What follows is a true story. Or, in the words of Damon K., formerly of Galaxie 500 and presently of Damon and Naomi, “Here are the dirty facts.”
It was sometime in the first decade of the 21st century. I was minding my own business in my fair adopted city of Kyoto. You see, I live in North Kyoto and unless I have good reason, prefer to stay in orb of the north-central part of the city. The south is for business, the east for the occasional mountain jaunt, and the west too wild and forbidding for a humble man such as myself. Mostly, I just try to stay north of Shijo Dori (positively 4th street, so to speak). That’s my zone.
As with any excellent locality, there is plenty to explore in North Kyoto. One place that the locals know is Cafe Independants–a cafe with a small bar which from time to time hosts shows. Cafe Independants is located in a basement with exposed white pipes and stone walls. It’s hip if you’re into that kind of thing, certainly not trendy though. And, it features a kick-ass pair of staircases that are worlds into themselves. I have enjoyed those staircases many a time my own self.
The Cafe runs an open kitchen which serves right through gigs and back in the day also had a record shop open in the back. It’s a small place, seating maybe 35 on a good day, and when a show is on people tend to pack around the big pole in the center and squeeze into communal tables. Smoking is allowed. The Cafe, at the best of times, is not a quiet place. This is to be borne in mind with what followed.
So one evening I had secured tickets to see Damon and Naomi play. Damon and Naomi were members of the late 80s/ early 90’s band Galaxie 500 with Dean Wareham. The band didn’t really know what it was doing at first, like many a band before, and kind of stumbled into near-greatness before Wareham walked and started Luna, the world’s greatest band. Wareham details the reasons behind the break-up in his memoir Black Postcards. Poe is supposed to have said that any man who tells the simple truth of his life would write a masterpiece. Wareham gets pretty close to following Poe’s dictum.
The ending of Galaxie 500 came about, according to Wareham, essentially because Wareham was tired of being treated like a child by the other two, a long-time couple. I think he wanted his own band, and wanted to chill a little. From Black Postcards:
Traveling is stressful. And with Damon tour-managing, it seemed like every hotel check-in, every seat assignment, and every rental car was a problem. Damon would argue about what floor his room was on. He would get annoyed if he didn’t get the seat he wanted on the flight. I shouldn’t have let this bother me. I should have minded my own business. But traveling together highlights your differences.
At one show in late 1990, a techie shone a spotlight on Dean as he stepped downstage for a solo. This seems to have been the breaking point. Black Postcards again:
Damon: “In retrospect I notice that Dean chose the L.A. show to launch this new trick, when the audience was full of music industry people. We hadn’t had any spotlights in Columbus or Dallas!”
Dean in his contemporaneous tour diary: “Damon said he doesn’t like me walking in front of his drum kit–it throws him off. I didn’t tell him to go f*** himself.”
Things were rough, and Dean split in 1991. (Wareham quotes a Damon interview saying “Here are the dirty facts! What happened was simply that Dean quit, more or less out of the blue, on the telephone one day.” Ah oui, les sales faits.) Galaxie 500 is still an interesting band and has a handful of great songs. Then, Damon and Naomi formed their own group, named eponymously. They are pretty good. I like “This Car Climbed Mount Washington,” from More Sad Hits, and the whole record Playback Singers is strong. Still, they are a far cry from Galaxie, much less Luna.
Nevertheless, I was excited to hear they were coming to little old North Kyoto in fact to play the Independants. I showed up early with a friend and we had a few drinks, as you do. There were 30 or 40 people there, as normal. People were chatting, eating, smoking, and a local warm-up act started preparing on stage. Actually, there is no stage at the Cafe, just floor space. The show, from my point of view, HAD NOT STARTED. Additionally, I WAS BEHIND THE POLE. I wish at this time to stipulate this very clearly in light of what followed. I also wish to stipulate that no-one is a bigger fan of the idea of the local warm up act than my good self. Nobody. By god, I remember seeing the Tenniscoats, a much beloved Japanese band that you won’t have heard of, open up in Kyoto for someone, Bonnie Prince Billy maybe, and saw the great Saya Ueno play in her barefeet. I even tweeted about it, for Christ’s sake. I support the local art community with a whole heart. And no blasted interloper will tell me otherwise.
Anyway, on the night in question I will admit I was talking to my buddy while the local artist was getting set up. And yes, she may have said something into the microphone. I don’t really know. Because before I could do anything, here comes Damon K. bounding across the room, right in my face, and shushed me. “Don’t speak when the ARTIST is talking,” he hissed. Right…in…my…face.