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The Japanese are a famously food-obsessed people. Flip through the television channels any night and you are bound to find one or two programs where semi-celebrities visit a gourmet hot springs inn or French restaurant or seaside sushi bar and, at the dinner table, no matter what they put in their mouths, pause for a pregnant moment, and then let out an ecstatic moan: oishii (delicious). (Even though, because of the time it takes to set up the lights and cameras, the food is often cold by the time the recording begins, meaning it's probably more on the non-oishii side.) This is a nationality, after all, that at some point in time decided to sample sea urchin with its dark spikes, raw octopus with its flipping tentacles, and the stinky, fermented soybeans known as natto.
Musicians in Japan are no different in their epicurean mindsets. Just take a look at some of their band names: waffles, noodles, SHERBETS, Three Berry Icecream, and Hazel Nuts Chocolate, to name a few. But even in this stew of food-crazy Japanese musicians, there's one group that takes the gourmet experience to a higher level. Their name is Gyoko.
Gyoko
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Go to Gyoko's website and you see the Chinese characters for their name inscribed in edgy, masculine calligraphy. Above and below that logo are photos of the sea, fish, fishing boats, and seafood. For Gyoko means "fishing harbor," and this is a band of ex-fishermen. Their bio, which may or may not be tongue-in-cheek, explains the birth of Gyoko: In 1986, when "Captain" Morita was sailing near Australia on a fishing boat, he heard a faint sound on the radio: the driving beat of Run-D.M.C.'s "Walk This Way." Electrified, he decided then and there to trade his fishing pole for a microphone. His boatmates would become his bandmates, and Gyoko was officially formed at 2:00 a.m. that morning at the Tsukiji fish market.
And what sort of music have these hiphop-enamored fishermen created? Listening to their single "Maguro" (tuna) reveals its unique flavor. Over a repeated bass line, booming taiko drums, and blowing triton conch, the low-voiced Captain Morita raps about the hard days of a tuna fisher:
It's not always an easy life
But in the morning
The canned coffee I drink with my mates
It's so good
That alone is enough to keep me going
The genius of Gyoko is that it fuses two national obsessions of the Japanese people: first, food, and specifically fish, and second, the love of machismo-filled rebels. Strange as it may sound, considering the typical image of Japan as an orderly society of obedient citizens, the Japanese have a thing about angry young men who rebel against the Establishment. Maybe it's a reaction to most people's own need to abide by countless social rules and expectations, but lots of Japanese people, when they go home and take off their gray wool suits, like to watch young punks on TV in motorcycle jackets, tall pompadours, and so on. Gyoko's three members are clearly not normal salarymen — Captain Morita sports aviator sunglasses and a belt of bullets — but that only boosts their appeal, and they get bonus points for having worked in a manly, productive occupation like fishing.
I'm disappointed to say I still haven't had a chance to see them play live, but from what I hear, Gyoko gigs are a true spectacle. Even if you miss the rest of the show, you want to be there at the very end of their set, when the Captain brings out his razor-sharp knife, slices the side of a fish in season, and passes out the resulting sashimi to the lucky audience members standing in the front.
Posted December 2006
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