This past Sunday I had the opportunity to see some new (to me, anyway) bands in Koenji, a neighborhood set to be the next “hip” underground spot now that every dickhead in Tokyo knows about Shimokitazawa.
Personally, I still like Shimokitazawa, and the place still gets some pretty rad shows, but when a magazine like Vogue names you as one of the “15 Coolest Neighborhoods In The World” it’s safe to say that your underground cred is history, especially since Vogue -- while still having their finger on the pulse when it comes to fashion, one assumes -- has only just recently recognized the appeal of huge round asses, something anyone who is not a white upper-middle class housewife learned long ago from Sir Mix-a-Lot or literally any other man that both lived on earth and appreciated asses. But perhaps we can't blame the readers, writers, and editors of Vogue for this. The sound of a half dozen Xanax dropping into your fourth glass of white wine before noon is probably very distracting. But regardless, the alien creatures posing as models in the pages of Vogue have a number of talents, like "Having Weirdly Long Forearms" and "Mastering English Enough to Pass For Human", but knowing how to righteously fill out a pair of terrycloth shorts is not one of them. But then, I’m a huge dirtbag whose primary talent is “Acquiring New Strains of the Human Papillomavirus,” so it’s not like I have a skill-set worth putting on a resume either.
El Nudo
Ampulheta
But I wasn’t thinking about my dick problems or who I would share them with on Sunday night in Higashi Koenji’s 20000V. I was watching four-piece power-violence outfit El Nudo go nuts and giving serious thought to stealing one of their luchador masks to see if the secret of their power lay within. I hadn’t seen them perform before and it was a fine set, unforgiving and violently high-octane, but afterwards the tone of the evening shifted rapidly when a dapper little man set up a keyboard and accompanied a woman in a black dress as she sang some ballads that, while heartfelt, really didn’t seem to fit the atmosphere. She was talented, certainly, as was her little piano man, but most of the crowd found something better to do outside or at the bar while they performed. I kept waiting for someone from El Nudo to tag in and put the piano man in a Figure-Four leg lock, or maybe smash his face into a turnbuckle they carry around for precisely this scenario.
FiD
FiD
Self-Deconstruction
Self-Deconstruction
Flagitious Idiosyncrasy in the Dilapidation (FiD) was on next, and I was pleased to see their vocalist is still 300 pounds of brutality contained in a body that, to all outward appearances, is in serious danger of being lifted up and carried away to Beijing by a stiff breeze. Makiko is tiny, but then so is a 9mm Radom pistol and both can get asses moving under the right circumstances. It wasn’t long before the crowd finally started throwing each other around in a frenzy. Self Deconstruction went on last and blew back the hair of everyone in the audience, but in-between them was, to my mind, the biggest treat of the night. I had seen Velvet Worm’s name on a bill once or twice but had neither heard nor seen them before Sunday. I was more than pleased. I’m a huge fan of The Cramps, so a trio of nasty ladies spitting out fast & filthy rock n’ roll with blatant sexual overtones is right up my alley. Definitely the highlight of the show for me, even if jumping around like a maniac to their music caused my pompadour to lose some of its majesty. Be sure to keep an eye out for them in the future. I certainly will be, and I’ll be in the mood to give some lucky gal a limp and a smile (also HPV).
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