American tour information can be found after the feature.

Joe Yamanaka

Sunday, October 5th, 2008: in an underground bar in Roppongi, the members of The Flower Travellin' Band, having just played the last date of their Japanese "We Are Here" tour, are reminiscing. The show today was in Hibiya Park, in a large outdoor theater that holds a few...interesting memories for the band.

"They were wearing helmets, and had spears" remembers Jun Kobayashi (aka Jhun Kozuki,) bassist for the band. "Joe just..." Kobayashi makes a jab in the air... "and they went down.  I threw my bass cabinet at them." He laughs: "Hideki and Joji just kept playing!"

The Joe in question is Joe Yamanaka, six foot plus vocalist for the band and, unbeknownst to a few sorry souls, an amateur boxer. Kobayashi goes on to explain that, in the band's heyday, they had some issues with helmet wearing, spear carrying protesters who took offense at the band's decision to charge 30 yen for admission. "They thought music should be free."

Jun Kobayashi

Kobayashi and Yamanaka chased the offending chaps, even (accidentally) breaking one's arm. Yamanaka made the ringleader get on stage and apologize to the audience. There, alas, appears to be no footage of the event, although the image of Kobayashi hurling a bass head at some guy in a helmet while Yamanaka flattens others with a single punch is plenty entertaining all by itself.

Fortunately (or not, depending on your fondness  for smackdowns,) the reunion tour is considerably less tumultuous. No mere nostalgia trip, the band has worked a careful balance between the buzzing, sinister sound of their past work and the newer, more intricate material of their reunion album, also titled "We Are Here." While there's no shortage of classic material in the new set (a harrowing "Hiroshima" and a blistering take on "Shadows Of Lost Days" are particular highlights,) the band isn't trying to pretend to be kids: the tour shirts list their individual ages across the front (between 60 and 64, in case you're wondering.)

Hideki Ishima

The tour has gone well. In July, the band played their first show in 35 years in an underground club in Shibuya, running through a short set of mostly new material and riding high on their brand new rebirth. It was their first time playing with stage monitors, and there were a few nerves, but everything was in its right place: Yamanaka can still hit the notes, sitarlist (we'll explain a bit later) Hideki Ishima's riffs still snake their way across the fretboard in unexpected ways, and the rhythm section of Kobayashi and drummer Joji Wada still shy away from cliché while holding it all down. "New" keyboardist Nobuhiko Shinohara (he played on early albums as a session man) jumps right in with Jon Lord-esque heaviness and light touches in equal measure.

Fast forward a few months to the last weekend of September, where the band is playing with fellow subversives Zuno Keisatsu at Kyoto University's Western Auditorium. The time on the road shows: the nerves of the Shibuya show are replaced with a calm assurance that adds gravitas to newer material like "Love Is" and "Over And Over." Yamanaka walks from band member to band member as if he's visiting friends at a cocktail party instead of a performing at a concert: satisfied grin on his face, stopping only to unleash that voice loose in the cavernous hall. It's a brief set (roughly an hour,) but it's potent: the audience is exhausted.

Joji Wada

The following week is the show in Hibiya park. It may not have impromptu boxing matches, but it does have legendary rock guru (and onetime Flower Travellin' Band mastermind) Yuya Uchida. The man is a sight to behold: never anyone's idea of a shrinking violet, the flamboyant Uchida struts and shimmys on stage as if it was his show. After a brief introduction/pep talk (where he celebrates the fact that Flower Travellin' Band's "Satori" snagged the number one recommended album spot in Julian Cope's Japrocksampler,) he welcomes his former charges on stage amidst audience cheers and a smattering of raindrops.

When the opening strains of "Make Up" echo through the amphitheater, it's difficult not to get a little tingly at the history that's being revisited. Hackneyed as the sentiment may be, there genuinely are moments where the band makes the old new again: "Hiroshima" comes off darker and heavier live than even the "Make Up" version (Wada tightening his extended drum solo to a few all too brief minutes.) "Satori," of course, gets the biggest audience response, but it's not simply recognition that propells the uplift.

Nobuhiko Shinohara

Instead of his trusty Les Paul, Ishima plays a thoroughly odd looking instrument called the sitarla, a kind of sitar/guitar cross that suceeds in blending the features of both while not really sounding like either. In his head scarf and dark glasses, Ishima is a stoic, Zen-like figure, his face rarely betraying any emotion or effort as his fingers weave and skip. The snarling guitar line becomes more fluid, sleek and ominous coming from the new instrument, its extra wide fretboard allowing for maximum note bending and sustain. The subtle filigrees become more elaborate and less harsh, leaving the impression that Ishima could do this kind of mind twisting all day and not break a sweat. It's an impressive display.

It's also impressive how well the new, less sinister material sits alongside the band's (almost) uniformly dark back catalog. The songs from "We Are Here" have a kind of laid back, "Low Spark Of High Heeled Boys" era Traffic vibe. The title track in particular runs on a confident, relaxed yet strong mid tempo chassis, allowing Ishima to jump in with tasteful guitar licks that only reveal their oddness upon closer inspection. "The Sleeping Giant (Resurrection)" is unapologetically beautiful, the Kobayashi/Wada rhythm section providing a soft bed for Yamanaka's evocative, gently soaring vocal.

The show's finest moment, however, is "Shadows Of Lost Days" (aka "Woman,") a searing, bitter recrimination that's equal parts Led Zeppelin's "Dazed And Confused" and Otis Redding's "Chained And Bound." Shinohara's keyboards practically ooze doom as Wada and Kobayashi lay down a dark, angry backbeat, pulling back just long enough for Ishima to walk in with a bluesy, bitter solo. As the track swells, dips, and screams like a typhoon, Yamanaka's accusatory vocals stop just sort of losing control, with him falling to his knees in exhaustion once his point's been made. It's the equal of any moment...ANY moment...in rock 'n' roll, a breathless plea for connection in a crushing tidal wave of emotion.

Next comes America, and new challenges: the band plays New York City's legendary Knitting Factory towards the end of November. Reunion shows are notorious for attracting nostalgia hounds, fans who simply want to hear their record collections played back to them, and while FTB doesn't skimp on the past, they clearly have no intention on living in it. It's not known how far this reunion will go: word has it that the band rehearsed 12 songs for the new album, only nine of which made the final cut. Is this one last ride, or the beginning of the next phase? Only time will tell.

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