mitsume @ ADRIFT

A mini-series of events in Japan.

mitsume really started off as a recommendation from Spotify's algorithm. I can't exactly pinpoint when the band landed on my playlist, but I remember being less than impressed by their sparse sound. In true indie spirit, the band formed in a rented garage, and mitsume have been chugging along for almost a decade now. Characterized by atmospheric soundscapes, squeaky-clean guitar tones, and melancholic lyrics, it was with a deeper dive into their discography that their charm started to grow on me.

It was then, by pure happenstance, during one of my Spotify binge sessions, that I discovered the band was doing a rare tour around Japan. With only three shows scheduled, I had to tweak my whole trip to Japan to fit them in, finally settling for the show in Tokyo. That was how ridiculously enamored I was with this band. Now all I had to do was to get tickets. I reached out to a ticketing proxy and ran straight into complications.

In Japan, it turns out that some artists elect to use a lottery system when selling seats. Whether or not this results in a fairer distribution of tickets for fans remains unknown to me, but all that mattered was I knew this really hurt my chances of catching the band.

Mind you, winning the lottery only offers you the option to buy the ticket, not the ticket itself.

This was going to get expensive.

At this juncture, I had already dropped a small fortune on my Japan trip, with multiple events lined up. What was another few thousand yen? My gambling streak took a choke-hold over me as I wired the lottery fees and allowed destiny to take its course.

A week passed, and the results from the lottery awaited me in my inbox.

"This lottery is 100% rigged," I concluded. I could see my chances to catch mitsume receding at lightspeed. Two more tries and they would disappear into the ether. With zero mention of a lottery schedule anywhere on their website, I decided the best way to get the information was first-hand from the band. Hastily, I penned out an email, attaching a crude translation courtesy of ChatGPT.

To my absolute surprise, I got the most heartwarming reply back in a day.

We were going to mitsume!

I recall being fairly apprehensive on the day of the concert. I couldn't tell if the email exchange I had with Tats would count for anything. The staff there probably had no idea about this strange arrangement. Still, I wagered, I am in Tokyo and ADRIFT was just a short 15-minute train ride away on the Keio line. Even as I boarded the train speeding off to the neighborhood of Shimokitazawa, hoping that Tats would hold up his end of the deal, I thought that simply experiencing the vibes of the place and getting some merch would be a treat.

Possibly the prettiest venue of the lot I visited in Japan, ADRIFT was a concrete monument basking in the orange glow of dusk. This imposing, solitary building was flanked by long, uninterrupted walkways, an uncommon sight in the neighborhoods of Tokyo where space is scarce.

Outside, small clusters of fans slowly gathered, arriving from all different walks of life. The intermittent chatter between them was soon pierced by one man standing at the base of ADRIFT, rattling out what seemed to be queue numbers. One after another, each fan was summoned to enter. They would then creep up anxiously, flashing their tickets to the bouncer before being ushered in.

I was hesitant to interrupt this orderly affair. Clearly, there was a structure here, and in Japan, disrupting this would be social suicide. However, as the crowd began to thin, I decided my best chance at getting my situation sorted was to draft a message in Google Translate and hope that the translation would be passable in Japanese. The incessant numbers paused for a second and I seized the opportunity, approaching the man, explaining my peculiar arrangement. For good measure, I casually name dropped Tats' name and that seemed to have a positive effect.

Instantly, the man recognized Tats' name and signaled for me to wait until everyone else got in. The last few stragglers were just about done, and they too were quickly shuffled in. Finally, I was beckoned forth by the bouncer who curtly asked for 4300 yen, the full price of the show ticket. Prepared, I palmed my crisp notes and coins in his hand was invited right in.

Stepping inside, I couldn't believe how tiny the foyer at ADRIFT was. I refused to believe it was compliant with any form of building code. The cramped interior meant everyone was rubbing shoulders as they went through their pre-show itinerary: booze at the bar, a quick wee and sizing up the merch booth. I squeezed my way through the tide of the tide of people straight to the pit, finding a comfortable spot pressed against a glass panel. Despite being sold out, the show was much more spacious than I anticipated.

I was pleasantly amused when a girl beside me reached the same conclusion about the space as I did, debating whether to join the crowd upfront or lean against the comfortable confines of the glass pane. She paced between her options before ultimately choosing to stay at the back — a wise decision as the show was about to begin.

There was something markedly different about the audience here compared to all the other concerts I've attended. There was a sense of introspective solitude that hung in the atmosphere, one I had not felt at any other show. The band seemed to attract a lot of solitary fans. I say that with good confidence, having journeyed here alone, as my neighbors surrounding me were evidently here on their own as well. Somehow, it felt rather comforting rather than alienating as we were all bubbled up in our own heads, just happy to be here together at a live show. I think there's some nuance in attending a show alone, especially one like this, evoking a visceral, melancholic feeling.

In that moment, it felt like I was part of the community despite having arrived alone.

mitsume themselves, too, seemed to encompass that quality. They came off a little awkward during crowd interaction, with minimal efforts made to rile the crowd up except for a couple of loose quips and remarks on what the next song would be. How poignant it was that a band of such demeanor would draw a fan base of a similar character.

The band's musicianship was anything but awkward, with a stellar performance throughout their 19-song set. Once again, I noted that the Japanese audience seemed to have developed an allergy to earplugs. I couldn't find a single soul with ear protection, but this being my third rodeo, I content to maintain my narrative that they might have somehow invented replaceable ears.

Two hours soon elapsed and the encore was over. I was spat back into the chilly, unforgiving night, illuminated only by the venue's sign. The crowd, just moments ago transfixed by mitsume's performance, were quickly brought back to disappointing reality. Slowly, the audience filtered out, some wandering, some opting to join the queue for the merch booth, now relocated outside.

As I stood deliberating over which shirt to get, I heard my name spoken — in English, no less.

"Are you Addison?"

Startled, I turned around and spotted a strange Japanese man beaming at me.

It was Tats.

Delighted, we briefly chatted about the show, though there wasn't much substance in our conversation. I also handed him my little gift for the band, a token of appreciation for providing the ticket. Tats tried to make it a fair trade, promptly gifting me a tote bag, which was a nice gesture.

With pleasantries exchanged, there was nothing left to do except finally leave. I quickly selected two shirts from the store and departed, the neon ADRIFT sign flickering against the backdrop of the night.