The Les Sewing Sisters Japan Home Tour is over. The shows were a success, and we are also shooting a documentary on the home shows. I’m part of the film as the MC, and the tour is seen through my eyes. Jeff, the filmmaker, has already left Japan, and Saori, the other sewing sister, is back home with her parents for the next few weeks. As for me, Lun*na and I will stay in the Tokyo area to wind down from the traveling and shows. It has been a difficult time for me, which has nothing to do with the tour or the shows.
I discovered that a change of scenery or culture doesn’t make your issues disappear, and I had to deal with them directly. I had an anxiety attack a few weeks ago before the tour started, and it left me shaken but not stirred in that James Bond martini mix. Since my mom passed away in January 2022 and her brother, my Uncle Donald, died in November 2022, I have not been well. I bury myself with work, which means my writings, both for Substack and the co-writing of a film script, and that I can do. But the anxiety and feelings come up occasionally, and I can imagine digging it in the dirt, but in Tokyo, it erupted into a physical breakdown. I recovered within an hour, but it was disturbing, and it happened where I shouldn’t be feeling stressed. It was a total surprise, which makes me fearful that this can come up anytime it wants to cause havoc.
Since I’m the narrator of the upcoming documentary, this should also be part of the film. And there are physical issues I don’t want to go into until a doctor checks me out back in Los Angeles. But I suspect that is part of my stress, and right now, I’m trying to stay afloat by dealing with all of this, but not in a panicky manner. Last year, during and after my mom’s death, I talked to a therapist, but it was COVID-19, and I couldn’t see her in person. Only through Zoom sessions it seemed like I was watching a television show based on my misery rather than participating in the treatment. I stopped the meetings and thought I should go through a Freudian analysis because my therapy was too much about my feelings and not getting to the root of my issues. I kept a dream diary when I could, and I started to read the writings by Freud. The commitment and cost of doing a severe Freudian series of meetings is too expensive but also time-consuming. And that alone makes me feel anxious.
My comfort zone is shopping for music at Record Safari in Atwater Village or stores here in Tokyo. It’s where I forget who I am and am there for the moment. I face my fears and anxiety once I hit the streets or return home. At Disk Union in Shibuya, I found a copy of The Shadows’ album of them singing. They are mostly an instrumental band, and I love them. This album is a compilation of all their vocal songs from various albums or EPs from the late 1950s and early 60s. The used album is inexpensive and almost impossible to purchase in the United States. Still, I passed up on it because I felt pressure tied to anxiety and felt it was the wrong relationship. But for the last few days, I have been thinking consistently of this album, and now I have concerns that I made a mistake by passing on it.
At the moment, I have been thinking of going back to Shibuya and purchasing the album, but then, what if the record is gone from their shelves? How would I react to that sense of disappointment? I already felt the stings of disappointment when a dealer who had a rare and only print of my father when he was a teenager refused to give it back to me. To be truthful, it belonged to my Uncle’s estate, but for whatever reason, I didn’t see this photograph and negative until the dealer snapped it up. I offered $100, but I also wanted a photo of me and my mom, which he also picked up from the estate. He became angry at me and refused my offer, and I let it go. Like The Shadows album, I have not let go of my desire and the feeling of hurt of not having that photograph and negative. And in truth, I don’t want to give him a penny. I feel what he took belongs to the family, even though technically it is his property.
Dwelling into regret and sorrow is not a good cocktail. Whatever ills me, I have to change, and whatever happens will happen, and I have no control of that, so I’ll make something silly like locating the first Cockney Rebel album. I did see it at the store, along with The Shadows record. This is an album I was aware of when it was released in 1973, but for some reason never bought a copy. It’s a weird record, came out of Downtown UK Glam, but it is something beyond that genre. The lineup is violin, keyboards, bass, drums, and minimal guitar. Steve Harley, the singer and writer, has a strange vocal sound. It is very mannered and stylized but not commercial-sounding to me. It's a rougher version of Jacques Brel and not far from The Kinks around this time. The song Sebastian is their showpiece, with a complete and lush orchestration. And now, when I hit bottom, I need to purchase a used Japanese edition of this oddity.
I'm glad you're doing better. What an adventure! I have a theory (rooted in life experience) that grief is the only thing left that can truly elicit foundational change in us older cats (who've seen and done it all). And grief is not a pretty process. But the results of good grief are extremely positive. You have to go right through it. Trying to go around grief will make you sick. Just sharing some personal observations, of course.