I got to see Motion City Soundtrack (technically last night as of writing, since I got back after midnight). It was their last show in Japan, part of their very last tour.
The only time I saw them before was when I was a junior at Yale, the year I realized I didn't really care about anything but art. They played at Toad's Place, right across the street from my dorm in JE. I always hated that I didn't stay after to meet them because I had a paper due the next day. And do you know what that paper was on, my dear? No idea. I don't even remember the class it was for.
This time they were at the famous Club Quattro in Shibuya, Tokyo, which I was delighted to find was not as anti-film/photo as I had worried it might be, since most enclosed places, even nice photo-op-y outdoors areas, often have no-photography policies. I got a little lost as usual, but managed to make it just a couple minutes after doors. As is the tendency of Tokyo establishments, Club Quattro is on the upper floors of a building that has entirely separate businesses below it, in this case a version of Book-Off, a popular chain of used media shops. If you don't know what you're looking for (and even if you do) it can be hard to identify places you want to go if you are overly concerned with what the ground level businesses are. Club Quattro's sign is a bit discreet, but the map said it was there, and lo, it was.
The inside is a hall of bricks and other industrial sorts of cues. Concert posters and festival ads line the walls, and an unending supply of handbills weigh down counter-tops as you enter, guiding you towards a coin-locker area. The lockers are not intuitive, so I ended up blowing 600 yen on the 300 yen device. The sign on the wall said, among other things, no plastic bottles, so I downed as much of my water bottle as I could, as I didn't want to have to deal with any water-bouncers. My ticket included a stub for a 500yen drink at the bar, but I don't drink, so, hey, free souvenir!
As long as we're talking
omiyage, I had wanted to buy a tour shirt, but I felt a little under the gun to find my way to the actual club room as soon as possible to get a good spot since I was still a little late after all, and Japan is nothing if not competitive when it comes to finding space for things. Even down to convenience store lines, if you hesitate for just a second before getting in line, you are
punished with an eternal wait five-people deep, and if that's not bad enough, as you make the walk-of-shame to the back of the serpentine mass of bodies, everyone in line ahead of you gives you the finger and takes turns kicking you in the sushis while cursing the dishonor you've brought upon your ancestors with your foolish hesitation, true story. 7-11s are hardcore in Japan.
But business before pleasure--after holding my breath to check that Club Quattro bathrooms have soap (and O, happy day, they do!) I took a "pre-emptive pee," as my old band teacher used to advise before concerts, and enjoyed the luxury of a rare, generous bottle of hand soap and manual water faucets (not automatic for once!). I made my way past the smoking room, which looked like a diseased fish tank, with its glass wall quarantining off one of the worst parts of living in Japan: the ubiquitous nature and social acceptability of smoking (the number of parents I've seen smoking not near, but right
next to their kids is heartbreaking--shout out to the mom puffing up in the car with the windows rolled up, toddler in the passenger seat).
The brick hall's double-doors open to a wide, dark spiral staircase chamber which leads up to the performance room. There was a bar at left, and around the ring of the floor's pit were bar stools and counter-top for those who came in earlier enough to stake out seats to booze to. All these were taken. Perhaps they had 500 yen water at the bar, but I didn't want to risk inquiring only to find the floor magically swamped while I had my back turned. A collection of mostly Japanese people, with a good smattering of nonJPers had already gathered in the dark, bluish-tinted room, waiting for the show to start. You get so used to being packed in with people in urban Japan, it was a relief the club didn't feel like a Yamanote Line car. Additionally, no stomach-churning scent of alcohol- or tobacco-soaked clothing. There were several people wearing the elusive black tour shirt, and apparently so was the staff, so all night it was basically impossible to tell who was who.
Fortunately I guess it's not cool to be early to a rock show, even in Japan, so I was able to stake out a nice, comfortable place without too much hassle in the center back of the pit for the openers, a jRock band with plentiful English lyrics,
Over Arm Throw. They were pretty blaring, to be quite honest, so it was a little hard to enjoy the full
depth of their
music, but fortunately I had my headphones with me to help keep my little
mimis safe. I had wanted to pick up some ear plugs, since all the shows I went to in college helped me realize the importance of being ear-nest in the fight against tinnitus. But I was so relieved that Motion City themselves had such a clean sound that, Vader-like, I could listen to them with my own ears.
Over Arm Throw was solid, though. From a sociological perspective, it was exciting to see what a Japanese group is like playing to a Japanese audience live. Not that their music is super br00tal, but I'd say the band was quite cheery, speaking often to the crowd between songs, including plenty of humor. However I noticed one member had a tendency to do an in-song move I've associated with the much heavier
Maximum the Hormone's Maximum the
Ryo. They'd both do like a "
death glare," which doesn't seem too à propos of Over Arm Throw's musical style, but maybe that's just a general jRock mannerism.
As for how jFans react, I noticed they do this double-fists straight up in the air pose, when westerners might just put their hand up or fist pump or something. But the Japanese style is just lettin' 'em linger up there, elbows locked in rock position. The double-fists did make me think of that famous group shot of the Strawhat Pirates, so it must have general connotative associations with solidarity, but I also seem to remember the same gesture from that scene in Digimon after the first-gen kids are older, when we see Matt's band perform. Anyway, just neat to see how other cultures react. Something else oddly impressive was when the JP tech mic-checked using "hey" instead of the usual Japanese method of "ah, ah, ah," which always sounds like someone's proudly gagging for all to hear! Scrumptious relief!
Anyway, I enjoyed their performance, and they expressed their hopes to tour the US, so I am rooting for them to get an opportunity to do so. As far as I know, JP bands don't have a terribly easy time getting to the US, and I can only think of maybe
One OK Rock,
Illion,
Maximum the Hormone, and say
Takeshi Hosomi's bands--sure
Kyary Pamyu Pamyu, too--as examples of groups that are more or less able to hit the road successfully. Some bands with great
international potential, like
Radwimps actually choose to stay in Japan, hence lead singer
Yojiro Noda using his solo side project to get overseas as
Illion.
But on to the main event. I believe when Motion City was touring
My Dinosaur Life they'd sometimes use "
Walk the Dinosaur" for their walk-on song, which I thought was a nice touch. This time it was the similarly delightful, though more subtle "
Shake Your Rump," by the Beastie Boys. I'm not sure about the legality of posting live performances, but if curious as to what the night's show was like, I found a pretty good 3-part capture at a US show
here to help follow along. With that, the main event.
Right off the bat, they kicked off the show with a total surprise track I absolutely didn't expect, Back to the Beat. I became a fan during their second album,
Commit This to Memory, but this song was from even before their first LP! I've only been able to hear it online but it's one of my favorites, and I'm so glad they brought out a really, really classic song. One of the coolest things about this song is how it's so laser-dialed-in to a nostalgia that I simply have no part in, but it resonates all the same. Substitute break-dancing with card games or video games or pogs or anything else. This song is timeless despite its specificity. How do you even do that? Justin Pierre just reaches in and dismantles you, on
his terms. This guy, this violent, violent guy, how does he do it?
After that was the "begrudgingly" lovely Cambridge, which I only perfunctorily pretend not to enjoy just because old college rivalries and whatnot, but make no mistake, I truly love this song. It just stabs you right in the gut. I mean, I remember being a sophomore at Yale when I discovered they had an album before the ones I had, and I finally got a copy of it in a care package from home. That "whirring" sound that starts the album as a part of this opening track just gets you right back there, right to that time. It's a little scary, actually, when this track comes on. Cambridge itself was an extremely ugly place; one of the saddest, emptiest nights of my life was when we had to stay at Hahvid for The Game, and our sister house put everyone on the floor of the common room, no heat. That was the same Game people reportedly got frost bite at, it was so cold the next afternoon. I already felt quite isolated at Yale at that point, but you can't imagine how vacant H felt. I don't love that place, but this song is richer for having been through all that, Yale included.
Capital H packs an emotional punch all its own, cleverly concealed in that veil of humor. It was only in recent years where this song really started digging into me, and here in Shibuya, it really clawed in. I actually didn't expect anything more from the night than the closure of seeing them live one last time--maybe even finally getting to meet them--since I remember not really feeling too much when I saw My Chemical Romance at Madison Square Garden (the experience was partly dulled because the sound was just blaring), but here we were, third song into the set, and I could already feel my eyes welling up...! I've listened to this band for years and years and years and years, and even the recordings still suckerpunch me to this day. And here these guys were stirring daggers a million miles away from where everything began. One of my earliest memories of loving this band was hearing the superfast monster description part when I was listening to samples of this elusive debut album that I had just learned existed. Coming off of CTTM, and
Even if it Kills Me, it felt like, all right, these guys are just wire-to-wire good. To think I was worried their first album would not live up to 2 and 3.
Justin addressed the crowd for the first time, with "僕たちはMotion City Soundtrackです。" ["boku-tachi wa MCS des" / We are MCS.] He lamented, "ごめんなさい、I'm a terrible student," [Gomennasai, I'm... / Sorry, I'm...] foreshadowing the next song. "I was supposed to be studying Japanese." JP spoke JP really quite well, actually, and I was legitimately impressed with his accent. Oh, man, by the way, how ridiculously sweet would a JP x JP EP b, B (g, ie.
W)? Note, that link is not an example of an accent to aspire to, it's the concept I'm talking about!
Indeed, they launched into Her Words Destroyed My Planet, a song that is special to me because
My Dinosaur Life was coming out right as I was finishing college (EIKM was right around when college started), and this song quite perfectly articulated what it was like at Yale after discovering comics and art after the steady crash in spirits just a few short months into first coming to New Haven. This was another tear jerker, just shredding off that old band-aid. I have to say, it's always a little intimidating listening to them, cuz you never know when a quiet moment will make you remember exactly why you hold certain songs so dear. I probably should be playing it even closer to the vest, but whatever. I love this band. And I mean, there are years of comics and art on this very site to help Sherlock Holmes it out, so whatevz.
"This one's a love song," he said before sliding right into True Romance, which I'll admit isn't coasting into my list all-time top tracks, but my gosh, the chunky part where they slow down and hammer out "I believe it's true" always has such power. That part really turns the song around for me. The Converse edition version is especially good there.
MCS albums tended to come out around big changes in my life, and
Go was, appropriately, the album out right around when I first came to Japan, so it conjures all kinds of memories from when I was
just here. After coming to Japan, I was worried I wouldn't feel anything from MCS albums any more because a lot of the, shall we say "difficult," parts of life had washed away in the US. And unfortunately, I feel like there exists some distance between
Go and me, but I certainly still enjoy the album, especially the latter half. The JP edition also has tracks that should have just been standard with the album, I can't imagine it without them. I'm still studying this album, and have a hunch it'll really hit me later. The album seems to revolve around adulthood in particular, and I by no means consider myself there yet.
To be fair, to
Go's credit, Timelines certain snuck up on me on one day...I was driving from a meeting in the "big" city, headed to my tiny rural town (back when I lived in a Miyazaki movie), and I thought, "Well, here I am in Japan, driving my little Japanese car. Six months prior, I could not have said or predicted that. I'm coming from a meeting of humans I didn't know existed, back to a town even Japanese people don't know about. I'm now speaking a new language I had no reason to learn just a few months ago. Almost nobody knows I'm here; almost everybody here knows who I am." I feel this song would have clobbered me in college. I mean, Yale? What does that even mean? Say it enough times and it fast becomes alien babbling. Why did they let me in? Who says it's ok that I got in and someone else didn't? Did I screw that up? Will I leave Japan just as uncertain about having accomplished anything worthwhile? Was I lucky to get Yale or was it a reflection of my abilities? And Japan? Who says I ever even get to know?
And as long as we're diving into the memory vault, there was this one time on the bus, again in the big city. I saw an old, old man quietly, but excitedly pointing out the world beyond the front window to his tiny, tiny grandson, who was clearly seeing these parts of existence for the very first time. Nobody else on the sparsely populated vehicle in our remote part of Japan was overly concerned with the two explorers, but I couldn't stop watching them. They were holding hands, standing as close to the front of the bus as possible, no interest in sitting down. Meanwhile Everyone Will Die was playing. Everything felt ok. Just ok.
And to give
Go its due respect, songs like Bad Idea and Happy Anniversary are first-ballot hall-of-famers.
At this point in the show in Shibuya, I noticed something I hadn't at Toad's--Justin's glasses started fogging! These little details you either never or always wonder about. This would happen a lot to me when I lived in the rural part of Japan, where it was much more dramatic in temperature difference. Tokyo's just generally warm all year round. I know these guys are all allegedly human beings, but it's neat when there's concrete evidence of it.
Justin then informed the crowd that he had spent a lot of time and money at
Tokyu Hands, a department store in Japan. He thanked the audience for coming out to support live rock and for "making our lives excellent."
Next up was It Had to be You, which I was excited to hear for the crowd at the "ooh-ooh-ooh-oooooh" parts. Haha. I was hoping to hear a difference with a mostly JP crowd, but it all kinda sounds the same in our zombie-mass chorus. By the way, it was a weird feeling being among all these MCS fans...you just never encounter them in the wild. Poking around for interest invariable leads to some form of, "no, never heard of that movie." I met one person at Yale who was a "fan," but of course that means just liking their second album's hit single...needless to say, not very deep conversations to be had there. Which smarts because that's the one place you want to dig deep into text, man, Yale; ponderers, ponderers everywhere, and not a thought to think.
Make Out Kids came next, and is simply one of my favorites. I now believe I've pinpointed this to be due to Matt Taylor Bass's obstinately cheery chumming and how it pairs so well with Jesse's equally optimistic theme, all of which contrasts with the futility of the lyrics. Make Out Kids is actually probably the best illustration of the entire band working together to make something greater than any individual.
But but
but up next was Time Turned Fragile...gosh, just back-to-back killers. I always think of this and Make Out Kids as somehow related, but I'm not sure exactly how. Yes, they're consecutive tracks on
Commit This to Memory, but I feel like there's some narrative connection, like perhaps it's something like a before-and-after relationship. The former speaks to presence, youth, beginnings, and optimism while the latter to retrospection, death, endings, and defeat. Anyway, Time Turned Fragile is especially powerful to me because of the theme of a friend checking in on a second, reclusive and/or closed-off friend. I feel like that song, and well, this band, performed something like that function for me during college, and I largely used this song to inform Nyao and Z's relationship in the
comic.
If Make Out Kids demonstrates the power of the band as a team in collaboration, Time Turned Fragile shows how strong they are individually. Particularly, from the middle to the finale, it just chains dominant performances in sequence, notably that classic part where everyone backs off and there's just that little diatribe, "Do you still believe..," which then gives way to Tony's outrageous solo, one of the most emotionally powerful examples of drumming I've ever heard. And then, and THEN, the driving beat continues just behind Justin's auto-eulogy only to come to such a crisp, cold, abrupt, even cruel end, killing everything but Jesse's(?) contemplative tonal work, like organ notes wafting from a distant funeral. I knew this one was going to be a rough one to experience live, but what an experience. Just crushing.
Ah, then LGFUAD, which is just an excellent stress reliever. It's boldly worded, and perhaps as liberating as libations, though I myself don't imbibe (nor curse, for that matter, I just say "bplubped" during those parts!) I remember I tried discussing this song with someone outside of Yale, and it was just unreal...I mean, ask anybody on the street, do you think they just randomly throw words together? You don't suppose there is some method to constructing a song? I'm not even a good analyst, but come on, dude, try! Anyway, I remember the crowd being extremely into this in New Haven, but perhaps owing to the less fluent crowd here, they weren't as intense, though the pogoing flowed plentifully.
Following that was Last Night, which often hits me when I listen to it walking home at night, and for a while I thought I was making it out of this all right, but it just builds and builds, starting with the reference to "autumn," my favorite season; the "so-called art" part, which I use to jeer myself when I feel a piece isn't coming together; and then comboing off into the "pouring rain," which is my favorite kind of weather. Just a perfect storm, really. How does it not hit you?
My gosh, then My Favorite Accident. What can you possibly say about this song? It just crashes down on you like a mountain of bricks. This song encapsulates the band in so many ways. Some of my earliest MCS memories involve thinking on Jesse Mack Johnson's gut-wrenching work, exemplified here with that intro and throughout the piece. And contrast that with Tony's furious drumming on this one, too, right into Josh Cain's "astral slide," into Justin's frustrated vocals, backed with Matt Taylor Bass's grounding. It is simply perfect, the epitome of collaboration. Sometimes I can't even listen to this song, it is so excellent. How many trillions of years has it been, and it still mystifies and grabs you by the throat? I recently noticed they have the
demo version up, too, which is definitely a must-listen, too.
Justin took a moment here to thank the opening act, Over Arm Throw. Again, these guys were great, and seemed like nice dudes to boot. I saw them after the show and wanted to ask them about their song writing but it looked they were busy loading stuff, so I didn't feel it wise. I recall hearing MCS doesn't select their JP openers, but if we could just fantasize for a minute...how sweet would it have been to get like,
say Ellegarden (
obviously inactive of
course) or if we're on the Takeshi Hosomi train,
why not the
HIATUS (probably
past their
opener days)? Maybe
Indigo La End, these guys have a sound
rich with the nostalgia and introspection JP commands so effortlessly, whereas the Hosomi bands tend to be a little more external.
Back to the beats, This is for Real came up, a song whose benediction is a wonderful sentiment to shout to a band preparing to call it quits. This is the kinda song that gets into you if you're not careful. Listening to MCS is such a wonderful minefield that way.
Then right into Attractive Today, just simply one of their most important songs. The finale just stings, huh? How many years has it been? I guess I keep coming back to that--the sheer power they packed into their work, such that it remains fresh and cutting over a decade later.
Next was Modern Chemistry, which actually relates to the singular other time I met a fellow MCS fan at Yale, but again, it was a one song-fan...still, I appreciate meeting any kind of MCS fan. Anyway, again, the "owl" section, as I call it, where we all go "hoo-hoo" was immensely enjoyable. I never did any drugs or anything, but I certainly hold music and art as a sort of panacea. I got
I am the Movie right when I really needed it, and this song just keeps you afloat.
Following that was When "You're" Around, just giving voice to all the powerlessness we feel sometimes. The live version often seems to feature an extended, up-scaling final "around," an improvement over the album's steady reading, but I didn't notice it this time, unfortunately! I also love this one for how much Josh Cain really throws it down. I think of him as "Dr. Cain" because of how wise and in control he always seems to be. Like, in an emergency, you always ask, "Is there a doctor in the house?" Josh Cain just makes you feel like everything's under control; there's blood and guts everywhere, but everything's under control. It sounds way more grim than it is. Justin mentioned after the song, "Matt [Taylor Bass] and I were listening to 90s rap before the show." I didn't notice any breaks, but apparently Justin had some difficultly keeping a straight face during a modified part of the song that the two had planned. During these apparently flubbed parts, Justin said hoped no one noticed but that he started laughing, "thinking about his sweet, funky bass lines."
Justin then warned about an impending drop in the mood, before launching into the one and only, the legendary Hold Me Down. This song was playing exactly as I was leaving Kyoto, actually, so that might have contributed to the tough little rollercoaster ride
there. But regardless, this song just reaches down your throat and crushes you from the inside. I was torn between enjoying (aka getting wrecked by) the song and just feebly striving to capture it. I caved under the pressure and used my camera's "record" function intentionally for the first time. I got just about all of the song, and feel so happy to listen back to it, but a part of me will always wonder if it might have been more beautiful to be completely in the moment on such an important song.
Asked the crowd for indulgence on a long shot, Justin inquired if anyone was familiar with an obscure Japanese act called "Drunjo Drunjo Kept by Four," assuming my spelling is correct. He even started spelling it out himself, but I couldn't keep up. I thought he was going to mention that total mainstream sellout
Cornelius (sarcasm), but no such luck. I can't find anything on this Drunjo band online, so that's that.
Speaking of which, next was A Lifeless Ordinary (Need a Little Help). This one feels like a hug, I dunno. Comforting to admit powerlessness and insecurity, which I liken to surrendering to a father's bear hug or something.
And then Everything's Alright (sic). I was kinda hoping they'd pull a fast one and play Everything Is Fine, as well, their recently released JP bonus track, which isn't online as of yet. But unfortunately, we just had to make do with one of their most undeniable tracks of all time. I should note, the bonus track is currently sample-able
here, listed as エヴリシング・イズ・ファイン (日本盤のみのボーナス・トラック). Anyway, Everything's Alright is special to me because it's one of the very first songs I ever heard by them, and they even played it on Late Night with Conan O'Brien, which was when I became a fan. I kept that performance on our DVR for as long as humanly possible. I remember Justin was wearing a shirt with a classic "e-card" 50s advertisement-style guy saying, "I'm getting too old for this noise," or something like that. Too bad it doesn't seem to be online, that would really take me back.
If we can dig deep, I also remember singing the song to myself in my head while hiding in the kitchen of a rich, old Yalie's house, meanwhile counting the number of tiles on the ceiling. It was Los Angeles, the summer before moving to college, and I was waiting for the new-admits party to end. I dunno, there was this (self-generated) pressure to go to these new-admit parties, as if they'd rescind acceptance if you didn't go. This day was important because of a discussion I had with my old interviewer--the alumnus whose interview surely sealed the deal on getting me accepted to Yale (joking, but it felt life-or-death at the time). I could speak comfortably with him because we had some basis of familiarity from the interview months prior, and it's easier to talk to people having opened up already at length, as opposed to this fresh J. Crew of chatty strangers with names like Muffy, Conrad, and Ferguson (first name). Ok, I don't actually remember any names, but you get the idea, I couldn't begin to relate to these miniature adults. Dr. [P] noticed I wasn't really clicking with anyone at the party. He assured me, and I'll never forget this, "don't worry, everyone meets their kindred spirit at Yale." I spit that quote in my face every so often, less so nowadays than during the Yale years. Absolutely no discredit to the doctor, of course, he meant well, he just had no idea.
Related, I remember when applying to my first job in Japan, my online research indicated that applicants should memorize a song in case the interviewers were to ask for a spontaneous performance to mimic the apparently "gotcha" nature of JP-style job interviews. Oddly enough, even though MCS has been my favorite band since, my gosh 2006 or so?, I usually don't have lyrics memorized at the drop of a hat and need to sort of go from start to finish with the music. But Everything's Alright was one of the few I knew cold. I chose Everything's Alright and practiced it in the car ride to LA for that interview. Never came up.
I forgot to include it in my notes, but I believe this is where they exited before the encore.
Around now, Justin took a minute to thank Yoshi, one of the staffers who helped put together their Japan tours over the years, he said. "It's been such a trip, hanging out, it's been wonderful," he told the crowd, and included a thank you to Yoko and Sony.
They then went into Anything at All, one of the outstanding songs from their excellent final album. I've discussed this song briefly on Twitter, but Anything at All is beautiful as an argument to the band from a fan who may have grown apart from them over the years, and at the same time, it can be the band singing to that very same distanced fan, beyond the more on-the-nose relationship reading of course. I've been with the band since high school, but the person who introduced me to them sorta grew apart a few albums ago, so I myself think of this song as one of those two parties singing to the other. By the way, this type of hyper-personalized interpretation is actually one of the things I gravely disliked about studying literature at Yale, because it often seemed to become a contest of seeing who could most skillfully inject their own circumstances into text as
the reading we should all accept or die a miserable death (or just get glares from kids in section, whichever). But I feel comfortable asserting my read here because A) this is my site so who cares and B) this is not an attempt to define the text, but just reflect on the band's meaning to me.
Next was Even if it Kills Me, another one of their all-time "hall of fame" songs. The beatbox part sounded so clean, just incredibly better than the already moving album version. And the build to the intense part of the ending was nothing but excellent.
And then they present the very final song I am to hear from them, conjured by their own hands and selves right before me, The Future Freaks Me Out. What can you say? What can you possibly say? The crowd was just a wave of people jumping, many Japanese people, a good number of non-jPeople. The song has many optimistic moments, but I love how deep it slices on the "we fail at everything we even try to attempt." When I think of Justin Pierre, I think of a calculating surgeon with a butcher's streak. Either are just doing their job, but what deep, stinging work they do.
As they left the stage, the
original version of Back to the Beat played, closing a simply demolishing night. I couldn't believe it was over so soon. I felt like you just read the intro paragraph to a novel you were ready to spend all night with, or getting three episodes into an incredible podcast only to find out they stopped making episodes. That was it.
The venue cleared out soon enough and unfortunately, it looked like the halls were already pretty much all packed up with any merch they might have still had for sale. I'm not usually into clothes or anything--I still wear a rotation of free shirts I got for joining Yale clubs and stuff over the years (I even still wear my D.A.R.E. shirt from 5th grade!)--but this would have been a sentimental buy, a final vote of support for a band I love.
Eventually staff gently scooted everyone out, and I was bummed there was no meet-n-greet (which is weird, because I normally dread meeting people, of course). But I camped out towards the exit of the building on the ground floor in the off chance they'd leave via the front...and they did! I noticed Tony Thaxton heading out just like anybody else (the bottom levels of the building were a Book-Off of some variety), and I had to take a little jog down the up-rolling escalator in order to reach him! I couldn't believe it, but he remembered the
Tony Tony Tony piece I did of him that summer before I came to Japan...and now here we are half a decade/planet removed.
I know they're all just humans, I know, I know, but I was so nervous to meet them because they simply mean so much to me. These are artists who can move other humans with their work, what on Earth more could you ever aspire to do as an artist? And here I was finally able to meet them (minus of course Jesse Mack Johnson, who must have headed out earlier)! I'm pretty sure I just barely held it together long enough so that I could talk with them for a bit before darting off to pull myself back together and mentally prepare to speak to the next guy semi-cogently. I had written three drafts of questions prior to the event and tried to memorize them on the train, since I knew I would likely not be able to wing it: not only do I have general difficulty being coherent in person, but I had a strong hunch even apart from the nerves, I'd likely be a little emotional--heck, I'm getting a little misty writing
this!
It helped just seeing all the warmth from fellow fans who had also stuck around to meet them. As I was waiting to meet Matt Taylor Bass, two guys ahead of me were trying to give him a T shirt, but he politely indicated it wouldn't fit him! One of the guys figured out from the inflection and body language, and tried to explain to the other that the shirt was indeed too small, but the main guy really wanted to give it to him! It really was much too small, a common frustration westerners face when shopping for clothes in Japan (hence I need stuff to be literally ripping apart before I even think about the hassle of hunting for replacement duds). Japanese people tend to adopt a playful, kid-like "whiny" tone when it comes to stuff like beseeching or coaxing someone, so the guy ultimately cried to the night sky "it got returned!" and the two had a good laugh at the cosmic defeat. I forgot to explain to Matt Taylor Bass what they were saying, but hopefully he didn't feel they were seriously distressed.
When speaking with them, I was torn between wanting to ask them "real" questions I've wondered for years, versus making sure to communicate what they meant to me, though I'm sure they hear this kind of thing all the time, and obviously I didn't want to keep them longer than they needed to be there. I will say I got to get into a deeper discussion on
Even if it Kills Me with the great Josh Cain. I know I'm always going to wonder about Jesse Mack Johnson's thoughts on Hold Me Down's outro...Anyway, I hope they understand and appreciate the magnitude of what they accomplished together. I know words lose their meaning over time, but sometimes you simply need to experience something extraordinary for tired, old cliches to betray the power of their concentrated meanings. One such cliche would be "thank you."
And, my gosh, when I mentioned that one fan art piece I did, they remembered me! Even a little zero like me.
Anyway, this was a special night, so I hope the heavy reliance on photos and prose for today's post is not too offensive. I did sneak in a preview of a piece I'm working on, though. I hope to share some more Motion City memories when that image goes up, though it'll probably get a little onion-choppy. But that's exactly who we
are.
Reuxben
