In 1983, Hiroto Kohmoto, Masatoshi Mashima, Junnosuke Kawaguchi, and Testuya Kajiwara started a band.

Well, they'd actually started a couple of bands before then, as early as 1978. Japan was not ready for Kohmoto's brand of music until 1983.

Actually, they weren't even ready for them in 1983, either. Kohmoto's band, called "The Blue Hearts," didn't have its first hit song until 1987. That song was "Linda Linda."

Just last December, I was in an underground punk club in Harajuku, Tokyo, Japan. I'd been to the place a few times, and each time I went, I wondered why I never got around to coming back. Harajuku was quite far from my apartment -- I lived up north, in Saitama -- and I was kind of low on cash. I was living with a Japanese comic artist back then. Punk that I apparently am, I had no job, and no source of income. How did I end up in Japan, you ask, and why was I homeless enough to get picked up by a widowed Japanese comic artist and made to cook her pasta every day? You ask too many questions.

This isn't about me. It's about The Blue Hearts, legendary Japanese punk band. So legendary are The Blue Hearts, I'd never heard about them until that one night in Harajuku. A girl I knew -- a punk we called "X-ko," who dressed exclusively in Malcolm X T-shirts -- was always taking me to these punk shows. She had her hair braided in cornrows the night I first heard "Linda Linda" covered.

The song starts with one chord, repeated on an acoustic guitar. Slowly, the lead singer's voice comes in: "Dobu nezumi / mitai ni / utsukushiku naritai / shashin ni wa / utsuranai / utsukushisa ga aru kara." ("I look like a sewer rat / yet want to be beautiful / it doesn't show in pictures / because there is beauty there.")

When I first heard these words, sung over a mellow acoustic guitar intro, I was captivated. I was also dressed in rough black nylon pants, a bright blue Adidas "Japan" soccer jersey, a long orange girl's scarf, and a black polywool jacket with an enormous white skull on the back. On my head, a Union Jack bandana. My appearance was hardly odd -- the Japanese punk scene is populated by kids who wear colors as bright as American punks' clothing is dark. Japanese punk fashion is all in the way one carries one's self. In Japan, where people are so pressured to conform, wearing bright colors is one act of defiance; walking with attitude is another. If you are a punk, you carry yourself like a punk.

This contradiction is perhaps what caused the introduction of this cover of "Linda Linda" -- no more than a single acoustic guitar chord and wistful vocals -- to strike me: not everything is as it seems, it said. It was the single most punkish song I'd ever heard, even ten seconds before the hard guitars began to wail, before the drummer exploded into the song, before the four band members and those in attendance began to chant "Linda, Linda! Linda, Linda, Linda~aaa!"

"Wow," was all I could say. Actually, I was speaking Japanese at the time, so it was more like "Waa-o."

"What the hell, man?" X-ko said to me.

"This is the greatest punk song I've ever heard," I managed to say.

X-ko snorted. "This is old shit," she said.

"Oh?" I said. "By whom?"

She didn't answer me.

I didn't hear the name "The Blue Hearts" until weeks later, when I was riding my friend's bike down a stretch of the Old Tokyo Highway up in the country. I was stopped at a red light. I was listening to some hard Japanese punk with headphones, and I was feeling it. I was feeling external sound waves even harder. I looked to my left, and there was a middle-aged Japanese guy in a Chevy Camaro with left-hand drive -- he must have imported it from America. He had the top down, and loud music playing. I was a few feet from the guy. I took my headphones out of my ears, and asked him, in Japanese:

"Who is that?"

He looked up at me, and angled down his sunglasses. He spoke in English:

"It's The Blue Hearts, man."

I knew instantly that this was the group being covered that night in the club. The song was different, though. From what little I heard of the lyrics, I knew I was listening to the group that gave "Linda Linda" to the world:

"Koko wa tenkoku janainda / katoitte jigoku demonai / ii yatsu bakari janai kedo / warui yatsu bakari demonai / mienai jiyuu ga hoshikute / mienai jiyu no nichi ga kuru / honto no koe wo kikasete okure wo: TRAIN, TRAIN, hashitte yuku / TRAIN, TRAIN, dokomade mo!"

"This ain't Heaven / it ain't Hell, either / the people here ain't all good / they ain't all bad, either / I want the freedom I can't see / the day I'll have that freedom is coming / come on, let me hear your real voice: TRAIN, TRAIN, take us away / TRAIN TRAIN, wherever we wanna go!"

The song was "Train Train." It was recorded in 1989, and it was The Blue Hearts' biggest commercial hit, bigger even than "Linda Linda." The song begins with a harmonica solo over a light drum rattle, and even manages to incorporate a piano into its opening vocals, before it bursts into all-out old-fashioned party-style punk rock. Think The Ramones in Japanese, with more drums, and louder, more understandable vocals -- well, more understandable if you speak the language.

Kohmoto-san's voice is rich, and deep, and it gives you the impression that it could be frightening under different circumstances. At times when he's screaming "Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh" during the crescendo of "Linda Linda," as his bandmates chant "Linda Linda, Linda Linda, Linda Linda Linda," you get the feeling that this is a guy who knows what he's doing at every second of every song. True, he doesn't play an instrument of his own -- then again, isn't that what punk rock is all about? Kohmoto is the front man; unlike other lazy front men after him, Kohmoto makes his job as lead vocals seem harder than it might actually be. At times, as in the above example, his voice sounds raw, and strained, and ripped as his jeans.

The Blue Hearts were a punk band that was either well ahead of its time or well behind its time. At times during "Linda Linda," it's hard to figure out what the hell the guitarists are doing behind that wall of drums and vocals. Still, whether you can pick it completely apart or not, if you like punk music, "Linda Linda" will speak to you. That it was embraced by the fans in a country where popular music normally involves screaming girls under age thirteen should not deter you; "Linda Linda" is the perfect punk song, one that makes you want to freak out and break stuff when you hear it, one that sticks in your head when you're not hearing it, one that makes you want to start a band when you finally sit down and think about it.

So I started a band. "Large Prime Numbers," they're called. So inspired by a COVER of "Linda Linda" and a snatch of "Train Train," I began to scrounge around Tokyo for used Blue Hearts CDs.

I didn't find any.

I turned to the internet, and found several MP3s, including "Hito ni yasashiku [Be nice to people]," a Blue Hearts tune from 1983 that doesn't appear on a single one of their albums, yet is now so legendary in Japan that I once saw a pornographic video named after it: "Hito ni yarashiku" (changing "sa" to "ra" changes the meaning of the word "yasashiku," meaning "nicely," to "yarashiku," meaning "pervertedly." You fill in the blanks.)

We performed a few of The Blue Hearts' greatest hits, me on vocals, screeching "Linda Linda" or "Hito ni yasashiku" to whoever walked by our venue out in front of the train station. I'd come to like "Hito ni yasashiku" better. I performed it so well, I earned a few tangerines from a few businessmen who fondly remembered the band. Why they gave me tangerines, I don't know.

Long after I returned home from Japan, promising my band I'd return, I found a Blue Hearts boxed set in a Japanese bookstore in Little Tokyo, Los Angeles. When I flipped over the CD and saw that neither "Linda Linda" nor "Train Train" -- nor even "Hito ni yasashiku" -- were included in this two-disc set, it made me wonder: what's the big deal?

This boxed set was "East-west Side Story." It cost me thirty-eight dollars. I would have gladly paid a hundred.

How a set manages to be so perfect despite containing not a single one of the band's hits is one of The Blue Hearts' secrets. Released shortly after The Blue Hearts broke up in 1995, this two-disc set is crammed with lesser-known tracks -- disc one contains a few alternate versions of semi-popular songs, including an odd orchestral "1000 Violins" remix entitled "1001 Violins," which I consider to be the album's sole shortcoming.

Punks like short songs, I know. So it seems odd that The Blue Hearts include so many long songs on this first disc -- including two alternate versions of "TOO MUCH PAIN," which, people tell me, created a new sub-genre when it was released in 1991: the Japanese punk-ballad. As it stands, "TOO MUCH PAIN" is a long, slow song in which Kohmoto-san's typically fast and shouty vocals are reduced to sounding slow and oddly karaoke-like. The strangest thing about "TOO MUCH PAIN" is how much more I like it every time I hear it. That the song manages to incorporate harmonicas and a piano inside its rather mellow curtain of guitar and bass only makes it all the more admirable.

In the tradition of good punk, The Blue Hearts make the listener wait, perhaps angrily, for drums to be introduced into the song (see Flogging Molly's "If I Ever Leave This World Alive" for what I'm convinced is the best-ever incorporation of this technique). The first time I listened to this CD, I was driving, and thinking, "Where the hell are the drums?" When the drums come, suddenly everything feels good. When they speed up and put on a little bass, everything feels a lot better. When that electric guitar starts wailing quietly and then more prominently, you're halfway to heaven. When the drums totally freak out at 4:52: that's a Japanese punk ballad.

The song "Party," which, while slow, deals with much lighter themes than "TOO MUCH PAIN," achieves a similar effect with its use of drums. When the song starts, we're treated to an odd little electric guitar two-string waltz, followed by -- what's this? -- a harpsichord, and then Kohmoto's vocals. The drums pop in and out sporadically, making us wish they'd stay. At one point during the first verse, as Kohmoto is slowly singing about standing at a busy city intersection and wishing he was at a party -- a "lively party, crazy party" -- one bass drum beat pops once every two measures. At two minutes, the song folds in half, reducing to the waltz and harpsichord of the beginning, before building up again. This brings us to the second main verse, which mirrors the first, only without those mathematical drum beats. This leaves us wanting for drums -- right before the song begins to satisfy us, as Kohmoto's wistful semi-crooning becomes a punkish yell, as the guitars get angry, and the drums dictate the direction the song is going to head: faster and faster, until it literally disintegrates from its speed, and ends with a poignant, loud, metallic snap of drumstick against rim. The first time I heard this song, my friend said "Damn it." I agreed, and said, "Just when it was getting to the good part!"

Now, I listen to this song again and again, and I think I understand The Blue Hearts' musical philosophy: Always Make the "Good Part" Too Short. After all, the song can't be all "good parts," can it?

The "good part" of "Jounetsu no ibara" ("Rose of passion") happens to be two drumbeats long. The song starts with a guitar-drum combo that reminds one of cheerfully old-fashioned British pop-punk, and quickly jumps into the melody with a few cymbal taps. What the listener is then treated to is a fully-realized Blue Hearts song: one so DAMNED good it couldn't possibly be popular. If you assume immediately that "Jounetsu no ibara" was not a "mainstream" hit, you'd be right. It wasn't. It is, however, the best song The Blue Hearts ever performed, as far as I know -- maybe that's why it's track one, disc one.

Where the electric guitars were nearly drowned by drums and vocals on the recorded-live "Linda Linda," everything sounds in place and perfectly aligned on "Jounetsu no ibara." It is, from start to steel-drum-backed finish, a perfect and polished piece of classic punk rock. When Kohmoto-san hits high notes, you can hear his voice rolling out of the back of his throat. There is an actual guitar solo. The bass is indispensable. The drums are loud, and hard, and fast. The lyrics are vague, and invite the audience to scream along: "Let's," "We," "Us," Kohmoto is singing. No wonder kids in NOFX shirts and ripped jeans and ski-goggles still cover The Blue Hearts: songs like "Jounetsu no ibara" are an open invitation straight from Kohmoto's lips: "Sing along. Sing it on your own. Cover us. Do it!"

The "good part" of "Jounetsu no ibara" occurs following the guitar solo and the second verse. Accompanied by one perfect chord, one strum of bass, and two sudden, quick, gunshot-drumbeats, Kohmoto begins the verse that will end the song:

"Jounetsu no ibara wo / mune ni sakeseyou / arinji mizu wo agemashou / kokoro no zutto, oku no hou . . ."

"The rose of passion / let it bloom in our chests / let's give it water / for our hearts, for everything."

The two-syllable first part of the word "Jounetsu," meaning passion: that's it. "Jo-u--" -- that's the best part of the song. When Kohmoto screams this word, wherever you are when you're hearing it, the world is a perfect place. His voice, combined with the sudden vigor of the drums and the scream of guitar, can fill any room with the spirit of punk. Hearing it the first time made me almost religious. Call me Punknostic.

The song then quickly raps up with an odd implementation of steel drums. This is, after all, The Blue Hearts, who brought pianos and harmonicas to their punk rock in "Train Train" and a harpsichord in "Party."

They also bring a strange 1950s rock feel -- complete with chants of "Wonder, wonder, wonder" and "Danger, danger, danger" -- to their song "Ano ko ni TOUCH" ("To touch that girl"), which adds up to a bizarrely mellow experience that answers the question, "What if the Clash got transported back to the 1950s, and were forced to sing in Japanese?" Track six, "Tabibito" ("Travelers") does this again, though not after tossing a little doo-wop into the mix. The effect is . . . strange, yet addictive.

"Yume" ("Dreams") and "Taifu" ("Typhoon") mix the piano-rich old-timey punk feel up to perfection. The drums are harder, the guitars are grungier, and the sound is what one might call "more mature." Understandably, these tracks were two of the group's last, appearing on the 1993 album "Stick Out."

"1000 Violins," too, feels old-fashioned without feeling forced. "Yugure" ("Twilight") is, like "Party" and "TOO MUCH PAIN," a slow ballad-ish song, albeit one more beat-heavy. The acoustic guitar feels perfectly placed, and the lyrics almost inspire one to do punkish things:

"Bokutachi wa nanto naku / shiawase ni narunda
Nannen tattemo ii / tooku hanaretemo ii
Hitoribochi janaize / WINK suruze
Yugure ga bokuno DOOR wo KNOCK suru koro ni
Anata wo "Gyu" tto dakitakunatteru
Maboroshi nanka janai / jinsei wa yume janai / bokutachi wa / hakkiri to / ikiterun da.
Yuuyake sora wa akai / kou no youni akai
Kono hoshi no hanbun wo / ma'aka ni someta
Soreyorimo motto akai chi ga / karada juu wo nagareterundaze."


"Whatever we do / we made ourselves happy
No matter how many years pass / no matter how far apart we drift
We're not alone / give me a wink if you see me
That evening, the time you knocked on my door
I was like, "Dude," and I came to want to hug you
It's not an illusion / Humanity isn't a dream / We're really alive, damn it
The sky at sunset is red / red as fire
Half the world is dyed totally red
It's like this: there's even redder blood / flowing through all of our bodies."


This song, which is -- I believe, as information on the band is scarce here -- a "lost" track included on this album, has a kind of mellow feel that seems out of place -- yet perfectly at home with The Blue Hearts' discography as represented by this collection. This song, subdued as it may be, invites the listener to participate with its semi-inspirational lyrics. It may very well be the four-minute "good part" to represent all of The Blue Hearts' studio work.

The second disc is a twenty-eight-minute collection of exceedingly rare tracks -- from live versions of such Blue Hearts underground classics such as "Waa Waa" and "Tokyo Zombie (Russian Roulette)" to a remixed, slowed-down, and super-mellow version of a formerly loud and abrasive old track, "Ore wa ore no shi wo shinitai" ("I want to die my own death"). While the disc closes with a triumphant, brass-band-accompanied rendition of the classic tune "Navigator," performed during the East-Waste Tour in 1991 (considered one of their best live performances ever), the true gem of this disc is a nine-song medley performed during the DekoBoko Tour -- the group's last tour -- in 1994. This gem of a medley starts with the "Meet the Blue Hearts" theme song: "Mirai wa bokura no te no naka" -- "The future is in our hands."

Rather, the gem of the disc might just the crowd's reaction when the one-minute version of "Rokku de nashi" ("Not rock") fades into the opening chords of fan favorite "NO NO NO." Just before Kohmoto shouts the first few words, the crowd picks up on the fact that one song has abruptly changed into another, and they let out the most enthusiastic scream a band could ever hope to hear.

Even by the time "Hito ni yasashiku" comes up, the crowd has not lost its enthusiasm. They're singing along -- and not just because they probably paid nearly $500 for tickets to this last concert. There is an energy that the band emanates, and I can feel it even through my stereo speakers, years after the concert took place. The crowd sings for the duration of the shortened song, keeping in absolute perfect harmony with the band -- this is, in fact, the one song they've all been singing for the last ten years. Probably not a single day has gone by that that song hasn't popped up somewhere in the backs of their minds. They keep such perfect harmony that one gets the impression this final performance of "Hito ni yasashiku" might not have survived without them. At this time, The Blue Hearts were approaching their "Twilight" -- as clearly stated by the "Sayonara, Blue Hearts" sticker on the front of the CD. To have such a wonderful final performance . . . it's that "good part" the fans had been waiting for forever. Fittingly, that "good part" happened to be a one-minute live version of "Hito ni yasashiku."

This collection has, if nothing else, gotten me unbelievably psyched for the Blue Hearts discography I'm soon to start compiling (Starting with this, "The Blue Hearts Box." I already plan to regularly belt out a live "Jounetsu no ibara" when my band and I are reunited.

Hearing The Blue Hearts sing "Yume" has inspired me on many levels. It makes me think: if these guys can be punks for two decades, so can I. It makes me want to sing along whenever I'm sitting here at my coffee table, eating my Rice Krispies and checking my email:

"Are mo hoshii / kore mo hoshii / motto hoshii / mottomotto hoshii
Ore ni wa yume ga aru / ryoute ja daekirenai
Are mo shitai / kore mo shitai / motto shitai / mottomotto shitai . . .
Ore ni wa yume ga aru . . . maiban sobareteru . . . ore ni wa yume ga are . . . dokidoki suru you na . . . honmono no yume wo mirunda . . . honmono no yume wo mirunda . . ."


"I want that / I want this / I want more / I want more and more
In me, there is a dream / I can't yet grasp it with my two hands
I want to do that / I want to do this / I want to do more / I want to do more and more
In me, there is a dream . . . I see it every night . . . In me, there is a dream . . . it makes my heart beat fast . . . I see a real dream . . . I see a real dream."


Listening to The Blue Hearts, in addition to being a body-shaking, out-freaking, punk-rocking experience, lets you see a little bit of Kohmoto's dream, whoever you are, and that's damned special.

"Tanoshii koto wo . . . takusan shitai." ("1000 Violins")

"I want to do lots of fun things."

Don't we all -- want to do fun things, without a care? Your definition of "fun things" may differ from Kohmoto's -- he might be talking about meeting chicks, you might be thinking about smashing cars.

"Tsuyoi chikara wo . . . boku ga, hitotsu dake motsu." ("Linda Linda")

"I have only one strong power."

What is The Blue Hearts' strong power? They don't say. They're asking you to sing along, though, and believe yourself when you do.

Maybe that's The Blue Hearts' strong power.