Panta (l) and Toshi (r)

"Tired?"

"No! Refreshed!"

Despite the sweat soaked shirt and the slightly hoarse voice, Toshi does indeed look energized. He's just finished a two hour plus set with Zuno Keisatsu, i.e. Brain Police, the band he formed with vocalist/activist/songwriter Panta nearly 40 years ago. The set went well: everyone relaxes in the graffiti covered backstage of Osaka's Club Quattro, nursing beers and basking in the afterglow. Two young idoru stand shyly in the doorway, waiting to meet the band, a band whose members have performed the exceedingly difficult task of being both underground icons and major figures in Japanese rock for four decades.

Zuno Keisatsu's last studio album ("Song Of Joy") was in 1991, and since then, the band has been on extended hiatus, with Panta tending to a solo career and Toshi beating the skins for Cinorama and Vajra. They reintroduced themselves this past June with the release of their first single in 17 years: "Jidai wa Circus no Zou ni Notte," (The Era Rides in on the Back of a Circus Elephant,") a mid tempo, world weary rocker based on the poetry of Tenjo Sajiki mainman Shuji Terayama. The band is playing a handful of shows to herald its arrival, and to prime audiences for the upcoming ninth Zuno Keisatsu album, also based on Terayama's poetry.

That's the background. Flashback to the beginning: the lights go dim, smoke rolls from the stage, and the trippy strains of Frank Zappa's "Who Are The Brain Police" fills the club. The audience is jacked: shouts of "Panta!" greet the band as they emerge from the mist, one by one. Panta looks a bit intimidating, covered in a black hood and seemingly glaring from behind dark glasses. The look matches the music: where most bands would start to get a little soft around the edges when finishing up their fourth decade, Zuno Keisatsu seems disinterested in nostalgia or playing nice. Panta's voice has gotten rougher and more expressive with age, and Toshi pounds away at his bongos with the energy of a man half his age, even occasionally launching from his seat like a rocket. Solid backing band notwithstanding (featuring members of such bands as Lindbergh, Otakebi and Panta's 80s outfit HAL,) it's clearly Panta and Toshi's band: the two feed off each other's energy without so much as a glance. Even thoroughly bizarre fare like the disorienting "あなた方の心の中に黒く色どられていない処があったら" comes through with so much force it's easy to miss it's constant changes and gear shifts (translation is problematic, but it's something along the lines of "Your Heart Is Black...")

Toshi, in a rare still moment

The band might not be trying to recapture the past, but that doesn't mean they can't stop by for a visit: "Quiet Riot," "Get Out From History," and the pained ballad "Goodbye To Mrs. World," (from the second album,) even Panta's solo track "R•E•D" all make an appearance. The final song of the evening, "万物流転" is changed from an almost sea chantey to a full band workout, still keeping its bittersweet tinge intact (the title is a Japanese proverb that loosely translates as: all things are in a state of flux.) But the standout is "Mustapha In July" (from Panta's "Under The Olive Tree,") a dark, driving piece that practically oozes menace.

We'll get back to that.

The next day the band and crew, with the inevitable bleary eyed resignation that comes with touring, stand around in the lobby of a Kyoto hotel. Gear is piled under a net next to the counter, and occasionally people step outside to smoke, waiting for check-in time. The Flower Travellin' Band is waiting for check-in as well, FTB axeman Hideki Ishima regaling everyone with stories of how brazenly "No Smoking" signs were ignored in Canada.

Panta, holding John Wayne's gun

Finally, everyone has their rooms, and we pile into Panta's mini van. As he tries in vain to get the annoyingly complicated GPS system to cooperate, it's difficult to ignore the fact we're all being filmed. Turns out there's a documentary in the works, although no one seems 100% sure just what form it will take. DVD? Feature? Who knows, but finally the navigation system gets straightened out, and we start winding through through Kyoto's beautiful but narrow side streets.

Panta reaches down and plucks a CD of the soundtrack for "Hair." If that seems like an odd choice for a modern rock star, you don't know Japanese rock history: "Hair" was a massive happening in Tokyo, representing not only the rebellion of the 60s which young Japanese were celebrating right along with everyone else, but, from the cast and crew, a meeting of minds from some the most important bands in contemporary Japanese rock (Flower Travellin' Band's Joe Yamanaka among them.) It certainly didn't hurt its credibility when it was shut down by a police raid that found a small amount of marijuana (although the nudity might have been what initially ruffled feathers.)

We stop briefly at an out of the way café to pick up a friend, and head to a museum outside Kyoto proper, a seriously strange place that goes by the name of "Super Museum Time Machine." For a place that's essentially in the middle of nowhere, it's suprisingly impressive: such rarities as Bruce Lee's opium pipe (really) and George Harrison's acoustic guitar sit next to artifacts like 18th century paintings and a Stradivarius. But it's the two acoustic guitars once owned by Elvis Presley that astounds: Panta spontaneously drops to his knees in amazement.

The time off is necessary: the next day, both Zuno Keisatsu and Flower Travellin' Band will play Kyoto University's Western Auditorium, a huge ramshackle building that's more than a place to have a concert: in the late 60s and early 70s, it was THE place for the radical left to meet, Zuno Keisatsu being one of the most notorious symbols of the movement.

It seems like a safe guess that the place hasn't changed much over the years: run down, overgrown with weeds and littered with junked out old cars, covered with murals and hastily painted designs, both inside the hall and out. It looks like a hippie commune had somehow managed to squat in the middle of one of Japan's biggest universities. One fellow traveler explains that the place got a new roof in the mid 80s after the students burned all the chairs in an attempt to combat one particularly cold winter. A hand painted sign informs us that there are four bands on the bill: Zuno Keisatsu, Flower Travellin' Band, Pink Floyd cover band Brain Damage, and Anti-Spectacle, a decent but bewilderingly inappropriate thrash metal band.

As the sun starts sinking, Zuno Keisatsu take the stage. They've only got an hour this time around, and they make the most of it: the pleasant vibe and easy rapport of the Osaka show is replaced with a significant boost in energy. The softer songs get the boot, instead replaced with anthemic fist raisers as "Flight (Under The Fluttering Flag)" from "Song Of Joy." "R•E•D" and "Flying From History" also make appearances, and the band wastes no time on between song banter, opting instead to just rip their way from one song to the next.

It's in this environment...big, run down meeting hall, gigantic amplifiers, revolutionaries both old and young, that Zuno Keisatsu seems most comfortable. Panta and Toshi are positively on fire, shouting as often as they're singing, goading the audience on, oozing sweat and effort. "Mustapha In July" is again a highlight, all virulent rage and clear eyed force. One hour, in and out, half the time of Osaka, twice the energy.

After the show, it's off to an izakaya, and there's a surprise: it's Zuno Keisatsu manager Mori-san's birthday. Drinks are passed around, pictures are taken, old friends catch up on the last thirty-plus years. It's a bit of a disconnect to speak with Panta and Toshi after seeing them as Zuno Keisatsu: the rage and fire is replaced with warm smiles and laughter. For two guys who got famous by angrily preaching revolution, they're awfully charming.

The conversation, unsurprisingly, turns to politics. Explaining the song "Mustapha In July," Panta tells the story of Mustapha Hussein, Saddam's grandson who (legend has it) fought off US troops single handedly during an attack on a compound in Mosul. "Set aside the war. Set aside Bush. Set aside the debates" Panta says. "Think: what makes a 14 year old boy fight like that? Why not surrender? What motivates him?"

Panta's heavily political lyrics, while essential to Zuno Keisatsu's appeal for Japanese listeners, are all but indecipherable to the majority of non-Japanese listeners. But his explanation of "Mustapha In July" holds an important key to understanding where the man is coming from: over the years, it's become more about a deep fascination with human nature, an ultimate acceptance of the flaws of mankind, even as it remains vital to fight for what's right. "Mustapha In July" isn't about policy: it's about psychology. It's about what makes people tick in unreal situations.

Everyone stops to think this over, but it's time: the restaurant is closing. Time for everyone to catch their cabs and make their way to their hotels: Flower Travellin' Band's tour will take them to Osaka in the morning.

What about America? What about the West in general? Interest in Japanese rock has experienced a clear upswing in the past year, with blog culture digging up lost gems, and Julian Cope's Japrocksampler making the expected waves (Zuno Keisatsu and Flower Travellin' Band both playing key roles in the narrative.) Western audiences obviously can't feel the full force of the blend of Panta's lyrics and music, but as a band, they know how to catch fire in ways that transcend language.

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