An evening spent listening in Tokyo

An evening spent listening in Tokyo 

I am currently sitting on a beach on Ishigaki Island, Okinawa, in Japan. It’s quite surreal to be here, but I’m enjoying every second of it.  

The reason I’m in Japan is actually the paper republic pop-up at Itoya (a legendary stationery shop) in Ginza, Tokyo. Since I was already here for work, I took the opportunity to extend the trip and explore a bit. After visiting Osaka and Kyoto, we are now at our last stop in Ishigaki, a wonderful tropical island with amazing snorkeling spots and beaches. 

Being here has given me some time to think back on everything we’ve experienced during the trip. And, somewhat unexpectedly, one of my favorite memories from Tokyo is an evening spent doing very little at all. 

While we were in Tokyo, we discovered vinyl bars, also known as listening bars. Such places don’t really exist in Vienna, at least not to the same extent. In Japan, they are bars built around the experience of listening to music, rather than having it play somewhere in the background. 

In some places, you could choose a song to play next, while in others you had to immerse yourself entirely in the music taste of the person selecting the records. And I have to say, the latter were the ones that really stuck with me. 

One evening we discovered a vinyl bar called B-10 in Ebisu, Tokyo. We sat down, ordered two lemon sours and simply listened. It wasn’t even particularly upbeat music, like you’d expect on a night out. Some of the songs were probably the saddest songs on earth. But there we were, sitting with our drinks, completely immersed in them. 

We didn’t talk much, we didn’t know what was coming next, and we had no say in it either.

Strangely enough, I think that is what made this evening so memorable.  

It was only afterwards, thinking back on our time in Japan, that I started connecting this experience to a conversation we had recorded with Florian Kaps a couple of weeks earlier. 

Florian is probably best known for his involvement in saving the last Polaroid film factory and for founding Supersense in Vienna, a space dedicated to analogue experiences. During our conversation, we talked about his different projects, from instant photography to vinyl records made from recycled ocean plastic, and his fascination with experiences that engage our senses. 

One thing about his work that stayed with me was how much attention he pays not only to the things themselves, but to everything surrounding them. Whether it’s taking a photograph or listening to a record, there’s something about the physical process, the environment, and the way you engage with it that can change the experience entirely. 

Sitting in vinyl bars in Tokyo, I think I experienced exactly that. 

It’s not that the bar itself is particularly complicated as a concept. But the way the whole place was set up made you engage with the music differently. It wasn’t playing in the background while you were doing something else. Listening was the reason you were there. 

Especially because, like most people, I’m so used to having music available whenever I want it. I can choose exactly what I want to hear, skip a song after ten seconds or have it playing while I do five other things. 

And I certainly enjoy that convenience. But for one evening, it was quite nice to give up all those choices.  

There was something quite personal about listening to someone else's records, too. You don't know why they've chosen a particular song, what memories they associate with it, or what it means to them. But for a little while, you're experiencing music through someone else's taste rather than your own. 

Thinking back on the conversation with Florian, I started to understand a little better what makes these kinds of analogue experiences interesting. Not because the technology is necessarily better, or because everything used to be more enjoyable before digital alternatives existed.

But because sometimes, changing the way we experience something familiar is enough to make us pay attention to it again. 

Now, sitting on a beach in Ishigaki, I keep thinking back to that little bar in Tokyo. The two lemon sours, the unexpectedly sad music and an evening spent listening to songs I probably never would have chosen myself. 

Not the most obvious highlight of a trip to Japan, but definitely one of my favourites. 

- Claire