"Favorite Song"

In my excitement to reach out and grab hold of this lifeline - the first hint of anything resembling what I came to Japan for - I abandon my untouched beer and slither along the wall to get further forward. To try and at least be parallel with a kindred spirit.

The people I brush past give me looks of incredulity melting into confusion. That’s what the impoliteness of moving around this much during a gig, and then looking like I do in this day and age, will get you.

I didn’t negotiate any time at the front of the venue with the great divider after all.

From my new vantage, I notice something off about his dancing.

I can’t work it out exactly, like it’s slightly out of time with the beat.

The penultimate track is announced, and he continues to gyrate without music. The song begins, and his movement doesn’t change to match the new rhythm.

Is he drunk?

Must be hammered to be that off beat.

A flash from the light show illuminates something between the strands of his crimson pitch hair.

At first, I thought it was just a tragus or daith piercing, but as I wait for the next loop of the lights, I realise he’s wearing earbuds.

What the hell?

Is he using them as ear plugs to dampen the volume? Like a noise-cancelling effect to reduce hearing damage?

I don’t know… something keeps eating at me about it.

As I’m slipping across the dance floor, apologising every step of the way to the people in front and behind, it comes to me. His dancing, so out of time, not stopping when the band does… he’s listening to his own music!

What is this mad lad doing?!.

Is he having a DIY silent disco?

Coming to a live to enjoy the atmosphere, but ignoring the band, pumping whatever he wants into his head at a higher volume!!!

I need to be this guy’s friend!

He’s crazy, but my kind of crazy… maybe. Unless he’s the bad kind of crazy, then I’ll make polite excuses and goodbyes and just leave. At full speed… and not look back.

Bolstered on by the sheer gall of someone listening to headphones during a concert - dressed in archaic gothic visual kei and surrounded by unsuspecting regulars - I close the gap between us. He does not belong in this society, and neither do I.

Nails that will get hammered down all too soon.

Within feet, I am brought to a halt.

The song ends.

There is a moment of peace and calm as the lights go up, everything is bathed in silvery brightness.

His face is porcelain.

Fine features, highlighted only by thin black lining, with smears and splatters of red.

Fake blood from a non-busted lip and streaming nose glistening like garnets.

He really put effort into the guro part of his outfit.

On closer inspection, he is so slim, that I get why he didn’t need to go ham on the ero side. It really works with how androgynous he is. Like some darkly gothic Zaggy Starburst or the Hellsong vampire… still trapped in his dungeon, bound in a straight jacket, awaiting blood for the first time in decades. My brother probably shouldn't have shown me that so young...

The movement of his lips come into sharp relief as the final song kicks off.

He and the band are singing as one, but different words form before my eyes to those that reach my ears.

He’s not singing along.

He’s singing his own song.

The shape of words form in my mind as if I can read lips for the first time in my life.

So natural, familiar, almost automated, the phonemes are to my own mouth.

Over the lyrics of the vocalist on stage, as if telepathically linked, I can hear his singing only.

He’s singing something engrained in my soul.

Something that has comforted me for nearly 15 years.

Something I’ve listened to thousands of times.

Something I would still hear even if I became deaf.

He’s singing my favourite song.

My hand is reaching out before I can stop it.

He’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.

This is fate.

The thought pins my arm mid-air.

He’s my soulmate, isn’t he…

I watch him dance, for what I know in my bones are the final bars of the most important piece of music in the world to me.

There’s grace in his gracelessness.

Rhythm to his arrhythmic movement.

The band finishes their set.

The break before the final part of the night begins.

Noting stares from the crowd around us - his silent disco seemingly coming to an end - I tap him on the shoulder, and he coolly turns to face me. Doesn’t even remove an ear bud.

God, he is so awesome.

I wish I had his confidence.

At first, words stick in my throat. My mouth dry from being agape so long.

I swallow dust a few times, until my tongue no longer creaks, and my voice finds its feet again.

The words flow…

“Hey, so… WOW! Look at you! You’re dressed amazing! What brand is this? Did you make it yourself? If it’s vintage, please say it’s H.naruto, they’re my absolute favourite! Y’know, I couldn’t help but notice…”

…sentences, paragraphs, essays, novels of them…

“…and if you’ve got the time after this, could I take you for a drink somewhere? I’m not trying to hit in you, just, I need someone to talk to about this kinda stuff… heh, you get me, right? Anyway, if not tonight, could I get your number, or socials, and we meet up some other time? My name’s Tai, by the way, what’s yours? Nice to meet…”

…I gush at how overwhelming it is for me to find someone that matches me on so many levels…

“…I mean, we’re both dressed like we’ve walked out of the pages of a twenty-year-old album cover or something, and we evidently love the same music and styles! Did you seriously come to a live to have a silent disco by yourself? That’s so cool, man! It’s destiny that we met here, at this venue, after the day of mourning I’ve had at all the lost brands across the city. That last song you sang is special to me, I love…”

Without a word, he bolts from the venue.

Lost in my ever mounting excitement and enthusiasm, for having felt the first bit of kinship in years around this stuff, I didn’t realise the crack in his mask.

He throws down a ticket at the door and collects a beautiful EGA coat from the cloakroom in one fell swoop.

His final expression of terror, like a deer in headlights, burned into my retinas.

I totally screwed up.

I’m so stunned that it takes a solid minute for me to process what has happened, him having long disappeared from LOAF.

I take a step, intending to chase after him, but feel an odd texture under my boot. Looking down, I see something black and chrome peeking out from under the arch of my foot.

“A cuff?”

What looks like a leather strap with studs and chains lays limply on the floor.

I pick it up, it’s clearly one of his accessories.

It’s not mine, I wasn’t wearing any today. I just went with a fitted shirt and pants with straps and choker. Gotta dress for the weather and all the walking.

Didn’t even intend to go to a gig after all.

I check with the staff whether they know him, but no one has any idea about a regular who comes dressed in visuel kei.

Have I got some kind of gothic Cinderella scenario going on?

Do I need to go round every live-house and see if the cuff fits the wrist of every particularly long haired and slender guy?

Dejected, I find my still full beer, and sip it through the final set. The juxtaposition of their Number Boy inspired indie rock and my dashed hopes is a sour combination.

“I made a promise.”

As soon as they’re done, I slump home.

Filling my remaining summer days with online searches for the surviving brands, bands, and venues I came to see. Only making myself more depressed at how many have gone under over the years.

My childhood dreams slowly churning into flotsam with each passing day’s research.

The beginning of university looming ominously all the while.

I make no headway in my search for the guy at the gig either. Not even stalking social media turns anything up, trawling through live-house pages to see if photographers have caught him in the background, hoping that someone has tagged him as an attendee.

The last lifeboat disappearing over the horizon into the rising sun.

Gone the way of all good things…