Tha Blue Herb at FRF '12
I don’t want to roll out the clichés, but…how do you choose the best of FujiRock? Every moment of Fuji verges on surreal, because it’s like wandering around an alternate reality from Thursday evening until Monday morning. Real life is a distant memory.
Now I’ll get my hokey behind in gear and actually answer the question: what was the best of Fuji ’12? Here’s the best I can do, given the fact that I’m so fulla love for the whole damn thing:
Is there any other way to sum up FujiRock’s message?
At one point in the weekend, a couple from Tokyo sat with us at breakfast. They told us this was their ninth year coming to Fuji. I told them that as far as I could tell, this was the best music festival in the world. Naturally, they asked why I felt that way. I had to admit, I hadn’t been to that many festivals internationally – I was largely going on statements I’d heard from others, comparing FujiRock to the likes of Glastonbury and Coachella.
For myself, though, I said that it wasn’t one thing, it was everything. To wit:
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It ain’t much to look at, but I took a picture of this because it struck a chord. Perhaps this is the norm at some festivals, but I myself had never seen something as logical and inclusive as this – a disabled platform in the middle of the Green Stage field. The platform is easily accessible from the asphalt pathways and high enough to provide a few that a person in a wheelchair could never get if they were out on the grassy hills.
Fuji’s a tough haul for a person in need of mobility assistance, what with its rocky paths and hills – its just a fact of nature here at Naeba – but I did see some people in chairs. That Fuji would go out of its way to provide this was awesome.
There was me, that is Jamie, and my two droogs, that is two random Japanese girls, and we sat in the FujiRock pathway trying to make up our rassoodocks what to do with the afternoon. FujiRock sold Heineken, which is what we were drinking. This would sharpen you up and make you ready for a bit of the old ultra-violence, except at FujiRock, no one was violent, pretty much ever, so instead we just hung out and smiled a lot” – A Clockwork Fuji
With the most tickets sold in several years – Saturday and Sunday one-day tickets sold out, three-day passes the same – it was expected that Fuji would be packed. The laid back vibe of the weekend meant that no one really minded. Line-ups were inevitable and you merely enjoyed the day while waiting for your food. Once again, patience seems to grow wild on the mountainsides. That said…check out the mad length of these food lines!
I don’t know too many people who would say to themselves, “Man! You know what I want to see today? A juggler!” It’s up there with miming in terms of “things you know exist but rarely think about.” Yet buskers like this juggler/tightrope walker/fiddler/comedian tend to be far more entertaining than you’d reasonably expect. This fellow had a chance to entertain Fujigoers in the outskirts by the Café du Paris, and he was kind of awesome. Something about the air at FujiRock makes a person more open to all kinds of performances.
Note the cats pulling on either side of his rope – without these guys keeping the rope taut throughout the performance, the performer would have tumbled to the ground. Yeah, no pressure there.
My fiance, with whom I’ve been travelling, managed to make her way into the Stoned Circle (hah!) and take part in the drum circle. There’s no way for me to actually explain why it isn’t as hippie-ish as it would be in North America. It just…isn’t. Loved this guy, looking ready to…uh…drum.
Also, as an aside: note the towel around his neck. 98% of people wore such towels around their necks. Never would have crossed my mind to bring one, but in this heat, it was a necessity.
FujiRock is one of the friendliest festivals on the planet. There’s no major corporate sponsorship (other than the ubiquitous Heineken signs, you don’t see much) which makes it feel more personable and “real.” People, of course, are having the best time, and everyone is friendly almost all of the time. It’s kind of crazy, compared to the festivals you find in North America – where I’d expect cold, impersonal sponsorships to rule the land, and the people to be irritable due to the heat (or downright drunk and belligerent).
Heck, even the Jumbotron signs are Fuji are friendly. This wasn’t even the nicest one, it’s just the one I happened to photograph.
How do you describe Rovo? They call their instrumental sound “man-drive trance,” and that’s better than anything I can come up with. “Space jazz improv” and “world prog” both sound horrible.
Former Boredoms guitarist Seiichi Yamamoto heads up the group, and it’s funny how both he and the Boredoms have gone in a more percussion-heavy direction. Two drummers laid the beat, complimenting one another and providing much of the energy; during one long song, one of them kept a steady four-on-the-floor while the other rode the toms – the result sounded like one drummer doing impossible things. On stage, most were subdued, except Bondage Fruit electric violinist Yuji Katsui, whose John Lennon locks melted into drippy strands by the end of the set; his body movements were dictated by his bow, which never stopped its movement across the strings.
These guys are astounding players, but to be honest, an hour was almost too long a set, given that the songs that didn’t have a lot to differentiate them, at least if you’re not familiar with them. Rovo managed to hold my interest through the sounds – heavy guitar treatments, space-bound keyboards, and of course that propulsive, vaguely world-flavoured percussion (once in a while there were some congas involved). Songs would swirl and build in a jammy way, before suddenly dropping hard into a groove. At times, the “trance” tag fit especially well, and some sections of the songs were as danceable as anything your best DJ could mix together. As part of an evening that would go on to include Caribou and Sakanaction, Rovo were more than a suitable inclusion on the White Stage Saturday afternoon.
Photo:古川喜隆 For more photos go here.
It’s a gimmick, but for FujiRock, it’s a suitable one – take a Fuji favourite (Joe Strummer, or more specifically, the Clash), mix it with an unexpected musical style (country) and let ‘er rip. Rip they did, to a surprisingly big crowd outside the Naeba Shokudo just before midnight, after Radiohead wrapped up their set. The Kensington Hillbillies (named for the Toronto neighbourhood in which they were formed) were a great way to wrap up the weekend – fun, flippant, irreverent (yet somehow reverent to the source material), familiar yet new.
They kicked off with the classic “London Calling,” transformed quite naturally into a train song with some nice pedal steel work. As the set progressed, you might think the gimmick would get tiresome. Truthfully, it was the other way around – there were moments when they didn’t quite take the gimmick far enough. Father and son team Steve Ketchen and Mikey McCallum did a great job on the jangle and twang, and drummer Peter Lambert held down the train song rhythms perfectly, but some songs could have been even more country than they were. Of course, it kind of didn’t matter. If there wasn’t enough twang in their versions of “Police On My Back” or “Train in Vain,” who cares? They performed the songs well, with gusto, and gleefully celebrated the life of Joe Strummer in the process (it was ten years ago he passed away). The audience was enthused and celebratory themselves; up on the side of the stage, a gaijin did his best to show his moves to a new Japanese acquaintance; the two of them danced for a good chunk of the set.
By the time the Hillbillies reached “Janie Jones,” you’d lost track of whether or not it was countrified Clash or not. The set was fun and upbeat, and digging on some of the best songs by one of history’s greatest bands was an enjoyable way to help wrap up FujiRock in its final hours.
Photo: Julen Esteban-Pretal. For more photos go here.
While tens of thousands of people staked out their spaces for the Radiohead show, a few thousand preferred to enter the relative darkness of the Red Marquee for a more different kind of set. The Shins didn’t have the impressive light show, or even, to be honest, an impressive stage show. What they had was simple, stripped down, and mostly held together by Shins mastermind James Mercer. His outstanding songs were the star of the show, while his performance came in close behind – live, his voice was somehow stronger than on Shins records, and he played with a subtle intensity.
This was not the Shins’ first time in Japan, but at the same time it kinda was, since no original members were in the line-up (Mercer having, you know, fired a few). Either way, he expressed enthusiasm for being here. The new members were a solid back-up of youngish, hipster-looking musicians, but in the end, they were simply solid backing; all eyes stayed on Mercer, who showed the most emotion. He seemed to have chosen the best of the group’s songs – every one of them met with a cry of recognition by the crowd. Instead of packing the set full of songs from his recent Port of Morrow, he performed a sprinkling from each of the records. From his latest he played a good sampling, though, including “Simple Song,” “Bait and Switch,” on which he came across with the rawness of a younger Elvis Costello, He also reached to the previous record with “Phantom Limb” and “Astralia,” for which, perhaps due to the large number of Aussies at Fuji, the crowd went crazy. They also sang along with tracks from previous albums, including “So Say I” and especially “New Slang.”
Overall, there was a rockier edge to the set that isn’t found on the polished records – not that disappointingly distorted sound some bands adopt live, but a genuine infusion of vitality. There may not have been a ton to watch, but there such was much to enjoy.
Photo: 加藤智恵子 For more photos go here.
Did someone say it was hot? Oh, yeah, I did, a hundred times already. Well, it was hot, and these folks were doing what we all wanted to do. Some of us thought a shower might be nice, too, but with a sold-out weekend and shower line-ups approaching the two-hour mark, the river was more tempting than usual.
Some people probably think modern jazz is terrible, because the only jazz anyone hears in the mainstream is somewhere between good-but-light jazz (Diana Krall) or full-bore smooth jazz. The thing is, there’s plenty of amazing modern jazz around the world, and Quasimode are at the fore of the new jazz movement in Japan. Around the interwebs, it says their music is “based on the sounds of the ‘60s and ‘70s” but it seems more classic than that, rooted somewhere deeper in the past.
Quasimode’s members, clad mostly in black, consisted of core members Yusuke Hirado on piano and keys, Takahiro “Mattz” Matsuoka on percussion, Kazuhiro Sunaga on bass and Sohnosuke Imaizumi on drums, as well as a horn section. Interestingly, though, many of the songs seemed to be based around the melodies of the trumpet and tenor sax lines (though the horn lines seemed more like a gathering place from which the group branched out into solos). They were fairly staid throughout the set, with the exception of Hirado and especially Matsuoka, whose movements on the bongos and joyful expression captured the spirit of the music. Hirado hit the keys with precision and focus, banging out rhythmic solos in a way that never overshadowed the other players. One of the highlights of the set was a lengthy samba number, carrying the audience along with its samba rhythm for well over ten minutes. In fact, during the number, I was trying to pay attention, specifically to the way the bass player’s fingers strolled across the strings, but I’m not writing anything about that, because I got too swept up in the rhythm and watching the solos, and I forgot to pay attention. Distracting a semi-professional reviewer is the sign of a great band (that or I’ve the attention span of a small Jack Russell puppy).
Quasimode also played their new single, “Summer Madness,” and you should check it out if you want to hear what they’re about.
Photo: 平川 けいこ For more photos go here
Last time I was in Fuji, I was told about Daydreaming, a stage and festival area at the top of Mt. Naeba, accessible only by cable car. In my head, I imagined a five-minute haul up one mighty hill, with some great views of the festival if you looked over your shoulder.
Lord, was I wrong. The trip to Daydreaming is a twenty-minute epic journey, up many peaks and down (with unnerving speed at times) into many valleys, over trees, rapids and bright blue river waters. It carries you far, far beyond the farthest point of the festival; the sun-gilt Orange Stage is but a glimmer on the horizon by the time your reach the end of your trip. You don’t usually get to use the word “breathtaking” without at least a bit of hyperbole; this is one of those cases where you’re absolutely in need of such a word.
Cost for the Dragondola is ¥1200, and it’s worth every penny – nevermind the fact that, at the top, you’ll find DJs and performers, countless dragonflies, a bubble machine, food and drink, hiking trails, and even more stunning views.
More photos after the jump
With its grassy hillside and more intimate feel, Gypsy Avalon was a good location for Kyoto jazz-meets-post-rock band jizue. They took the stage in the mid-afternoon, pianist Kie Katagi’s hair adorned with an enormous white flower, and the other three members looking relaxed in accordance with the setting. The flower was gone from Katagi’s hair within a few short bars, though; this woman hits the keys with aplomb. She’s a fantastic pianist whose stage presence made her a delight to watch (she also made the best jazz faces).
jizue do fall between genres, so it’s interesting to hear how they use their jazz playing styles to create music that’s melodic in a different way. It reminded me of how Sakamoto Ryuichi sounds at once like a pop writer and a classical composer. Songs would begin with the quartet in lockstep, with Katagi providing the main melodies, and then they would break apart into sections in a more contemporary jazz fashion. Purists looking for jazz wouldn’t approve, though there’s no doubt the other members (Noriyuki Inoue on guitar, Go Yamada on bass, Shin Kokawa on drums) have professional jazz chops.
At times, the music skirted a sound that was a bit too “adult alternative jazz,” but only if you weren’t really paying attention. Even then, it didn’t matter, as the energy (how many times have I used the word “energy” this weekend?) was high and the music soared up the hillside in a way that seemed just right.
Photo: 近澤幸司 For more photos go here.
In a sea of campaing tents, it can be challenging to find your own, especially when you return in the dark after a few beers. We got lucky, as ours was in a smaller enclave that was easier to find (the trade-off? It was a pain in the neck to reach). If you’re camping amongst the thousands, you might want something to mark your tent for easy recognition, like this funky litle fellow here. Other markers we saw included flags, pinwheels, and an inflated figure that resembled a cross between Casper The Ghost and the Shmoo. Full marks for originality, then.
The 10-piece Orquesta Libre was a perfect band to see first thing on Sunday – except I saw them second, after the high-energy Japandroids set. No matter; the Orquesta succeeded in chilling me out a little, so it worked out well.
It’s difficult to explain what, exactly, the Orquesta Libre really is. They feature horns, guitars, percussion, keys and a vibraphone that chimed out across the open spaces. Headed up by Yasuhiro Yoshigaki, the (ostensibly) jazz group was put together to rework, deconstruct and reassemble “various kinds standard tunes”, which is exactly what they did. They opened with Simon and Garfunkel’s “Cecelia,” giving it a strong Brazilian rhythm reminiscent of another Paul Simon classic, “Obvious Child” (note to the Orquesta: it would be super cool if did a medley here…)
Something about the group’s orqueststration (sorry, couldn’t resist) is oddly old-timey. That became even more evident by their second tune, a cover of “Hello, Dolly” that started molasses-slow, with some extended trumpet work, before it unexpectedly turned left into a ska song. The Orquesta was soon joined by their special guest, singer/guitarist Yuichi Ohata, who led them through a song that sounded like Al Jolson’s band backing a J-pop artist on a lazy Sunday in the heat. They followed up with more standards – “Lili Marlene,” “Champs Elysees” – all of which they disassembled and put back together again. Reeds wound their way out of corners of the songs, the vibes chimed, the tempos slowed, sped and slowed again, but the songs always remained within the realm of recognisability. The audience swayed to the music, genuinely invested, and perhaps a little thankful that they able to relax to some good music in the crazy-hot sun.
Photo: 平川 けいこ For more photos go here.
I’m not a skier. I went once, in Nagano-ken, and barely made it down the hill alive. So when I saw these, it was like, why in hell are there giant fans all over the hillside here? Is this because it’s so hot in your tent at 7 am, you’re sweating rivulets into your pillow? That’s no exaggeration, by the way. My forehead was so covered in sweat, it had an undertow. This year’s dry Fuji – the driest since 2008 – was largely the hottest in recent memory as well. As soon as the sun came over the mountain peak at 6 am, the temperature in the tents on the campground began to rise. If you weren’t in shade, which most weren’t, you were out of your tent in the relative coolness of direct sunlight by 7 am. You had to be pretty hardcore to remain asleep.
Naturally, these aren’t giant fans, but snow machines. When I figured that out, my thought was, oh dear God, people…please…please turn them on.
The Rookie-a-go-go stage has seen its share of bands move on to acclaim and to slots on the bigger stages here at Fuji. From the other funk bands I’ve seen here in the two years I’ve written on this blog, Omoideyaro A-Team have a chance to be one of those bands.
Ostensibly a funk band – but like many modern Japanese funk bands, not content to be boxed in that way – OAT brought a ragged energy to the music that isn’t always there in other artists’ performances. The singer/trumpet player was the most notable difference, with his hoarse, punk-rock delivery lending an edge to the music that could have failed to jive, but didn’t. Clad in a tight woolen toque, he had almost as much vigor as the mop-headed baritone saxophonist, who wielded the weighty instrument like it was made of light-weight aluminum (which, trust me, it’s not). Their set was over in a flash, it seemed, mostly because of the power they had to carry the audience along but also because of the stylistic switch-ups from tune to tune.
It was clear the band was thrilled to be invited to play FujiRock, and they put everything they had into their set, while making sure everyone at the gig understood just how grateful they were. Seems to me these kids earned the spot.
Photo: 深野輝美 For more photos go here.
To come clean immediately, it’s impossible for me to write this review objectively. Caribou is Dan Snaith, from my hometown of Hamilton, Ontario, Canada (though he now lives in the UK). I’ve seen him several times, own all his records – including the ones under his former moniker, Manitoba – and the night before his FujiRock performance, I got to meet his family. Impartial, I’m not.
That said, it was almost like seeing a different band entirely on Saturday. In the midst of opening slots on the Radiohead tour, Caribou (which refers to Snaith as well as his band) hit the stage and launched immediately into their brand of densely layered, occasionally psychedelic, frequently melodic electronica. It’s complex dance music, but the enormous crowd didn’t find it too confusing – they just danced, start to finish.
Snaith, clad simply in jeans and white t-shit, played an assortment of instruments including guitar, keys, recorder, drums and other items. Bandmates Ryan Smith, Brad Weber and John Schmersal didn’t stick to one instrument either – I’m pretty sure Weber was triggering something off his drum kit, but I couldn’t tell…but then again, that was in line with the rest of the music. Sounds kind of entered the songs out of nowhere, and you were never sure who was doing what or when they were going to do it. Every song was a surprise, even if you knew it already.
The set leaned heavily on their latest record, Swim, though most of the songs were rearranged in some fashion, making them at times funkier, at times crazier. When they weren’t playing instrumentals, Snaith sang (with assistance from Smith), his melodies as catchy as anything by a more traditional singer—songwriter. There was nothing traditional about these tracks, though, from “Odessa” to “Leave House” to the remarkable closer, “Sun.” “Sun” built steadily over a driving beat and Snaith’s repetition of the title, until it exploded out over the crowd and the stage went dark.
The rest of the time, the stage was a flickering array of strobes and blue and red beams of light, and the experience was remarkable. You’ll probably get a chance to see Snaith in smaller settings during the rest of his career, but if you can see them in a setting like this, all I can say is: do it.
Photo: 熊沢 泉 For more photos go here.
Decked out in vests, ties and sharp hats, jazz-funk monsters Mountain Mocha Kilimanjaro took to the Orange Court stage in front of what must have been a capacity crowd (even if some of them were merely in line for food). Without pause, they kicked into their ‘heavyweight funk’ led by guitarist Naokazu “Bobsan” Kobayashi, whose dance and strut would have looked genuinely funky. Now, the band aren’t straight-up funk, but there was always a groove being laid, often led by keyboardist Yuki “Mzo” Mizoguchi; you knew it was going to get even groovier by the second song, when Mizoguchi busted out the clavichord sound. Kobayashi even announced something about starting “FujiFunk,” (sorry, my Japanese is mediocre at best), and the audience seemed more than happy to go along.
Needless to say, if you’re in a band this tight, you’re a s**t-hot player, and each member took the time to prove it. They didn’t let go of the energy, though, which proves they’re all in the same frame of mind; no wankery came into play and it never sounded over-rehearsed. By the middle of the set, even one of the slower tunes seemed to keep the audience in sway; a few songs later, Kobayashi had thousands of people making the same motion (I’ll call it a “clasped-hand, overhand-throwing motion” so you can picture it) as if to prove Kilimanjaro weren’t going to let these people go until they were through with them. And that’s what they did.
Photo: 北村勇祐. For more photos go here.
The Café du Paris was a hot, sweaty mess Saturday (I’d use “sultry” but it doesn’t really work at 1 pm in Naeba), thanks to a spirited set by Barcelona’s Che Sudaka. To call Che “Latin music” would be accurate, but reductive; the sound is more reminiscent of someone like Manu Chau, with elements of ska, dancehall, and other world musics woven throughout; call it “Latin alternative” (“mestizaje music”).
Not to take away from the band’s Latin pride or political content, both of which are more than evident. Singer Leo took the stage shirtless, sporting a rising sun headband, while the longer-haired singer-slash-sorta-MC (there has to be a name for that, right? I don’t know it, though) Kachafaz bounded out a moment later. The two of them traded on vocals and harmonized throughout the set. The band must have been exhausted, having played the Crystal Palace until the wee hours the night before, but they didn’t show it; their faces bore genuine smiles and showed genuine appreciation for the audience’s excitement.
It’s hard to pick a highlight, as every song rebounded off the walls, propelled by a strong rhythm section, the prominent Colombian accordion player, and a general sense of joyful fervour. I’d never heard of the band before, but I did know one song, sort of – a cover of Sting’s Englishman in New York with new, Spanish lyrics and a political message (it’s called “Sin Papeles” and yes, it was far superior to the original).
Che Sudaka addressed the crowd in English, probably the second-most common language between them and their mostly-Japanese audience. The first common language, cheesy as it sounds, was music. The cross-cultural exchange fed the energy and kept both the exhausted band and overheated audience wanting more.
Photo：中島たくみ For more photos go here.
Okay, maybe he hasn’t been “doing the reggae” since then, but knowing that Frederick “Toots” Hibbert is 67, which sure puts his career into perspective. The father of reggae (his claim, by the way, but we can agree that he’s certainly one of the forefathers) dressed more like a young hip-hop MC, and his enthusiasm also masked his age. The group, a mix of old timers and young (possibly hired) guns, took the stage and launched into the classic “Pressure Drop.” It sounded like the classic it is, complete with back-ups vocals – though a horn section was replaced by keyboards (normally that’s the worst, but a/ it sounded better than expected and b/ it’s financially prohibitive to bring another three or four players to the other side of the world from Kingston, Jamaica).
From there, the Maytals spread out the influences garnered over the years. While everything they played was ostensibly reggae they did incorporate elements of rock (though I’m not sure the young guitarist’s “shredding” was really suited to the tune in which he shred) and more worldbeaty Caribbean influences. Toots was decidedly the star of the show, occasionally picking up the acoustic guitar, always looking like he couldn’t be happier to be there. The audience was healthy – small compared to some of the other stages, but clearly thrilled to be there. The Japanese kids know how to dance to the reggae, it seems, and Toots took notice, commenting on the crowd’s willingness to embrace music from around the world. That, after all, is what Fujirock is all about.
Photo: For more photos go here
The food at Fuji is cheap, plentiful and delicious. With choices from all around the globe, why go for western food? Well, when you’re promised a f**king yummy hamburger, you see if they’re delivering the goods, my friend. These guys definiately delivered.
Boom Boom Satellites are more or less veterans of the J-Rock scene – if you want to simplify and call them “rock” – so it’s good to see them in front of tens of thousands of people at sundown, enjoying their well-earned recognition. Guitarist/vocalist Michiyuki Kawashima and bassist/programmer Masayuki Nakano broke out the twin flying Vs and, along with drummer Yoko Fukuda, launched into their set and continued at that rocket pace for its entirety.
The band often came across, oddly, like some strange Underworld/Nine Inch Nails/Oasis hybrid – the latter largely due to Kawashima’s phrasing and knack for a melody, atop the technofied sounds produced by Nakano (and it’s possibly that the only real NIN to be found on stage was the occasional keyboard sound and a propensity for black leather vests). For the most part, the set was forward and steady, without too much change or too many dynamics, but it wasn’t always the case. Kawashima was responsible for some moments that stood apart, be it a sudden break into metal riffery or an explosive moment of physicality in an otherwise generally motionless performance. These guys have been doing what they do for a while, and certainly it’s solid enough that some might argue it seems a bit rote. Still, there’s enough there for fans to have spent the set making thousands of sets of arms bounce in unison.
Photo: 中島たくみ For more photos go here.
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