Author: Justin

The London-based Asian Dub Foundation used to be one of my favorite bands. They brought out 3 solid albums over the space of 7 years, each with its own distinct flavor and brilliance, and their live shows were among the most powerful I have ever seen. Their energy on stage was simply infectious, completely void of any commercial or “trying too hard” vibes that ruin most concerts. When asked to describe their music, they replied, “Asian Jungle Punk.” That was pretty much the coolest thing I had ever heard in a band interview, and a fitting description, as well.
So you know how all good things come to an end, right?
Two main things went wrong after their third album: They lost their frontman Deeder and replaced him with two completely annoying twats (who need to split their predecessor’s lyrics between the two of them in order to match the pace of his songs), and they got ridiculously political, with a decidedly anti-American streak.
In fact, the last time I saw them (at Osaka’s Mother Hall), for their 4th album tour, they started chanting “Fuck Bush” in between songs and basically derided the US as the Great Satan, which was an unpleasant slap in the face, especially for someone who really likes their music and could ignore their politics up until that point (also, it was kind of odd that their own country’s leader (a certain T. Blair) and role in Iraq got a total pass during the Bushfucking, but whatever – like I said, the new guys are twats and didn’t seem very bright anyway).
Even though the fourth album had a couple of good tracks and the instrumental side of the band still kicked ass, the performance I witnessed that night forced me to admit the inevitable: ADF was dying. Barring serious changes, the band would spiral deeper and deeper into the sea of sucktitude, carrying everything with them. It was just a matter of time until my fears were confirmed…
Last month, they released a new album called Tank. “Tank,” as in, M1 Abrams in Iraq… I did not buy it because I really hate paying for an album just to confirm that it does indeed suck as badly as you thought. However, I came upon the torrent for it last weekend and burned it to CD after downloading. I am basically writing this post in case there are other long-time Asian Dub Foundation fans out there debating whether to buy the new album (1.) in memory of what once was a Fucking Great Band, or (2.) in hopes there might be one or two redeeming tracks. To be rather blunt:
(1.) DO NOT.
(2.) THERE AREN’T.
Conclusion:
ADF IS DEAD.

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Before I took my current job, my girlfriend and I were living in the slums of Osaka (Nishinari-ku), one of the few places in Japan where it’s genuinely dangerous to walk alone at night, and often remembered for the riots that occurred there in semi-recent times (spurred by the police beating a day laborer to death, no less).
We lived in an apartment smaller than I can even try describing in western terms, and the view from our single window consisted of the Hanshin expressway, and truck horns blared long into the night. Living with another person in such a cramped space is actually quite bonding if you get along well (and let’s be honest, if it’s all you can afford, you tend to make do somehow). The biggest joke was the name of the apartment complex: “Beverly Hills.” It was written in this ultra-tacky katakana lettering across the top of the building, a testament to that immediately recognizable design trend around the world that, in half-heartedly emulating gild and glitz, positively screams, “GHETTO!”
We liked the vibe of that area because there was never a dull moment; on any given day you might see people brawling in the middle of the street with cars whizzing by both ways, or police on foot pursuit of a shoplifter in a Keystone Cop-like sequence complete with whistle-blowing action and the command to “Stop! We are POLICE!” (arguably the best reason not to stop, but…). My all-time favorite memory from our hood, however, was the time when a group of local toughs were hanging out on the curb, passing around a monster bottle of cheap sake while randomly shooting roman candles off at passing cars – and then beating the shit out of anyone who stopped to complain. They actually made one guy hand over money and apologize for the grave transgression of – I swear, this was the exact phrase – “hitting and ruining their precious fireworks with his shitty car.” (hmm? That last part might be better expressed in a movie than in writing – I think Takeshi, for one, could pull it off. Tarantino would go overboard on props like a +2 damage wakizashi with sharkskin scabbard and Iridium Edo inlay, and other directors of the “pearl licker persuasion” would have Chow Yun or, heaven forbid, Jet Li acting the part of “Japanese Salaryman Pulled Suddenly from Car, Slapped.” Y’all might get away with taking absolutely heinous liberties with the memoirs of a certain (AHEM!) Chinese (AHEM!) geisha, but not so with mine.)
Yeah, good old Nishinari-ku (the “-ku” suffix is literally translated as “ward”). So many memories – we actually lived in an area called Tamade. Tamade is famous for pachinko because the kanji for tama means “balls” and de means “to come out,” so this is an auspiciously named area (Whether this area was named specifically for pachinko in the modern era, or if the “balls coming out” is a reference to some strange Meiji era sexual practice involving love beads, I do not know^*. I am guessing it’s the former since much of the area burnt down during the war) for it. There were a lot of elderly pachipro in those parlors, and sometimes they would give up really surprising tricks of the trade if they took a liking to you. Nam was once able to buy a ticket back to Thailand with a night’s winnings after an old guy tipped her off to a “sleeper.” Another guy showed me how to jackpot a certain type of machine with a keitai, but I never worked up the nerve to try it – for some reason I always equated getting caught at cheating with that ball-peen hammer scene in Casino.
^*although this might help explain “Pearl Jam”
END OF PART ONE

This was a new one for me – a public toilet with no manual flushing mechanism at all. The pictured unit is a remote mounted on the wall. Stupid, stupid idea. For instance, what happens if the batteries run out? Technological “advances” like this just cause unneeded stress for the user.
Hey, I wonder if TOTO is looking for a toilet design consultant who can issue real-life testing reports in EN/JP (props to anyone who can effectively translate “blumpy,” “spatter effect,” and “logjam” into another language)… I was born to do that job.

In the race toward cultural insensitivity, Japan proves to be a proud contender once again! Next month, Japanese publisher Zuiunsha will revive the Japanese version of Little Black Sambo: LINK

I’m buying, like, a thousand copies to hand out in place of business cards.

1. People who test ringtones in public.
2. People who cut you off because you decided to drive “nice” today.
3. The phantom butt itch (in public – in private it’s scratchable).
4. Cheerful people on Monday mornings.
5. Cheerful people in general.
6. People.
7. The absence of napkins at many (most?) restaurants in Japan.
8. High society types from Tochigi who pronounce “Tochigi” differently than everyone else.
9. Computer-retarded Powerbook snobs.
10. Gossipy office harpies that spend lunchbreaks painting their faces like whores and have a cow over me “tapping” the copier when it gets jammed and won’t reset.