Tokyo Undone

Chapter 2: The Club, Shibuya, Mason Noise- Loco

The welcome sound of thumping bass rolled over Seta's body. Finally, she was home. Her eyes roamed over the dance floor, then to the elevated DJ booth. A Japanese guy sporting corn-rows and an army jacket was spinning. She turned her attention back to the floor. It wasn't packed out. Yet. Just as she liked it. It would give her an hour or so of dancing in free space before the fashionably late crowd rocked up.

The magic of clubbing in Tokyo never got old. The unproblematic, laid back crowds handled their drinks well. They stood out amongst the 9-9 office workers, the creative types Seta sought out in her down-time. Depending on the venue, guys would cautiously approach, sensing when to back off.

There had been nights, mid-week, when she'd walked out of a club without having spoken to a single soul other than the check-in staff and bartenders. Not being approached was a source of pride. She was a master of her universe, in control of her own space and time.

It was an April month when she'd first arrived in Tokyo. A week later, she'd rocked up to her first Hip Hop club in Shibuya. She'd spotted the DJ immediately. His long hair, covered up in a beanie, and his effortless street style had caught her eye just as much as his good looks and laid-back, cool vibes. She'd groaned at the cliche. DJ dating a clubber. But their chemistry was palpable. His razor sharp features cut as if under the chisel of a French sculptor. A permanent scent of incense wafting from him. Almost like he spent his days working at a religious temple, moonlighting as a DJ at nights. She'd been transfixed the entire night, wondering how she had spent so many years missing out on a city ablaze with such beauty.

By the first week of May, he'd taken her to the only private party she'd ever attended in Roppongi district. He was hosting an event, giving a special password to the bouncer to gain entry. Behind the thick metal doors they were greeted by a small gathering of his friends and acquaintances. Being the only foreigner in the room, she felt euphoric to be included in such a tight knit, private gathering.

They'd met up a few times, an every once-in-a-while thing, their connection never really taking off. He spoke basic English, she no Japanese. She'd cart around a Kodansha Romaji Japanese-English dictionary to carry a conversation with him. The familiar red and white cover her safety net in a city where her voice was mostly silent. It was a physical attraction, pure and simple, a struggle to fully blossom into something deep.

Still, now, she remembered him as the first man who'd turned her head in the Tokyo underground. His name never far from recollect. Tetsuya with the sharp eyes and razor slashed cheekbones. An occasional blunt between his lips.

Unusually, tonight, Seta had felt like the vibe of 'Harlem' in Shibuya. It was out of character from the regular jaunts she frequented. Bit larger. More commercial. A now and again setting to experience a different crowd. Her aim this p.m. to shrug off the office moroseness which was fast beginning to suck out her Seta-ness and to reconnect with her free-spirited nature. She had come dressed the part, too.

This was definitely not the kind of place where the boys kept themselves to themselves. Amazingly, it happened more often than not in Tokyo. She'd sussed out the different crowds fairly quickly. It all depended on the music genre, venue, day...location, too.

If it was electronic music, at Club Aoyama Hachi, on any night in Shibuya...she could walk in and out as if it was a private party for one. From the outside the building looked like a creaky townhouse covering four floors of tiny, dingy, dance space. It had a distinct, underground, house party feel. Everyone seemed to know everyone else. At one point, it must have been a derelict building, possibly a residential property or office space. For good measure it overlooked the 246 highway. As a club venue, it couldn't get any better location wise. Complaints from residents in the area? A non-issue. Who would ever dare raise an objection to bass music blaring from the literal doorstep of an 123 kilometer highway? The club owners and their investors must have rubbed their hands with glee when scouring for suitable locations.