Reggae Spirit Fostered in a Tin HouseA legendary reggae MC, leaving the glamorous life in Tokyo a decade ago, is now working in community development in Kujukurihama, Chiba, using the spirit of reggae.By Yas Mamemachi
If you drive inland for a few minutes, you can see agricultural fields and old Japanese farm houses. One May Saturday late in the afternoon, several locals, including a painter, a tattoo artist and a carpenter, showed up in knots at a tin house located at the edge of the Serikawas’ 2,645-square-meter field, which is dominated by plastic greenhouses, . Yoshimitsu Serikawa, 52, who is often called “Shin-chan,” finished taking care of his locally awarded Monterey Cypress and other plants in the plastic greenhouses and returned to the tin house at around 17:00. He relieved his thirst with two cans of cold beer taken out of the fridge located in the corner of the tin house. Then, he took a microphone and went up on a small stage set up in the house. A young local who once dreamed of being a popular club DJ in Tokyo followed him to the stage and started playing an old reggae EP that Serikawa bought in Jamaica years ago. Suddenly, the tin house was filled with the sound of the Jamaica-born Afro-Caribbean music, and show time had begun. Welcome to the reggae club with MC Serikawa, or “Sure-Shine,” his stage name. He is one of the first and the most respected reggae MCs in Japan. MC, or Microphone Controller, is a vocalist who raps lyrics with rhymed endings and a similar feeling for the language of the music, in this case, reggae. “In the late 80s I moved back and forth between Japan and Jamaica via New York,” says Serikawa. “Back then, since very few Japanese visited Jamaica, they could hardly pronounce my nickname, ‘Shin-chan.’ One day someone said, ‘You should be called ‘shoe-shine.’ Later I learned that there was a well-known Chinese actor named Shoe-Shine in Jamaica around that time. So, I decided to use ‘Sure-Shine,’ inspired by ‘shoe-shine,’ as my stage name back home.” Under the mirror ball In the early 70s, the son of successive farmers at the age of 18 left Kujukurihama to become a club (called ‘disco’ back then) DJ. He played R&B and disco records, first in Shinjuku, which is in downtown Tokyo, and then in Kyoto, the old capital of Japan. “After returning to Tokyo, I barely survived working various kinds of part-time jobs because I couldn’t find a job in any disco. One job was working for a domino topple challenge project for the world record. At that time such domino topple events were gaining popularity. Lining up the small pieces was a cheap and boring job. So, I did it while listening to Bob Marley. The music really saved me,” says Serikawa. In his early 30s in late 80s, Serikawa had a chance to become involved in the setup of the first reggae club, Club Jamaica in Tokyo. A young and successful entrepreneur owned a boutique as part of his business in Harajuku (the famous trendy fashion area), Tokyo. Since Serikawa’s sister worked in the boutique, he had good ties with the entrepreneur. The entrepreneur decided to open his reggae club for fun because he loved the music. Serikawa was asked to become a reggae MC at the club. He had no reason to decline the offer. The first reggae MC had been working there for about 10 years when he was asked to return home because his father had become ill. He would never return to the spotlight under the mirror ball. Medium for peace “I could have gone back, but I didn’t, because I think I understood the limits of Japanese reggae,” says Serikawa. He had two unforgettable experiences when visiting Jamaica. One was his realization that many ordinary Jamaican women who came to a shopping center suddenly put their shopping bags down and shook their bodies when a hit reggae tune came on the radio. The other experience was an outdoor reggae concert that was held in a wide open space with a small number of naked light bulbs in the evening. Most audience members allowed themselves to be lured by the sound, once the music started. “Most of them didn’t know how to dance to reggae very well. Asked if he or she could explain how to dance to reggae, each one would have given a different answer. However, when you saw these people from a distance, it looked as if they were one united dark wave. That was one of the most beautiful reggae-related experiences I ever had in Jamaica,” says Serikawa. “By contrast, many Japanese learned how to dance to reggae on the dance floor of the club. They could dance reggae in the way that was considered very good. Yet, they could never be united and become a beautiful wave. That’s the limit I’m talking about,” he continues. “I think the Bon Festival Dance (which is originally part of a local religious ceremony in Japan held in the summer to comfort the spirits of the dead and send them back) should be regaining popularity here. Many of us don’t care about how to dance at a Bon Festival, but we dance when we hear the music in summer. And the Bon Festival Dance revival may contribute to strengthening ties among society members, too.”
After returning home, Serikawa took over his father’s farming business. But he has not quit reggae. Almost every evening from 7 to 8 he becomes a MC for himself on the stage set up in the tin house. “I love to be a reggae MC in this environment. The tin house reminds me of trench town (where many lower class people live) in Jamaica, the place where the music was born,” says Serikawa. Four years ago the tin house burned down along with a number of reggae EPs, most of which he bought in Jamaica and would have been collectors’ items. The house was rebuilt with old tin plates and waste wood by his friends, mostly local boys. Many of them drop by the new tin house every weekend to drink, chat and dance to selected reggae music and the reggae MC in the background. Serikawa loves such gatherings.
“One of the locals brings local beans, another brings fresh clams and some bring cans of beer for the gatherings. They simply drink, eat, talk and dance to reggae in the background in the tin house. They may not be as cool as the people who dance in reggae clubs in Tokyo on Friday evening. But I think they know more about the true reggae spirit,” says Serikawa. Asked if a reggae event could be held with locals and metropolitan visitors in the tin house, he answered, “That would be great, but I think it’s too early. Instead I wonder if the house could be a place where many young locals can come and dance and talk and understand their differences, because I believe reggae can be a medium for a peaceful environment.” It is dark and quiet outside the tin house, but inside the reggae spirit moves Serikawa and he keeps rapping and the locals surrender themselves to reggae music. The night is still too young for them.
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ujukurihama (literally “396-kilometer-long coast” in Japanese), located at the edge of the Boso Peninsula not to mention the greater Tokyo area, is the longest coast and one of the most famous surfing spots in Japan. Even celebrities go there incognito for water sports. However, the area is not dominated by fancy condos and expensive restaurants. A plain and simple environment is still maintained along the coast.
