Atsuo of Boris
Interviewed by
Patrick Rennick
on
4/1/2009
Transcribed by
Patrick Rennick
Photos courtesy of Nicholas Caito & dpFEENEY
Special Thanks to Yuko Takahashi and the UMass Translation Center for interpretation
For a moment he is weightless. Sweat drips from his face and yet he is visibly at peace. Amidst the cheers he is silent; held aloft by outstretched arms, human pillars. This night’s exchange has come to an end. He makes his way back to the stage where he waves to the crowd. The expression on his face suggests a deep gratitude. The concert is over, Boris exits.
Below the Heirloom Arts Theater in Danbury Connecticut a small child gleefully runs around a narrow hallway among the adults. A modest buffet is laid out in the corner. Atsuo sits on a stool as his band mates dig in. His demeanor is relaxed and at the same time intensely contemplative. A tiger-striped shirt gives him the look of a glam rocker or perhaps a trendsetter. His grasp of the English language allows him some understanding but he prefers to speak in Japanese. An interpreter is present to facilitate our conversation.
Boris emerged in the early 90s in Tokyo. Their style is one that is difficult to pinpoint as it has changed numerous times throughout their discography. At times they evoke the crushing heaviness characteristic of the doom movement. Yet, Boris is also capable of channeling stimulating serenity reminiscent of early Pink Floyd. More recently with their latest full-length, Smile, the band has also showcased their talent for crafting catchy rock. Yet, despite all of these different colors and ambitions one thing has remained a constant for the band and that is their respect for mistakes.
“In the beginning we had a sound in our mind,” says Atsuo after a moment of pondering. “And then we started to create an image. Then we tried to realize that image. That was our first process. To realize the image that we had was not exactly that difficult however, I started to become interested in unexpected things that were happening. I was so excited by experiencing these unexpected things and I think that began something."
“It started when I just recorded sounds in the studio and I liked the ambience and atmosphere and everything else and then there was something that I didn’t expect. The ambience and the sound itself changes depending on where I make it and also who I make it with. When I was making these sounds I was really capturing the moment. This was something that was happening only occasionally. It goes and it comes only once. It’s so accidental and something that I cannot just willingly create. I was so thrilled to think that I cannot take control over this perfectly. Making the image, providing the image to the form is sort of like I am making the music that I heard before or somewhere else. But, when I am trying to make something that I didn’t hear before it’s almost like creating the image or the sound long before it becomes the sound or the music itself.”
Atsuo clicks his drumsticks together four times and cries out signaling guitarist Wata to let loose a flurry of notes. Her soloing offers a sharp contrast to her flower-laden silk poncho and reserved stage presence. Together with bassist Takeshi she sings the driving verse of “Statement,” a catchy and forceful hard rock anthem. Songs such as this one exemplify yet another change in direction for the band, a change that some have labeled as “cheesy.” Atsuo acknowledges this.
“We’ve been playing together as a band, as three members, and we have stayed together,” he begins. “We make music and that may be enjoyable, but then we started to get tired of doing it. At this time I started to look at bands of the 80s and 90s and all the Japanese idols, young musicians. They were produced by somebody else and not by themselves. They were also based on influences from western music. Yet, at the same time this was the music we heard for the first time, our “first experience.” That sound is actually something I cannot explain, something that I cannot classify. I found it to be very interesting.”
Perhaps people are drawn to “cheesy music” out of a guilty pleasure? Atsuo doesn’t buy it.
“I don’t think this guilt as an evil thing exists. For example if there is something that people think is cool it is actually not cool anymore. So, in terms of expression you have to create new things. When people have noticed something and become aware of it, it is always old so you have to create new things. So basically I want my music to make me feel good all the time and I want to share the image and the sound that makes me feel good. I want to share that with my audience and my band.”
The openers for the evening share some traits with Boris. Brooklyn’s Growing seeks out ambience and atmosphere through an experimental noise approach. Boston’s Clouds call forth a punk-fueled intensity. Yet, peppered throughout the audience are a handful of death metal t-shirts.
“Looking at things in a larger perspective I think the western metal scene is more absent in Japan,” reflects Atsuo. “Many people in the Japanese scene have come to think skillful musicians deserve more respect. We don’t have any skills. In the U.S. fans of metal are not as interested in skillful music. They are looking for more than skills, an ambience, that’s how the western metal scene has developed to this point. Because of that, I think western metal fans would value our music. It was not our intention to become a metal band. We started in the big genre of rock but I don’t even regard ourselves as a rock band anymore. The western metal fans found us because of their development but the Japanese metal scene doesn’t really worry about us.”
Atsuo carefully listens to each question and thinks deeply before he answers. Even with a skilled interpreter it is apparent that some meaning will be lost. As he considers a question regarding the album, Altar, a collaboration between Boris and an American band, Sunn O))) he illuminates his views on the nature of communication.
“Basically, I don’t trust language or words,” he says. When you think we understand each other, perhaps there is no understanding. So, I think the language barrier we had and the fact that we didn’t understand each other literally was good actually. We thought of each other and tried to create something that we would both find interesting. If we had been able to communicate verbally, maybe our creation would have been boring. When we collaborate with people outside of Japan it is actually good to not be able to communicate verbally because when you come to a point where you think that you understand each other that stops the level of communication. Not communicating verbally is good. In my understanding the word communication actually implies not being able to understand each other.”
Atsuo’s statement speaks to the very heart of music, a sonic form of expression, a language in and of itself. The audience tonight is no doubt largely English-speaking. Yet, as Wata sings the calming Japanese verses of “Rainbow” and guest guitarist Michio Kurihara explodes into a beautifully dissonant solo, literal language becomes an afterthought. There is an understanding achieved by all involved in this shared experience that transcends any kind of language barrier.
The story of Boris is one of success against many odds. To become well-known and respected in a foreign country while remaining largely ignored within one’s own is no small feat, especially for a Japanese band as Atsuo explains.
“Well at this point I cannot manage another job,” he says. “I think we can manage ourselves financially, but it is difficult especially in Japan where lifetime employment is the norm. People here take much longer vacations, which is both incredible and unbelievable to me. For Japanese bands who tour, getting out of the country is actually very difficult to do. For example if you need two weeks of vacation from your job to go out on tour you would have to quit the job, go out for the tour, come back, and find a new job. So, many Japanese bands have a difficult time of it. Luckily for us we can manage ourselves doing music. I just feel we are lucky.”
This luck or perhaps merely hard work recently helped to catch the attention of Trent Reznor and landed the band on the same bill as long-standing industrial rockers Nine Inch Nails.
“They have 7 tour vans and 12 buses, they have stages, PA’s, and they carry all of it around on the tour,” Atsuo recalls. “They are very different from us. It almost makes what we are doing have no meaning, touring with them was a very serious thing for us. We are friends but Trent [Reznor], he is a person who is going to try and be responsible by himself. I also thought he was trying to take the whole burden and be responsible for everything in the world himself. We are different but at the same time I empathize with that. We are also trying to be responsible, to shoulder the world ourselves.”
Atsuo pauses to reflect on the nature of this responsibility before he offers his perspective on what it means to be a musician.
“Creating something is actually accepting a reflection of that creation on the world,” he begins. “So that is what I mean when I say we are being responsible… Recording and touring are totally different things. Recording is creating something and then putting pressure to the world. Touring then is sort of like you are being responsible for the reactions of the world. Even if I say, “taking responsibility,” it doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy it. Because of those two acts, those two perspectives, touring and recording, I can manage to continue putting in effort and continue with the band.”
Boris launches into the last track from Smile, an untitled slowly building 15-minute plus behemoth. Waves of chords wash over the crowd as Takeshi’s haunting vocals fade in and out. Atsuo stands, striking a traditional gong in time with this massive yet soothing musical flood. His eyes are closed, almost in meditation. The waves of sustained chords begin to slow and gradually dissipate. A brief moment of silence hangs in the air before the roar of the crowd. Atsuo smiles, leaping into them and for a moment he is weightless.