Yoko Kanno is quite the versatile composer, in addition to being a pianist and vocalist in her own right. Her songs accompany a range of anime, from futuristic bounty hunter misadventures in Cowboy Bebop to slice of the lives of young jazz musicians in 1960s Japan in Kids in the Slope. She is my favorite living composer, bar none, which is why the subject of Otakon 1999 fills me with deep chagrin, as I missed my chance to see her perform back then. Fourteen years later, I had the chance to remedy the mistake.
Getting a pass was an adventure in its own right. Rumor has it that Otakon staffers had to convince her to take a slightly less intimate setting, as they were well aware just how much demand their would be. I feared my chance to be in the room was again lost on Saturday when we arrived an hour and a half early at the pass line only to discover that it was already full. The staffer said there was a limited supply Sunday when the con opened; just be sure to get their real early. I’m perhaps not as spry as I was in 1999, but I am more of a morning person, so I showered the night before, hauled myself out of bed at six, and got spot forty in line. Unofficial lines are a risky process, but this time the fellow fans were good company, the staff were there after the first hour and kept order, and come 9:05 I had tickets for myself and Kate. It was worth every minute.
There were two performers that afternoon. Chiaki Ishikawa, with whom I was unfamiliar, warmed up the crowd with her impressive pipes, and if after a bit of research, I find that I actually like the lyrics to her songs, I may pick up a CD.
Still, for me, the show began in earnest when an associate of Ms. Kanno came out to say that the crowd would be welcome to sing along and to try to match the piano’s range by being loud when the music was fortissimo but quiet and quiet during the pianissimo sections. The crowd was game - our command of the lyrics of even favorite songs was not the best - but we played our part. ‘Play’ is really the key word; Kanno’s set had new arrangements that gave a thrill of recognition, delightful spotlight accompaniment, and played to a crowd that was hers from the start. I didn’t recognize all of the songs, but that may be more a matter of the breadth of her oeuvre rather than indicating brand-new material.
Her piano style was playful as well, using flourishes when it suited the song, like opening number Tank, but was just as capable of rendering thoughtful numbers that I’d have thought of as studio pieces, like Monochrome. Music has always had a direct line to my brain’s emotion centers and the community in the dark of that room gave me chills that I think I last felt at the pre-inaugural concert in 2009. Later, Real Folk Blues proved surprisingly raw and gave me a chance to mourn those I’d lost since first hearing the song.
I think I want to take up piano again, if only for myself. A traditional performance would still have been amazing, but having a chance to be a part of it still makes all the difference in the world. Thanks to everyone who made it possible: Ms. Kanno, her people, the staff, the crowd, and the person holding my hand in the end.
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