The Zutons

noun. 1. [ðɛ zʋːʈɒŋz]
Liverpudlian Indie band, commonly found in the U.K. characterised by feel-good rhythms, swinging sax, and long sweaty hair.

I went out with my friends last Friday night. Exhausted from a hard week, I caught the last train home, but a few people stayed out. Throughout the night, my friend Hazel had been watching an ungainly, overweight, middle-aged gaijin. Fukuoka seems to breed a particularly virulent strain of sleazy man, kept here by the unnatural fillip afforded to his sexual attractiveness by his western origin. As the club closed around half five, she saw with resigned dread that the man was approaching her. Small talk ensued at arm’s length. Then:
“Do you want to see The Zutons tomorrow? I’m their tour manager.”
“Er… Ok?”
He pulled out various sweaty pieces of paper, including a long, detailed tour schedule, and Hazel gave him all our names for the guest list.

The next evening we all trooped up at the venue, half expecting to be turned away. But no, all our names were on the guest list. In fact, we WERE the guest list. It seems The Zutons didn’t have many friends in Fukuoka, so we got in for free while everyone else had to pay a hefty 5600yen (nearly thirty quid).
The venue was small, and chock full of an incredibly polite Japanese audience. No anarchy, little dancing, polite silence during each song followed by rapturous applause. The crowd was great at clapping in time, but individual exuberance was rare. When the band cleared the stage to tempt calls for an encore, the crowd’s applause was a rhythmically consistent diminuendo. With the very real danger that they would fall silent, it was left to the westerners to make the noise.
“MMMMMOOOOOOORRRRRRREEEEEEE!!!!!!!!” I rasped, immediately followed by Japanese shouting, which just as swiftly died down again to a background hum.
“MO-ICHI-DO! MO-ICHI-DO! MO-ICHI-DO! [‘Once Again!’] ” chanted Hazel, alone.
The band seemed perplexed at the subdued crowd, but return they did, and rounded off the gig in anthemic style. As the final chords unfocussed into stock feedback, the band bowed and waved to the crowd. The bassist leant down to shake a few hands, and the crowd surged forwards. They became teenage pop fans, desperately struggling for memorabilia and the touch of their idol. It was a real shock after their previous behaviour. It’s as if they have had Indie Rock carefully explained to them, but haven’t quite understood it yet. Something of their original Japanese reserve remained. It definitely did not feel natural; more like an attempt to live up to an alien ideal.