Robyn: “Today is Oct. 7 in Tokyo. That means in two days it will be John Lennon’s birthday. This song … has nothing at all to do with John Lennon. It’s more related to Morrissey or something.”
Guy next to me: “When is Morrissey’s birthday?”
Robyn: “Morrissey doesn’t have a birthday. He just sort of came out of the sun with some other stuff and landed on Earth.”
Sometimes, despite my brain’s best attempts at convincing me otherwise, Life just works out.
It was around lunchtime yesterday when I got an e-mail from my Midwest-headquartered friend Shane (who, for sending said e-mail, I’m totally going to make out with next time I see him) titled: “robyn hitchcock in tokyo.”
don't know if you are back in japan but,
if so,
how can you pass it up?
No shit. I hadn’t seen Robyn Hitchcock in 14 years, since he popped up onstage with REM at a secret gig in London. I’ve never seen him do his one-man show, and have loved his stuff for 20 years. Shane said there were two shows — Friday and Saturday. This Friday and Saturday. Hours away. Fuck. Friday nights are the most evil deadline night of all (and the show starts early because … well … this is Japan), and Saturday I have plans to see my rock-star friend Yoichiro perform.
Against all odds I move the copy that needs to be moved and break free around 6:30 (show is at 7:30). My co-worker helps me with the venue Web site and discovers it’s in the neighborhood. I start walking … turns out to be a mere 15 minutes from the office. Raaar! I buy a ticket from a cute, very patient girl at the front desk, get my “free drink” ticket (because … well … this is Japan) and head downstairs into one of the coolest-looking clubs I’ve ever seen (photo on their Web site does it no justice). Holds less than 100 people. All tables and chairs artfully scattered around a small stage with a piano, a microphone, two guitars — one acoutsic, one electric — and an amplifier.
End up sitting 12 feet from the stage, next to the only other Westerner (a couple shuffled in later) in the place. We find it kind of odd the place is packed with almost only Japanese people. He came up from Nagoya just for the show — said the Saturday-night show was sold out (good timing on my part) and later overheard the staff saying that our show eventually sold out, as well (good luck on my part). The two nights in Tokyo and one sold-out night in Osaka comprised Robyn’s “Japan tour” to promote a Japan-only CD release. Since I’m illiterate he helped me order some food.
Robyn was wonderful. I couldn’t get over the fact that I was drinking Guinness 12 feet away form him while he sang, quipped, sang, quipped some more, rocked out, made jokes, sang. Great versions of “Queen Elvis” and “Balloon Man.” Started his electric set with “”Madonna of the Wasps.” It was kinda like being in the audience at “Storefront Hitchcock” without the window. But with beer. And with only two Americans in the crowd. There were several chills-in-the-body moments, and there was constant laughter. He played for almost two hours.
I loitered afterward for a bit, hoping Robyn would come out for a drink, but it didn’t happen. So I wandered into the street and instead of going home decided to explore. Saw a sign for a Thai restaurant and, being obsessed with that country right now, decided to check it out. It was around the corner in a little alley … a little alley that also went past the backside of the club. There, standing with his wife and several Japanese fans, was Robyn. Rock on. I got in the autograph line and watched Robyn sign CDs, old Soft Boys albums and even a guy’s ukuleles (which he played).
I had no camera and nothing to sign, just shook his hand and thanked him for a fun show. We reminisced about the Bingo Hand Job gig, then talked about Japan with his wife. They had to go to dinner with “about 20 Japanese journalists,” so they said “have a great next 14 years” and took off.
After a brief, broken conversation with the Japanese ukulele player (he was planning to bring his guitar to the next night’s show) I floated home, high on the feeling that sometimes everything just falls into place and works out when you let go, trust in the universe and enjoy yourself. (Something I’m trying to practice lately.)
And I laughed. Like I always do.
