Polysics - Live - Chicago 11/09/08

Look. I'm old. Well OK, getting old. With ever increasing frequency, I find myself eschewing the outside world in favor of getting all my entertainments through a series of tubes, intravenously pumping directly into my system while I sit firmly planted in my ass-groove. Perfectly temperature controlled, no smoking, free drinks and no sweaty dudes. Well, no uninvited sweaty dudes, at least. It takes a lot to pry me from my hikikomori revelry. Something that can break through my dread for human contact and foreign lands.

I drove 1000 miles, through three states, emptying my pitiful bank account in the process, all to see a band from Japan play in a small club on the outskirts of Chicago for about an hour. That's not hyperbole, that's fact. Actually, I've done it twice now, and I'll probably do it again, because...

I love Polysics.


[Note: Top photo by me, all the rest by AceofClub5, originally posted and used with permission by Japantor.com. Check out the full post for many more incredible Polysics photos!]

I'll spare you the boring details of our (I dragged my [admittedly willing] wife along with me) oh-so bland trip through Minnesota, Wisconsin and Illinois. Suffice it to say that it was flat, tan and full of many ideal places that one could bury all sorts of bloody deeds. Not that I was making plans or anything.

We made it to the Abbey Pub right on time. As someone who always expects everything that can go wrong to most certainly follow though, if not twice or three times, I was very happy to find our names were indeed on the guest list as promised, thanks to my peoples at Sony and MySpace. (Kisses!) Of course, I did have to guide the ticket dude's eyes to our name, writ large on the left of the list, after his own attempts failed...repeatedly. This is what novelists call “foreshadowing.” Are you taking notes?



We had just enough time to spend all kinds of money on t-shirts, sweatbands and buttons, all handed to us by Hiroyuki Hayashi, front man and Polysics mastermind, himself. Having met and talked to him on their last trip though Milwaukee, I was all cool and calm and totally didn't get my geek juice all over him. I knew that the band always took time after their show to come back out and talk to fans, signing everything shoved under their noses (this is not a metaphor, but in fact an accurate description of their height ratio to us comically tall Anglos,) and posing for blurry cell phone pics. Plus, I wanted to talk to the entire band, and didn't want to burn Hiro out with too much ZB time. I'd just wait around afterward, kidnap them all, toss 'em in our trunk, then hug them and squeeze them and call them George forever. This is what literary-types call the reiteration of the hero's tragic delusion of grandeur.

We found a place to sit, drink some Windex, and silently heckle the two opening bands via text messages and whispered snickers. Both bands had their high points, most notably in the area of not blatantly punching us in the groin or killing puppies, but also did have their share of faults. Since I wish to keep this light, positive and to-the-point (too late!) I'll just say that I won't mind never hearing either of them again. It's a win-win, really.



One of the ample cool things about Polysics is that even their set-up music is great. They played all sorts of great stuff from the '80s and '90s, like Yellow Magic Orchestra, Devo, The B-52s, Ah-Ha (the crowd participation on this one was something special,) even “Thieves” by Ministry, a very present surprise. During all of this, once again, the band themselves was setting up their gear. Much like last time, this sort of blew me away. Here's a band that plays to tens of thousands in Japan, yet here they are schlepping their gear around in front of everyone. Both cute and sad at the same time.

Eventually they cleared the stage. I should mention that by now the Abbey was just about packed. Not like sardines in a crushed tin box by any means, but presently full with room to move around. It was obvious that just about everyone was here for Polysics, the band that was opening their last MySpace sponsored tour and was now the headliner. A lesson learned? Hey, anything is possible.



It wasn't long before they were re-introduced to, as they say, thunderous applause and much rejoicing. It is at that point that the rest of the night becomes something of a blur. You see, while I may be more at home, well, at home, surveying all the lay before me with critical and general off handed scorn, when I get into certain situations I go sort of crazy. Not clinically so, and not obnoxiously so, but I do “move” and “jump around” and “flail around like a totally un-cool, not to mention awkward, scarecrow with his ass on fire.” I remember they opened with “Buggy Techinica,” played crowd favorites like “Rocket,” “I My Me Mine” and “Baby BIAS.” I remember Hiro sticking his ass out into the audience several times, the final time running back a bit, rubbing the offended area with what looked like at least a little concern for its well being. I remember Kayo, the keyboard player, doing her (I must admit, rather Nazi-like) salute, later jumping around with pom-poms and playing a for-real recorder. I remember Fumi, on bass, playing like a rock, nay, a mountain. I remember thinking that Yano need to get one of those insane drum risers like Tommy Lee had. You know, the one that elevated, motored out over the crowd, then turned upside down, all while he was pretending to know how to play the drums? I simply couldn't see Yano the entire night. Even being one of the taller members of the crowd, he was just too too wee for me to see. Nevertheless, he was the pulsing heart at the center of Fumi's mountain of bass.

The band, in a word, slayed. Not only do they have some very complex tunes for, essentially, a poppy new-wave band, but live they tend to wear their metal roots on their sleeve. They are heavy, loud, fast and inhumanly precise. Hiro never once stopd moving, jerking bank 'n' forth like a man possessed by gods of lightening, and must release that magical blue fire through his voice and his guitar and his feet. The band behind him worked in telepathic unity, obviously honed through relentless touring and pure-bred dedication to their cause. When they busted out “We Ate the Machine,” they transformed into a four headed heavy-metal dragon, Yano breathing fire with his double bass rush, Fumi and Hiro giving themselves long-term brain damage through some of the most fully rotational head banging I've ever seen (and I've listened to Slayer for a very long time). Their cover of “My Sharona” saw them back in pure new-wave form, ice cold and robotic. “Baby BIAS” turned the room into a rave. “Electric Surfin' Go Go” ended the show with the best of all worlds, rock, pop, new-wave and simple feel-good fun.

Through it all, the crowd was a mix of slack-jawed onlookers, curious bystanders slowly finding themselves won over by the jump-suited band, and furiously devoted maniacs shouting along with as much Engrish as they could. While I could have done without the one guy shouting “su-geeeeeiii!” behind me all night and the other guy in front of me who had either just run away from home or was smuggling a team of midget jugglers in his backpack, the crowd was otherwise stellar. There wasn't a single cigarette butt crammed into my eye, no couple copulating on my leg, even “Too Tall” Jones the man-bear-pig stayed at home. It was very nearly the perfect crowd, with the perfect crowd being, of course, no crowd at all.



Afterward the crowd dispersed almost immediately. It was sort of shocking. Yet I knew better. I knew that if we waited around for awhile that the band would slowly creep out and we dedicated true-believers would have a few all-too-brief moments to chat them up and have them write cute things on our stuff. I had big plans. Not only did I have their new album ready to go, but I had also brought Kayo's solo album. Last time I had impressed them with four Polysics edition Mr. Monster figures. I wouldn't be able to top that, but I figured I'd get some sort of adorable reaction from my favorite keyboard player whenI whipped it out. The CD! You perverts...

Suddenly, mister I Can't Read More Than One Letter At A Time ticket dude and his friend Slightly Bigger Lunkhead started braying something about everyone having to get the hell out. Now, I don't doubt that these two princesses were worried about turning back into pumpkins before they could get back home to their step-sisters, but this struck me as odd. I had even asked the merch babe and Hiro himself if they were coming out later for autographs, and they both said yes. We resisted for a bit, wandering back over the the merch table, pretending to browse, but Dee and Dumb were rather insistent. Being the bold man full of backbone and black stuff with a wife made of hardened steel, we naturally stood our ground, taunting the size of their man parts and pointing out the dubious state of their lineage. No, of course we just left.

That's it. That's my tale. Anti-climactic? Yes, but it wasn't what I had (only potentially, in my fevered imagination) lost that I found myself dwelling on (after a couple hours of bring really depressed about it.) It was what I had gained, what I had just experienced that I came back to. I had just seen my favorite band in the world deliver a performance worthy of the Tokyo Dome, of Wembley, of Times Square. They did it all full of passion and energy, never once missing a beat or relenting one iota. This was what I drove 1000 miles for. Hopefully, next time they will be able to visit a bit closer to my icy confines, but if not, I'd do it all over and over and over again.

I My Me Mine


Electric Surfin' Go Go


Pretty Good


Rocket


Coelakanth Is Android


Baby BIAS