Tokyo Part II: Shopping

Shopping in Harajuku

Many Japanese products seem perfectly designed for me: They are built or made for the average Japanese person, who is usually 5’ 7”, skinny, and possesses a neurotic attention to detail. For me, “Made in Japan” is analogous to high quality, deliberate design, and well-tailored. Naturally, shopping in Tokyo brought many pleasant surprises.

Tokyo is a vintage aficionado’s heaven. Japan imported boatloads of vintage clothes from America in the 1980s, and several neighborhoods in west Tokyo are jam-packed with immaculate old clothes. Prices are reflected accordingly, but the quality and uniqueness are well worth the price. My favorite store was Keshiki Menswear, located on the 3rd floor of an office building away from the teen-spirit of the rest of Harajuku. The owner of Keshiki had seemingly curated a perfect store for me: Classic menswear, both formal and casual, from the 1960s-1980s as well as more modern pieces. Bowie-esque suits, smart oxfords and loafers, 60s white levi’s, loud-yet-tasteful 70s shirts, and classic monotone tees were neatly arranged in this tiny shop. The only thing that prevented me depleting half the stock was my bank account.

This look brought to you by Keshiki

*Insert bleeps and bloops here*

1980s music was largely shaped by the Japanese. Affordable and innovative Japanese instruments changed how people made music worldwide. Groundbreaking instruments like the Yamaha DX7, 

Roland Juno series, and Roland TR-808 drum machine were all made in Japan. Tracking down remnants of this time proved to find some interesting spaces. FiveG, a synthesizer repair and retail store, was like walking into a museum of Japan’s greatest musical innovations. I had never seen so many vintage synths in person, let alone in immaculate condition. Shelves of Yamahas, Rolands, and foreign instruments from Oberheim and Sequential Circuits lined the walls, patiently waiting to be explored. I had only seen a real 808 once in my life, and it was through a glass window. I couldn’t believe one was out in the open for anyone to play. 

Shred, but not too shred

While I struck out on Tokyo’s famous Ochanomizu guitar street (most shops were small and only stocked new guitars), I found TC Gakki, a secondhand store stocking the best of Japanese affordable-vintage guitars: 1980s and 90s Fender Japan, 70s “lawsuit era” Gibson photocopies, and 60s mod/surf guitars. In the back corner, I stumbled upon the most natural addition to my guitar collection: A Fender Japan Stratocaster from what I’d call the “post-shred” era. The late 80s and early 90s saw guitar companies in a time of change. The gaudiness of hair metal and guitar virtuoso acrobatics was on its way out, yet grunge had not yet brought back the earthy rawness of the 70s back. Technical innovations for shredding had reached a peak, where companies, especially Japanese ones, knew how to make the perfect “Super-Strat”- a Stratocaster hot-rodded for speed, power, and performance. Yet the aggressive, sharp edges of these guitars were falling out of favor, probably due to the resurgence of vintage Stratocasters brought on by Stevie Ray Vaughn, Eric Clapton and other white blues-lawyers. The strat I found was a perfect example of this time period: It had the usual super-strat features (louder, humbucking pickups, a locking tremolo bridge for Van Halen divebombs, a flatter/thinner neck for speed), but also took away the sharp, weapon-like lines in favor of the tried-and-true Stratocaster body and headstock shapes. My music aspires to this take on the 1980s: Take the parts that made it such an innovative time period, yet leave behind much of the gaudiness, questionable visual aesthetics, and cock-rocking masculinity that defined aspects the era.

Would you look at that!

Before I left TC Gakki, I saw a 90s reissue ’69 Fender Thinline Telecaster, the same make and model as my first real guitar. I was reminded of how much Japan has influenced my life and how American and Japanese cultures have influenced each other after World War II. Japan and I share a love of many things: Fender guitars, synthesizers, Levi’s, jazz, Snoopy, vintage clothing, striped t-shirts, coffee. They love the Americanness of these things, and I love the Japanese take on them. It is that unique connection our countries share that will have me forever attached to this place. While I hesitate to call it a second home, I see Japan as a place that will always be there for me to get inspired by. We share enough commonalities that while fundamentally different, myself and parts of Japan will be able to give each other a knowing nod. It’s a relationship defined by overcoming deeply ingrained differences in cultural norms, spoken and body language, and expectations for life. Those differences are overcome by meeting in the middle, sharing things we both like, where neither is totally comfortable yet not uncomfortable. I may never call Japan home; Home is a place of comfort and safety. Japan is more like an alma mater: A place where I was challenged, where I met many kinds of people, where I was allowed to explore possibilities. It’s a place I got lost, but learned to leave a trail to come back to. It’s a place I can return to with fond memories of being young and not knowing what I was doing yet. It is a place with room for growth, even in a tiny capsule hotel room.