his band deserted him mid-tour, leaving him the unenviable task of learning to operate a drum kit with his feet, singing and playing slide guitar simultaneously. His debut solo offering was released in 1998, and he’s been touring the world (including a legendary Fuji Rock appearance) ever since.

Log’s shows are known for their audience participation, especially during the infamous Boob Scotch song, in which audience members (girls in particular, but not exclusively) mix a drink for the performer using their tits. It’s all part of the Bob Log legend, other features of which include his concealed identity (he only ever performs in a bike helmet) and the mystery of the monkey claw. Intrigued? Read on…

For those who know not what you do, please explain yourself in 5 smouldering words.

Guitar, drum, fingers, sweat, guitar! And party.

This isn’t your first time in Japan, right? What’s the most rock’n'roll thing to have happened on previous visits?

I am not sure if this is rock and roll, but one time in an elevator with an older couple, I pointed to the “1″ button and asked them nicely, “unchi?” instead of ichi. It was a mistake. I thought I was saying one. We all rode very quietly.

Your show involves a lot of audience participation, notably involving tits and scotch. How do Japanese audiences respond to that? Do you get a lot of tit-scotch action over here?

Actually no. Well, ok, a little bit. But it seems that people love to sit on me here in Japan, and I am alright with that.

Do you spend much time in music shops over here?

I try to.

What’s your take on the Japanese music scene? Is there anyone that impresses you?

I love Japanese music. If it was a sandwich, it would have extra crazy on it. I have a lot of shamisen records, and sometimes I try to play along with them.

I’m keen to come along to the show and clap my tits, but I’ve been working out recently and my moobs aren’t what they were. Any advice?

Clap against a friend! It is more fun that way anyway. If you dont have a friend, make one quick. You could also try clapping tits with your enemies.

Seeing as you’re something of a conossieur, which part of the world would you say offers a higher class of tit?

I actually wouldnt know because, to be perfectly honest, I cant see [because of his visor, rather than any ailments]. Usually people have to tell me after the show just what exactly happened. But if I could see I would say I like all classes of tit, if they go in my drink.

That helmet - what do you keep in there? Given your rigorous and sweaty stage show, you must be coagulating some pretty special cheese up there. Any plans to market it?

My cheese is my own! I clean it out every once in a while, but once my cat peed in it. That was horrible.

Lastly, a word on the mythical monkey claw. Is there anything it can’t do? How do females (of any species) react to it?

It is just a hairy human hand. Stop with the paw jokes! It hurts my feelings. I can’t help it if there is hair there. The rest of me is mostly hairless. But my hand does make the ladies dance, and the men too. And sometimes people just smash chairs.

I’ve been quite interested recently in the progress of The Toyists, a Japanese electronic combo who recently put out a bizarre ditty over at Tada Music. Their muse is a woman that my wife enjoys watching, Aoi Miyazaki (??????. Can’t quite see the correlation between their track and the actress herself, but it’s a catchy little number. Check it out at the above link.