Comme À La Radio
Brigitte Fontaine
Comme À La Radio
Photography by Ned Burgess
Saravah 1969
Unlike many other punk records, it was in my house before I knew it. It was in the mid-1970s, and I was still a high school student in a provincial city in Japan, when spontaneous was the key word for collective improvisation. Lester Bowie and Wadada Leo Smith were playing the same melody in a shifting fashion. The female singer’s voice stood perpendicular to the time axis. All the participants were standing on the same plane, independent of each other. So, when I came to Tokyo, I was armed with Comme À La Radio.
At the Minor venue in Kichijoji, Tokyo, the Kinnick School which emerged after Socrates in the free jazz had been gone, gathered from all over Japan. Many Diogeneses were there. I was often criticised that my performance at the improvisation sessions had become music in a negative sense. In the aftermath of the punk boom, independent productions of free music, which had never seen the light of day before, were occurring simultaneously in Sheffield, Akron, Ohio and other parts of the world. Songs were allowed to occur only as incidents in the field of collective improvisation.
Around that time, when I was doing an in-store live performance with a band called Worst Noise at an import record store called Gobangai, which means 5th Avenue, in Shimokitazawa, Tokyo, I saw a girl enter. I immediately took Comme À La Radio to the store counter and asked a clerk to play it. Sure enough, the girl said, “This is Brigitte. I like it, too.” My plan worked, and the next time I met her at one of Tokyo Rockers gigs at a live music club near the US military base in Fussa, we were talking about starting a band. We had Fontaine’s “L’Ete L’Ete” and Janis Joplin’s “Summer Time” anyway. And we needed to have our own summer.
In 1978, the critic and promoter Aquirax Aida, who wrote the sleevenotes for the Japanese edition of Comme À La Radio, died, and I heard that his family put that LP in his coffin. Like the anecdote of Buddha’s Palm in the famous Chinese text Journey To The West, Aida was unable to get out of the palm of Comme À La Radio after all. Every man rushes through his rock history, but his être is subsumed under Comme À La Radio. It is not about putting Comme À La Radio in his coffin. It is about putting the corpse of the man in the coffin of Comme À La Radio.
Tori Kudo
The blurred image of a thin faced woman.
A blue purplish haze of nowhere. It was a cold winter and I was pregnant.
I took a long train ride to where Tori was playing a guitar.
It’s the area called Sanya in northern Tokyo, then home to lots of homeless people.
It’s not a home, but there are cheap hotels where they can stay if they have a day’s wage. In winter they were out of jobs and they slept in a park, and that’s where Tori and his friends were. As I walked to the park some guys greeted me kindly, a sense of loose bond among us. I could hear a guitar sound, and Tori and his allies were also burning a fire inside the park to cook for them. I could not go inside as the park was surrounded by armed police. There were many of them, in two folds around the park.
“Il fait froid dans le monde”.
That lyric lingered in my mind in these days. I was roaming alone at night in Shinjuku aware of lots of homeless people sleeping inside tube passages.
“I can’t be happy if there’s one starving child in the world.” I thought these were Simone Weil’s words, but can’t find them anywhere. But I felt a bit the same. My obsession was to destroy myself, away from home, betraying my mum and dad.
I didn’t think about my future, but I wanted a future for my baby. It was at that moment when I saw armed people in that tense atmosphere. I realised that power is useless. Those who take up the sword will perish with the sword. My mum was betrayed too, lost her mother and a dear sister at the moment the atomic bomb exploded. No repeating, no.
I had to survive. I had to find a home, I had to find someone to deliver my baby. I felt powerless, I will live.
I’m still here, I have a will to love, that’s what my Father taught me, my mother taught me to sing, I can witness, I live for it.
Reiko Kudo
The original texts are below;
Unlike many other punk records, it was in my house before I knew it. It was in the mid 70’s, and I was still a high school student in a provincial city in Japan, when “spontaneous” was the key word for collective improvisation. Lester Bowie and Leo Smith were playing the same melody in a shifting fashion. The female singer’s voice stood perpendicular to the time axis. All the participants were standing on the same plane, independent of each other. So, when I came to Tokyo, I was armed with “Comme a la Radio”.
At “Minor” in Kichijoji, Tokyo, the Kinnick School, which emerged after Socrates in the Free Jazz was gone, gathered from all over Japan. At the improvisation sessions there, I was often criticized that only my performance had become “music” in a negative sense.
In the aftermath of the punk boom, independent productions of free music, which had never seen the light of day before, were occurring simultaneously in Sheffield, Akron, and other parts of the world.Songs were allowed to occur only as incidents in the field of collective improvisation.
In such those days, I saw a girl walk into the store when I was doing an in-store live performance with a band called “Worst Noise” at an import record store called Gobangai, which means “5th Ave”, in Shimokitazawa. I immediately took “Comme a la Radio” to the store counter and asked a store clerk to play it. Sure enough, she said, “This is Brigitte. I like it, too,”. My plan worked, and the next time I met her at the Tokyo Rockers gig in Fussa, we were talking about starting a band. We had Brigitte’s “L’ete L’ete” and Janis’ “summer time” anyway. And we needed to have our own “summer”.
In 1978, a man named Aquirax Aida, who wrote the liner notes for the Japanese edition of “Comme a la Radio,” died, and I heard that his family put that LP in his coffin. Like the anecdote of “Buddha’s Palm” in “Journey to the West”, Aida was unable to get out of the palm of “Comme a la Radio” after all. Every man rushes through his “rock history”, but his “être” subsumed under “Comme a la radio”. It is not about putting “Comme a la Radio” in his coffin. It is about putting the corpse of the man in the coffin of “Comme a la Radio”.（T）
The blurred image of a thin faced woman.
A blue purplish haze of nowhere.
It was a cold winter and I was pregnant.
I took a long train ride to where Tori was playing a guitar.
It’s the area called “Sanya” in northern Tokyo, the home to lots of homeless people, then.
It’s not a home, but cheap hotels where they can stay if they have a day’s wage. In winter they were out of jobs and they slept in a park and that’s where Tori and his friends were. As I walked to the park some guys greeted me kindly, a sense of loose bond among us. I could hear a guitar sound, and Tori and his allies were also burning fire inside the park to cook for them. I could not go inside as the park was surrounded by armed police, they were there, many of them, two folds around the park.
‘ Il fait froid dans le mond’
It was a phrase lingering in my mind these days. I was roaming alone at night In Shinjuku aware of lots of homeless people sleeping inside tube passages. ‘ I can’t be happy if there’s one starving child in the world’ I thought it was Simone Weil’s word, but can’t find it anywhere, but I felt a bit the same, my obsession was to destroy myself, away from home, betraying my mom and dad.
I did’t think about my future, but I wanted future for my baby, it was at that moment when I saw armed people in that tense atmosphere, I realized that power is useless. Those who take up the sword will perish with the sword. My mum was betrayed, too, lost her mum and a dear sister at the moment atomic bomb exploded. No repeating, no.
I had to survive. I had to find a home, I had to find someone to deliver my baby. I felt powerless, I will live.
I’m still here, I have a will to love, that’s what my Father taught me, my mother taught me to sing, I can witness, I live for it.
（R）