Akabane town square is home to some of the most piss-poor street performers I have ever seen. They make the “standing-very-still” twats in Covent Garden look like Cirque du Soleil.
My favourite was the man who was treating morning commuters to what I can only describe as a song and dance routine.
He was dressed in lemon dungarees and accompanied his indecipherable warbling with a series of dance moves based on a 1980s Soviet gymnastic routine - all robotic arm movements, star jumps and stiff-limbed “balances”. In his hand he held a small plastic maraca which fizzed noisily with each diagonal slash of his windmilling arm.
People ignored him. I think he was a bit special.
However, the week after, the town square was home to these Taiko drummers. And it was bloody fabulous.
You don’t realise how loud these thing are; you can feel it inside your chest. Without wanting to resort to sappy clichés, the almost primal beating and accompanying war-like roars from the drummers instantly conjure up images of invading oriental hordes, rain-soaked samurai battles and mystic temples showered by sheets of arrows. A real Akira Kurosawa moment.
These were only kids as well. I’d love to see this done properly.
Incidentally, that day, Dungaree Maraca Man was not in sight.
1 comment:
He felt shame.
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