Zōkyō

I went out to Kita Senju a week ago to help a friend with project that took the better part of the day. In the afternoon when we finished, she offered to drive back home, an hour across town, by train or car, as she was going that way. I decided to stay in the neighborhood and take some photos for the sunset and catch the train back later in the evening.

I had first become interested in Kita Senju after seeing a photo in Daido Moriyama’s book, “Stray Dog.” I’ve searched for the photo everywhere but can’t find it. I believe it is of this woman, who was maybe some sorta underground Japanese B actress who never became the Kabuki actress she may have aspired to be. In the photo I am talking about, she is between performances, playing a Japanese card came called Hanafuda with Moriyama taking her photo from above. I vaguely remember the story behind the photo being that Kita Senju was where the underground bohemian art and theatre scene was in the early 60′s and was the location of many student riots. Many of the people hanging out there, maybe this woman too, were sorta outcasts from the Ginza Art and Kabuki scene. There allegedly was a drug scene as well as a gay scene and I also heard that this is where Butoh was born. Somebody told me that in one of the many small theatres of Kitasenju, an early butoh performance involved a chicken getting humped or strangled or both, which emblazoned Kita Senju as the counterculture outpost of Tokyo in the 60′s. I guess I heard most of this stuff by word or mouth and I have no idea if any of its true…

Anyway, after seeing that photo and hearing those stories, my curiosity about the area has remained piqued despite only having visited twice. And though I was told these stories some 5 years ago, it wasn’t until about about 3 months ago that I went for the first time. That time I wondered around the south side of the stations and found lots of wonderful nooks and crannies, and met some very interesting people.

Last Friday, I explored the north side of the station and think I may have found a few remnants of its bohemian past. I took lots of film and will tell the rest of the story with those photos. But for now here are a few odds and ends…

A funky camera shop specializing in Chimpanzee, Cat, and Skydiving photography…

And the local Soap King…

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砂漠の薔薇

One of Yasuko’s friends took us to this uber glitzy club one night in one of Ginza’s more expensive neighborhoods. When we got to the building, and saw another of Tokyo’s architectural feats of design, and I admit I was more than slightly worried that I would not only be forking for pricey cocktails, but forking out the ass for outrageously overpriced cocktails.

In the elevator, I noticed two young gentlemen sporting cravats and rolexes, while I noticed holes in my t-shirt. I knew I was in trouble, and I was having second thoughts, but at this point, there was no turning back.

The guy who led us to this haven for Tokyo’s rich elite was apparently the head hancho of sorts. I couldn’t quite believe that, as he was in his early thirties, yet my doubts were nullified when we, in our tattered clothes, were ushered into the main entrance hall, past all the people waiting in line, decked to the max in full regalia. Everything became slow-motion.

Our guy commanded the first class treatment that reserved only for Ginza’s high profiles. While secret serviced looking men pressed earphones closer to relay messages to each other that the boss was here and to make arrangements his guest, I could feel slight butterflies of nervousness in my stomach, yet they were simultaneously calmed by the reality of it all, and some degree certainty that everything was going to be taken care of, and that is was sure to be a good time. The main doors opened As we made our entrance, guided by our valiant leader, it was as if the seas had parted.

We were lead past cigar smoking Armanied sugar-daddies and rubied courtesans drinking champagne. Serving hors d’overes were red-mohawked zebra striped leotarded voguers, while bizarrely erotic costumed goldilocks lit cigarets and poured shochu over ice-globed highballs. Scantly clad dancers burlesqued upon small stages throughout the club to the pulsating beat compliments of the bombshell blond of a DJ. It wasn’t but moments after we were sat at the throne lounge, that the first bottle of champagne was uncorked and we cheersing our own success. We had entered into Ginza’s Moulin Rouge.

I was on sensory overload and grinning from ear to ear. It was gutturally dark, but not dark enough for a summilux, which was burning a hole in my camera bag. All the forbidden fruit you could eat was upon the night but I wasn’t sure it was mine for the taking. I leaded over to Yasuko, “Do you think I can shoot this?” “I’ll ask,” she replied. “No no, I should ask for myself…” I turned to Yoshie, “Impossible to shoot this, no?” “Be our guest,” with a gentle grin was his reply.

I stood up and headed toward the crowed gather around the stage and nestled myself between it and the bar, close enough to see the sweat and smell the heat. I started shooting…

I got off about 10 shots or so off before anybody had began to notice me. It wasn’t until the dancer was hanging upside down pretzled on the pole that she spied my lens spying back at her….I froze…she didn’t…and the next thing I knew, her shoulder blades were sawing my attention in half as she hunted for the attention of the lens. That was all the approval I needed and it quickly turned into Michelangelo Antonioni and Pussy Galore. Before long, the crowd took a step back and it was just us, dancing and shooting, photographically fucking….

Finally her long legs outstretched the gap between the stage and the bar and soon she was maneuvering her way through Tom Collins and Martinis with poise. I kept firing away, and she kept the goods coming.

I was so mesmerized I had lost count of how many photos I had taken. It must have been 30 or 40 by now…check…yeah 36…But there she was again…hypnotizing me and the rangefinder was back to my eye.

I shot and shot and shot. I must have shot 100 photos..This was the bottomless roll of film…WAIT…Bottomless roll of film?!? There is no such thing!…Oh no…Oh very no…”Hey, where are you going,” I could hear her shoulder blades saying as I ran to the darkest corner of the room. Inside my shirt, I twist loose the bottom screw hatch and slowly pulled back the lid…and pluck my finger inside to confirm my nightmarish fear…

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NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

I loaded that fucker fast than it had even been loaded and raced back to the bar, with hollow and fraudulent composure and managed to take one more photo…this is it….

C’est la Vie…

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