So you expect us to believe that a man used to get mistaken for O.D.B. all the time and didn’t fully take advantage of it? Seriously, if tricking “drunken admirers from Denmark” and a “little girl who wanted to do a school report about O.D.B” are the worst things you’ve done, either:
A. You are not a man, or
B. You are lying in order to keep the weekly groupie orgies a secret from your wife.
That is all.
Random thought: Do people call information to find phone numbers that much anymore? I can’t remember the last time I did.
Recent tragedy aside, “Typhoon” is just a horribly unimaginative name for an (albeit yuppified and second-rate) rice rocket. “The new wave of bold style,” indeed. (Note: I’d like to suggest a correction to Toyota Canada here: “tsunami” is actually the Japanese word for… “tsunami.”)
I’ve written about this in the past, but my favorite branding memory is the Japanese company that developed an early web browser and dubbed it “Woody, the Internet Pecker.” I, of course, assumed this was a product aimed at the “average horndog salaryman” demographic, complete with Auto-cache Delete Function and Boss Coming! Minimize-to-Tray Button for safely browsing tentacle rape fansites at work, and would have opted for something bolder, like, “CYBERDONG, the Virtual Manhood Extension (w/improved Fuzzy Logic),” to interest the English-speaking plastic-model-otaku crowd and perhaps AirSoft “survival game” enthusiasts as well (because pursuing a pasttime characterized by “getting shot with hard plastic BBs that leave bloody welts” pretty much requires mental illness on the part of the players, and who better to appeal to with risque branding?). I can see the massive marketing blitz now:
– – – BUY CYBERDONG! THE DONG IS ONE! THE DONG IS INSIDE. US ALL. – – –
Outside of an udon shop in Tokushima.
So what about this chunami?
It gets funnier every time she says it, and I swear Thaksin is trying just to ignore it. He keeps saying “wave” and “disaster” in order not to embarass her with the correct pronunciation of “tsunami.” Quick, someone stuff some pebbles in her mouth…
The concert staff on Thursday were absolutely Gestapo about the “no recording” policy and screened for cameras, etc. at the door; they wouldn’t let people use their cellphones inside the hall (cameraphones) and admonished us even way up in the gallery seats for checking e-mails and such. Even though this is standard practice, I thought it was pretty gay since the concert kicked off late and the gap between the opening and main acts was so long (preventing Japanese from using their cell phones is like pulling cables to remove Neo from the Matrix). It made me happy to find out that my little bro managed to bring a camera in and snap off shots, possibly just out of spite for the rules (you gotta fight for your right…).
Overall, it was a good concert. Actually, since it may be their last gig here (there are rumours this is their last tour), and especially considering that we had free tickets, it was fairly awesome. Since it was a Wednesday night, the crowd was small, but it was good to see hardcore fans. Osaka-jo hall is an okay venue, acoustically, but considering the size of the crowd (1,500?) a better choice would have been, say, Mother’s Hall in Namba. There were some sound problems toward the end, but considering the Beasties’ varied set switching from hip hop to instrumental to guitar sound, it was understandable.
Opening act: Le Tigre. In my opinion, the Worst Opening Act for a Concert, Ever (second worst being a pop-locking mime act opening for the Cure many years ago). I know they are fairly popular right now in a pop chart flavor-of-the-month kinda way, so if you like them, sorry. I won’t even pass judgement on them from a musical aspect, but suffice to say they are not worthy of opening for the Beastie Boys. (One last thing about them – there are online reports that Le Tigre sounds like the B-52s. Get off the crack, people.)
The venue started with live video of some roadies pushing a crate toward the stage being projected against the main backdrop (the white square at the top of the photo). They stopped near the stairs to the stage and opened the crate to reveal… Mix Master Mike, who jumped out, vinyl in hand, got behind his turntables, and proceeded to rock the house all night.
He is definitely the favorite here in Japan, and for good reason – Japanese fans usually don’t know the names of the tracks, and most can’t understand the lyrics or references embedded within – but they all know the wizardry of Mikkusu Masuta Maiku. There are so many aspiring DJs/tablists in Japan (I even saw used 1100s on sale at a computer shop in Umeda yesterday), and they all know his name is earned. Among the other tweaks and tricks he put on display at the concert, I saw him bend a vinyl in half with both hands, throw it on the table, then bend the lip of it upward with his thumb, raising one side completely off the table as he scratched with it. Just fucking amazing and a complete joy to watch.
This is what I remember of the set:
Super Disco Breakin
Pass The Mic
Something’s Got To Give
Open Letter To NYC
Three MCs And One DJ
Check It Out
So Whacha Want
There were others, and it was a longer set than I expected, maybe an hour and a half. I was happy. Thanks for the tickets, T.
UPDATE: Official photos
Opening act is Le Tigre. Rrrar.
Done with work. Called T and confirmed he got the tickets. Adam and Nam are eating pizza. Getting ready to go to Osaka-jo hall, and it’s definitely time to get ill:
Riding down the block with my box in my hand
Today I feel like chillin’ just as chill as I can
Coolin’ on the corner with a forty of O.E.
‘Cause me and M.C.A. we’re down with Mike D
When I run a jam I don’t give a damn
When I’m throwing bass I say, “Thank you ma’am.”
Fuel injected, rhyme connected running things
I’m the King Adrock and I’m the king of all kings
I’m looking for a spot things are gettin’ hot
I’m M.C.A., I’m here to stay and you sir, are not
Oh no, it could not be it’s such a sight to see
It’s such a trip you’re on my tip so listen to Mike D.
My work is my play cause I’m playing when I work
My name’s Mike D., as you can see and I can dot the jerk
M.C.A., Adrock, Mike D. – it’s chill
What’s the time? it’s time to get ill
The JP equivalent of a midnight Grand Slam.
This gross monstrosity was served up at a local izakaya last weekend, and I was drunk enough to eat it. I don’t remember what it tasted like, but I am getting fairly sick looking at it now. Those baby wieners were about as thin as a pencil and a couple inches long.
BTW, there are a few Denny’s in Japan, but they don’t serve Grand Slams. Or chicken-fried steak. Or even decent hash browns, if I recall correctly. I only went once, and I’m never going again. Udon noodles just don’t belong on a Denny’s menu.
A very attractive…GIRLFRIEND I have. An attractive friend of the female persuasion is staying over as well. My girlfriend is reading as I write this over my shoulder. Fucking please, somebody help! Well, I guess I asked for it. Many beers. Fuck me. I’m a fucking idiot for even mentioning this shit.
For hardcore Neal Stephenson fans:
The Command Line in 2004