Recently an acquaintance asked me to explain Japcore, which I considered a request akin to asking an explanation of cloud or tree. I mumbled something about the Stalin and had no idea what else to say except that a bunch of disenchanted Japanese musicians in the 1980s decided to yell about the problems with a capitalist society as well as other societal flaws. The blank stare on his face alerted me to a job poorly done. But, honestly, what can one say about Japcore? It isn’t like being asked to explain how to search for online Prince albums when standard QWERTY keyboards don’t come equipped with a “Prince Symbol” key (which, if ever faced with such a question, I’d most likely walk away). Japcore is Japcore, for goodness sake: loud, angry, dirty, and fun.

I can only imagine what Reck, frontman for Japanese band Friction, had running through his head when he wrote “Crazy Dream.” My guess is something along the lines of “1-2-3-4. 1-2-3-4. Snare snare snare snare. Bang bang bang bang. Rock out!”

And while I have no idea what they’re saying aside from, of course, “crazy dream,” hearing Reck roll his r’s confirms my suspicion that, even if the song has the possibility of being rife with sociopolitical commentary, the band members are thoroughly enjoying themselves.

In 1979, Tsunematsu Masatoshi would go on to replace Lapsi, Friction’s original lead guitarist. However, Tsunematsu’s solo work, particularly on tracks such as “Do You Wanna Be My Doggg?!” is fantastic in its own right. Vocals jump in and out, dodging the spittle from crash-cymbal rants. Guitars gnash their teeth at a bassist ever ready for a fight. And, dear god, are those handclaps? Why yes, in fact, they are. And just when the absurdity of it all hits, the song ends with a sharp “hey!” as in, “Hey, who are you calling absurd? You’ll take these handclaps and you’ll like them, Ms. High and Mighty MP3 Blogger.”

To an American, Japcore is a matter of sensation; listening to it makes me feel like a toddler with a copy of Nashville Skyline. Something is clearly lost on me; the language barrier is great enough, I think, to the point of irony. Nevertheless, I’m still bouncing around the room, giddy enough on father’s shoulders to ignorantly clap my tiny hands along with Dylan’s “To Be Alone With You.”

Japcore’s just a grownup version.

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