Interview with Half Japanese

Hello friends, Dee here. I’m happy to once again write an article for the Remove blog, It’s been far too long: Among all bands in the American underground music scene of the 70s-80s none have been quite as unique as Coldwater, Michigan’s own, Half Japanese. They may as well be their own genre. In my opinion, Half Japanese are one of the greatest bands in the universe and should be spoken in the same sentence as The Beatles & Elvis when one discusses all time greatest rock performers. It was a pleasure speaking with Jad & David Fair (very nice guys, might I add), founding members of Half Japanese, check it out.

You are both visual artists, what was some of your favorite things to draw growing up?

David: In first grade I drew a pig with a bowtie. It was made out of circles and triangles. Then I copied drawings from Mad Magazine, then Monsters by Big Daddy Roth.

Jad: I liked to draw dogs and stars. I had a dog named Bess. I liked to do drawings of her.

Whats your earliest musical memory? What got you interested in music?

David: My parents had show-tunes: Music Man, Oklahoma, Guys and Dolls, and Louis Armstrong records. When I was about 8 I started buying my own records. That was Beach Boys and Jan and Dean and stuff we heard on the radio. We had a great radio station in Detroit that played a lot of Motown, and a station in Fort Wayne that played Beatles and everything that everyone wanted to hear.

Jad: We grew up in Michigan and I thought it had some of the best music. I listened to the radio a lot. I was a huge fan of Motown. When I was a bit older my favorite bands were the MC5 and The Stooges.

How was growing up in Michigan? Any favorite memories from that time?

David: I had a lot of great friends and we lived on a lake in the summers. I didn’t care much for school. On my first day of Kindergarten I walked home during recess. We just lived two houses away from the school. I  decided right away that school wasn’t for me. It didn’t stick. I had to go back. My mother walked me there and then the teacher grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me and screamed in my face “Don’t you ever do that again!” That didn’t help me like school any better. But I had fun riding my bike around town and doing anything or nothing with friends. It’s too hard for me to answer questions about favorites because favorites change.

Jad: I bought Fun House when it first came out. It was great having so many great Michigan bands. I was also a big fan of

Question Mark and The Mysterians.

Some of your early songs were inspired by monster movies, what are some of your favorites?

David: I liked all of the Universal Monsters; Frankenstein, Dracula, Wolfman, Mummy, Hunchback, Phantom of the Opera, etc. And then Space monsters and King Kong, Gorgo, Mother, Godzilla. Plus all of the giant insects and Shrinking people. I liked the Blob a lot. It just looked like Silly Putty but it terrified the town.

Jad: Dracula, Frankenstein, The Wolfman.

What was the first concert you saw? Any particular favorite shows you’ve seen?

David: I had friends in local bands that I would see, but the first real concert was the MC5. There is no way to top that unless you start your own band, so that’s what we eventually did.

Jad: My parents took the family to see a Joan Baez concert. I think that would have been the first concert I saw.

When I lived in Maryland I would go to see NRBQ any time they had a show in Maryland or DC. I went to a lot of their shows. I've seen hundreds of bands. NRBQ is the best live band I've seen.

If you could have dinner with anyone, dead or alive, who would they be?

David: I’m sure that would change from day to day. Alexander Calder, Marcel DuChamp, Charlie Chaplin, Relatives who have passed away, Howard Finster, John Prine, Jesse Winchester, Mark Twain, Paul Rhymer, and many many more. I love having lunch with friends that I do have lunch with whenever I can, Bill, Wendy, Rolly, Mark, Jackie, Janise, Chad, Thomas, Jad, Patty, Swab, Cydney, Craig, and way too many more to name. 

Jad: I prefer having dinner with someone that is alive. I always like having dinner with my family. I get along real well with my brothers and my sister.

Whats your all time favorite band?

David: Again, that would be impossible to name just one, so here are a few of the first ones that I think of: The Tinklers, KfriendR, Modern Lovers, Van Morrison, The Band, MC5, Stooges, Kinks, NRBQ, Howlin Wolf, Pogues, Little Richard, Patti Smith Group, Ramones, Buddy Holly, Waits, Prine, James Brown, GTOs, Beefheart, Otis Redding, Sam Cooke, Aretha, New York Dolls, Yo La Tengo, Hendrix Experience, Danielson, GoPillX, Burrito Brothers, Commander Cody, Shangra Las, Stones, so many more. On a certain day any of these could be my favorite.

Jad: NRBQ is my favorite band. I have all of their albums and listen to them a lot.

Anemone

 The first time I ever really checked out the Brian Jonestown Massacre goes back to the first time I played Outer Limits in 2019.  I had only known Brendan for a few months at that point.  But he offered to put a tape out for us on his label Remove Records.  We were playin’ with the Pontiac Stags.  With all five members.  And they did a cover of “Anemone.”  I was on acid that night.  We played a horrible set.  But that cover really reverberated through me.  So in a roundabout way, Brendan’s the one that got me into this mess in the first place.

Fast forward another month.  It’s my twenty-first birthday.  I’m on molly in my kitchen makin’ pizza rolls.  I got a band playin’ upstairs.  And the house is full of a buncha faces that would soon become recognizable to me in the drunken blur of shows to come.  “I pulled up behind a car with a Brian Jonestown Massacre bumper sticker and knew I must be in the right place.”  This guy says to me as he fills a bottle of water.  Hit a joint.  I’ve never met him before.  But he’s supposed to do an acoustic set in my back room under the name Kid Infinity.  After his set he asked if it would be ok if he set his projector up for the other bands to use durin’ their sets.

Fast forward a few years.  Just a few months ago.  Second annual Freaksgivin’ is just gettin’ started at Bowlero.  208 is playin’ near the end of the night.  And I’m coked out.  Makeup runnin’ down my face from sweat.  And frustration at my inability to figure out how to get a fuckin’ DVD player to work.  Forgetting the crucial first step.  Turn it off then back on.  So I pull up Dig! on the laptop and play that through the bowling alley instead of Gimme Gimme Octopus.  “You know they just showed a full cock on the screen right?”  Gabe asks me as he DJs and I speed off to do a bump and help get the first band set.  The goal was to find somethin’ family friendly at the beginning of the night.  But the only movie I could think of that was free on YouTube was the BJM doc.

You can see how the Brian Jonestown Massacre became a bit of a motif in my life.  Appearing as an omen for something beautiful about to begin.  A sign that I’m at the rest place.  And I don’t think anyone idolized Anton the way they did Iggy.  Well…  Maybe Joey.  Everyone has at least one time they remember him putting on Dig! in their presence.  So it made it all very surreal when I checked my phone as my acid was kickin’ in today to a message from Kyle.  “We’re opening for BJM tonight.”

The benefit of workin’ for ultra neo-lib bosses is that they will do whatever the fuck you ask if they think it will help their image.  So I had already gotten some free tickets to BJM.  “Whatch you’re sayin’ is 208 is just the little cherry on top of your trip tonight?”  Will raises his eyebrows at me as we stand outside smokin’ cigs after their set.  Yes.  That’s the best way to put it bud.  208 is the rotten cherry bomb.  Caked in fuzz and drenched in blood and spit.  With a short fuse to send your fractured teeth rattlin’ in your fuckin’ skull as you bite down on the crunch of guitar and drums.

“That’s a huge jump.”  Josh, the bartender I know at the Majestic, says to me as he turns down a shot.  Gotta keep it professional behind the bar when you’re workin’ the Theater apparently.  “I thought it was a typo when I got in and saw the set times.  They’re an above the lanes band.  Not an opener for a show like this.”

It is a huge jump.  I look out my bedroom window to the front lawn I plan on doin’ house shows on this summer.  Again.  Another mess of sludge and dirt that I got rooted into once I met Brendan.  As I smoke a cig.  Thinkin’ this is some crazy delusion caused by the D in LSD.  I can see the spot Kyle first gave me a 208 tape durin’ a show at my house a couple years ago when him and Shelby moved here.  They didn’t say much to me then.  Shit.  We still don’t even say much to each other now.  It’s always hard to have a conversation over the feedback.  The drugs.  And the general lack of social skills we all have that probably brought us together in the first place.  They just thought I might like their band.  They heard about me through some clout chaser whose name won’t even tarnish this fuckin’ beautiful moment.

Now if you were one of the boomer acid casualties in the audience for BJM and saw Kyle doubled over.  Spittin’.  Screamin’.  And bleedin’.  With the mic held between his teeth.  Shelby behind a pair of sunglasses.  Still behind the kit.  But beatin’ the shit outta the toms.  Every bit of chaos distinguishable through a PA of this quality.  If that was your first impression of 208.  You might think the two are unapproachable and terrifyingly cool.  And that last part is still true.  But they are the two most genuine people you could meet.  Quiet.  Tame.  They aren’t there for the party.  They aren’t there to get in with Hala or the false prophet of garage Jack White.  They aren’t even lookin’ for a good anecdote to tell their grandkids when they catch ‘em smokin’ grass.  They are there for the same reason any of us have been there.  Cause that shit makes our tinnitus sound siiiiccckk!!!  Clippin’ just right.  They’re just tryin’ to vibe like the rest of us.  They both are there because they simply enjoy the music.  It just so happens we’ve all become friends along the way.

“Do you ever think of looking into doing something else in the music business?”  My mom asks me that afternoon.  I’m not on acid yet.  208 doesn’t even know they’re openin’ for BJM at this point.  I was just tellin’ my mom about this movie I watched last night.  24 Hour Party People.  The story behind Factory Records and Tony Wilson.  I started tryin’ to summarize it.  But just watch the movie.  It’s good.  All you need to know is Factory Records never really existed.  It was just some words Tony Wilson put on a sleeve so Joy Division could have full creative control of their music.  None of this is about makin’ money.  Or bein’ immortalized in underground, subculture Reddit threads.  It’s about feelin’ the sound guy turn the subs up after Anton bitches at him that there doesn’t need to be that much low end.  Even if it does sound sick.

Even if it does trigger Sean as a sound tech.  That chaos.  That noise.  That feedback, delay, fuzz, reverb.  Six twelve string guitars.  The pretension and desire to be seen and heard.  That audible mess is what makes the constant noise in our brain feel it belongs.

My mom has only smoked weed once in her life.  She took one hit and didn’t like it cause it hurt her throat.  But she loves watchin’ and readin’ about Warhol and the Factory.  About the Beats.  These little cliques of artists that have sprung up time and time again.  I tell her stories of house parties or what happens when an after hours gets raided.  I tell her Dee is workin’ on an interview with Half Japanese for our blog that nobody ever remembers to promote their writing on.  And it’s always “you guys need your own little thing like the beatniks…”  And she doesn’t get it.  We don’t need to be immortalized.  We live our own urban legends in real time.  The shenanigans of doin’ whip-its and makin’ pancakes at three in the morning means just as much as if nobody else ever knew about it.  It wasn’t just Kerouac and Ginsberg ya know?  And it wasn’t just Warhol?  There were vast networks of artists feeding into each other.  Through space and time and the whole damn continuum.  It’s all the same sound wave.  Just ran through a few different pedals.  It’s all the same energy.  Kerouac is Warhol is BJM is 208.

It’s not just one party.  It’s not just one gig.  It’s constant.  The old heads are talkin’ with the up and comin’ scenesters.  Everyone’s there.  All the faces radiate in familiarity in the red lights of the Theater.  Spot a Stool.  A Toehead.  I’ve missed things like this.  A guy collapses face first from a combination of body heat.  Probably a psychedelic of some sort.  And the raw sounds of 208.  These sounds.  These sights.  These vibes.  This community of people that aren’t afraid to admit they have no idea what the fuck is happenin’ anymore.  I’ve missed it.  Goddamn!  I picked the wrong month to finally get off blow.  Although…  A lawyer once told me if you drive on psychs just deny.  They can’t test ya for it.  Addiction is nothin’ more than a habit we form to cope with the burden of bein’ human.  But sometimes the habit we turn into an addiction can be a healthy coping mechanism.  Like sacrificing your hearing in the name of tone.  Or beatin’ the shit outta each other and lobbin’ beer cans at someone’s skull.  These addictions form bonds.  These bonds form community.  And I’ve been too busy turnin’ other habits into addictions.  Somethin’ as visceral as 208 can’t help but make you think.  All that bottled up, raw emotion from the humble duo released into raw sound.  You can’t even call this shit noise rock anymore.  It’s just sound.

Em steps back inside after Kyle spends at least four minutes tearin’ strings from his guitar.  Every bit of noise distinguishable.  Speakers clippin’ just right.  White noise for the deranged.  Head welted from him bangin’ the wood against his skull.  They said last time we played Outer Limits they know good psych when it feels like they’re gonna have a panic attack.  And I know some of the punk purists don’t wanna say noise is psych cause they don’t like hippies or Deadheads.  The guy that talks the most shit about the Dead just had to play an hour set.  And mostly jammed feedback.  At least Jerry played fuckin’ notes man.

Regardless.  Sean says good psych gives the panic attacks a feelin’ of purpose.  Now there’s somethin’ at least to attribute to the general anxiety.  “What was the name of that band?”  An older woman behind us asks.

“208.”

“Ok.  I need to know so I know never to see them again.”

“I’ll tell Kyle and Shelby you said that.”  Don’t worry ma’am.  They’ll take it as a compliment.

I went to see Melvins and Ministry a few days ago with Sarah.  And she described the experience as spiritual.  Well…  That doesn’t nearly compare to the spiritual experience I have everytime I see 208.  Spiritual in the way Kyle supposedly sold his soul to the devil.  It feels like my soul just nutted.  Or maybe that was me puking.  I don’t know.  I drank that PBR too fast.  And I don’t know how Joey got from the stage to the crowd to start a pit so fast.  All I know.  I fuckin’ needed 208 in my life.  It never gets borin’ tryin’ to come up with new and exciting ways to describe the noise.  The midwest, construction bumble of Shelby’s drums.  And the staggering mess of Kyle emerging from a swamp of sound in his Remove Records t-shirt as he throws his guitar in the air and the mic crunches against the floor as it falls from his teeth.  Glob of drool hangin’ from his lip.  I imagine that was how he was walkin’ on the shitty scaffolding when he got vertigo readin’ the text “do you wanna open for BJM tonight?”

I could sit here and describe how mesmerizing Kyle moves on stage.  I could tell you how my head spirals following Shelby’s sticks.  Describe how mind blowing it was to hear them fill a room that size with so much dissonance.  I could tell you how sore my neck is.  Or make jokes about all the BJM fans that couldn’t understand seein’ genius before their very eyes.  But you really just have to be there.  Be here now in the moment to truly understand the ritual of 208.  I let the euphoria of that surreal, beautiful experience exist on its own.  I didn’t buy any blow.  And it’s a lot harder to write comin’ down from acid without it than I thought.  I’m addicted to these people and the way they kill the dreadfully mundane.  I enjoy the moment with the community I feel at home in.  The place where the mess of noise in my head feels it belongs.  BJM has always been a sign I’m in the right place.  If you wanna see the set you’ll have to see Kid Infinity’s footage eventually.  He was on stage filmin’ the whole thing.  All I’ll tell you.  It was fuckin’ sick.  Watchin’ them figure out how to fill an hour set.  I don’t think they’ve ever played longer than twenty minutes.  And the two of them deserve every fuckin’ second of that hour.  Even Shelby cracks a triumphant smile on stage.  The two radiate on stage.  Open in full vulnerable expression like an anemone.  Reminding us all just to relax and enjoy the beautifully surreal chaos this life spirals us through.