I walked out on the stage, in my clothes that I'd been wearing for two whole days, after everyone else in my party. There were 700 pairs of eyes gaping wide open at us. Hungry for whatever we'd brought from Los Angeles. But they didn't know that the singer had almost just bailed due to "feeling like I'm gonna barf." Though the eyes weren't really looking at "us", the cumulative us, I wasn't truly included in that sentiment - I was just a bystander that happened to be awarded stage privileges because I live on the other side of the ocean with the performers.
I've done quite a lot of public speaking, which I enjoy. I enjoy it because of a bit of a rush it brings, it pushes me to say more interesting things, of a more dire interest. And often, try to be a bit funnier (on the internet I can call myself a satirist but write however I'd like; I think I'm a part-time satirist).
But I digress, I must say it had hardly prepared me for the vibe of this event.
My friends and I were in Tokyo. My fiance's band creates somewhat of a Venn diagram with a band that is American, but extremely popular in Japan. The drummer and bass player ride in the middle. We were there to promote the new band. We were there to create the meld between the two, the smooth any rough edges, to make sure all would go well - and of course to ensure that the A&R guy liked us.
The public that came to this show was unlike any that would ever come to a show in the US of A. Save for Britney Spears or the Jonas Brothers, or some other thing that had gone beyond talent but become a brooding PR spectacle. These show participants were true, dear, fans. They knew every word to ever song, they sent letters to the band, they got tattoos of their name and lyrics - sometimes without knowing what they meant (and we get kanji tattooed on us for god knows what fucking reason, I presume to appear culturally savvy though actually blissfully ignorant). They hung onto every word and every movement, yet two members of this band just couldn't see it. They either wanted to ignore it, or had profound cases Lead Singer Syndrome. LSS results in acting like an asshole to those which are your livelihood, because you don't fucking know, you just think you're kinda cool.
As Jab and I stood there, watching our friends play, those assholes ignore their fans, and the crowd beg with their eyes for more, more, more a beautiful moment happened...
our friend the bass player acknowledge a fellow in the crowd, whom we'd eaten and drank many a booze with the night prior, a beer.
His eyes lit up. His name was Makato. Then he drank the shit out of that beer.
Then Jab, of course a musician, muttered in my ear, "I want that to be my job."
As I had just been incredibly elated by the bass player's distribution of beer, I was immediately deflated by this statement. A very deserving man was watching two people do a job which he could do much better. And he could respect fans with much more grace. He wouldn't bitch about potentially being sick, or not wanting to sign autographs (as was later the case). He would do whatever it takes. He believes in mutual fame.
The night before, the band had another show. At this show, we wandered around while our friends signed autographs. Two boys came up to us and asked us for our photos - presumably because we were friends of the band.
"No, no, we are not famous." Jab and I replied.
We didn't want our photos taken for shame that we'd be appealed as something we really were not.
"I have a rule, " Jab said, "when I play a show, I always bring a book, and anyone that I sign an autograph for has to also sign my book." He's right. All fame has a source and it deserves to be acknowledged, especially by whom it has made famous.
All of this fandom seemed healthy. It seemed to explain why this band was famous in Japan and not the United States; because fandom and enthusiasm were acceptable and prevalent. Excitement spreads like wildfire, it only needs one influential spark. While all of this made the music industry in Japan seem alive and well, I soon learned that it was not. It had also fallen victim to illegal downloading.
I didn't used to think this was really a problem. I assumed most people that were having their money stolen by the public were already heinously rich and probably deserved to give back a little more than the tax system made them. Hence, I should take their creative product. But in Tokyo, I listened to a somber A&R guy describe how record sales had dwindled from the previous year, thanks to illegal downloading.
He's a guy with a wife in two kids living in a Tokyo suburb. His bands are working people, some of whom work for the record label. They are not rich, yet they're being stolen from. My friends, the American band with a couple of assholes in it, are not rich, yet their being stolen from. Illegal downloading isn't only unjust because of that, but because it de-incentivizes record labels from investing in new artists.
Enter the 52nd Annual Grammy Awards. Nary a new artist took the stage. A result of labels' fear of investing in something new. Knowing that if the artist was not proven, they would never make a time. Just like profit generating companies, individuals won't invest in anything that is unknown. If they can get if for free, why the hell not? Nine songs out of ten on the album might be horrible anyway.
The person who invents a prevention of illegal downloading will be a millionaire. New artists deserving to be recognized will grovel at her feet. Artists have a duty to acknowledge their fans, just as artists have a right, if they are good and talented and interesting, to be sponsored by their fans. If Jab, or any other fabulously talented performer is to ever have a financial chance to commit their life to their art, illegal downloading must be stopped.
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