MOJOMIREI LIVE AT THE GREEN MANGO

The movement of the Chiba train was violent in places as the commuters crushed against each other found relief on their smart phones. Rows of posters flapped and swayed in the breeze. They were advertising a fragrance called 'Moisty Diane'. Most of the passengers were already moist wiping their faces and necks with towels when they had an opportunity. The crush hour reached its peak and then the commuters were offloaded to find the next train. The castle in Disneyland flashed by the window as a schoolboy read manga on his smart phone. The girl standing next to him flicked through images of other girls pouting and scowling and pursing their lips as the poster on the wall advertised waxing and hair removal with the slogan 'Enjoy Girls'. 

Outside the central station the wave of commuters came to a halt at the crossing until the lights changed and then they spilled out across the tarmac in the brief break in the traffic. It was a sub-panic rush that slurped and gurgled its way past construction workers and a lone male with a megaphone talking about the economy. Up above the Yamamote train glided half empty on its way to Ueno station. On the train channel news there was talk of the resignation of the Tokyo governor for corruption. In the book store the staff gave the books a final flick with their feather dusters before opening time.

News was coming in from new Zealand of an avocado shortage. This had led to panic buying and an increase in the theft of fruit from the trees. The public were warned not to buy stolen avocados as they would not ripen properly. An Australian journalist exhorted the Kiwis to be strong in the face of calamity. Down south past the dormitory towns of Kawasaki and Yokohama the train ran towards Totsuka and Fujisawa where the apartments gave way finally to more conventional housing. 

I first met Yukio (aka Mojo Rising) at the Tokyo English Centre in 1988. It was a Gaijin House located in an old dormitory for journalists and run by a Japanese guy named Ken who ran a  bar downstairs. Yukio played guitar and took me to visit his old university where we played 'Dock of the Bay' and a few other old favourites. Later, after spending a year on a work holiday visa in Cairns he returned to Tokyo to import ethnic musical instruments from around the Asia Pacific region. In Australia he had learned how to play the didgeridoo. He got involved in the alternative music and healing scene. He has been to South Korea to play and regularly plays around Tokyo as well as doing massage.

Mojo Rising met me at Fujisawa and together we took the train back to his apartment in Chigasaki. There were boxes everywhere and pots and pans piled up on the stove and. Outside there was a bicycle with a flat tyre. "I don't ride it much" he said. Some old women watched as we made our way back towards the station with his didgeridoo, guitar and amplifier. His washing would have to stay on the line for another day. 

The Green Mango is a small restaurant that looks like a wooden hut. There were henna drawings on the walls and decorations made from drift wood around the windows. It was a short walk from the station but we needed a cold drink when we got there due to the humidity. Mojo Rising got out his instruments and his bag of tricks and sat there sorting out various leads setting up loops for his performance one by one. The leads were all tangled up or else stored away in old plastic bags. With the arrival of his friends they started experimenting with the mixer. There were some angry squeals as the microphone for the didgeridoo was too close to one of the speakers. The owners closed the windows and turned on the air conditioner. Some school children walked past on their way home. Despite the problem with feedback they needed the speakers where they were for the right balance. Finally they got the right settings, Rei the sitar player did his warm up and tuned his instrument with all its strings and then they jammed, getting into a groove complete with drones and Mojo Rising providing some percussion on one of his loops.

It was time to get ready. Mojo Rising had to be convinced but he finally changed his old t-shirt and put on some more suitable clothes with some bells strapped to his leg. It was a small venue with an even smaller audience. "Maybe ten people will be coming but it would be better if there were twenty" he explained. Omi raised his didgeridoo into the air to begin and then pointed it towards the corners of the room letting the instrument fill the niches and crevices with its ancient sounds. Unfortunately I had another appointment and when I left I had just enough time to get back in time if I hurried.