Behavior #7: Stalking of Peripheral Figures

If you like a band, it's natural to be interested in their collaborators and influences – it's an easy way to find more potentially fantastic music to enjoy! Therefore, for example, it would seem natural that if you like, say, The Mortal, you'd be interested in checking out the kind of work the members of The Mortal have been doing individually.

That's the thought process of a member of the rock subculture at work. Fangirls, on the other hand, do the same thing for a totally different reason. Despite the initial lukewarm crowd response to The Mortal, following The Mortal's dissolution, each of its members attracted a new following of transplanted Sakurai fangirls, many of whom have become almost as obsessive over the various Mortal-adjacent bands as they are over Buck-Tick. If these erstwhile fangirls of The Mortal were serious goths or fans of power jazz, noise grunge, mathrock metal, or dolorous electro-cabaret, their relentless pursuit of The Mortal's members would make perfect sense.

However, based on the behavior we've observed while attending shows by My Way My Love (Murata Yukio), Seiten no Hekireki (Miyo Ken) and u crack irigaru (Miyo Ken), the erstwhile Mortal fangirls are even more confused by the music of The Mortal's members than they were by the music of The Mortal. From what we've seen, for the most part, they just stand there unmoving in their Kurumi t-shirts, clutching their Buck-Tick tour bags, staring at the stage with their mouths hanging open. And yet, after the show, they swarm over Messrs. Miyo and Murata, showering them with gifts, fluttering eyelashes and sycophantic smiles. We haven't been to see Jake or Akiyama perform solo since The Mortal, but we'll hazard it's the same for them, too.

I'm using The Mortal as an example, but this kind of thing happens in every case where a lesser-known indie musician collaborates with an A-list major label rock star. Track down anybody who's collaborated with a member of X Japan, Luna Sea, Dir en grey, you name it – you'll witness the same phenomenon. Fangirls of the famous guy go glom onto the little guy. Why? Because, to use the religion analogy again, if you can't talk to God directly, talking to one of his prophets is the next best thing. Indie musicians are directly approachable in a way that major musicians are not. Mr. Sakurai is never going to come out from backstage after a show to shake hands with the fans, but Miyo and Murata always will. If Mr. Sakurai kisses Mr. Murata onstage and then a fangirl shakes hands with Mr. Murata, in the constructed reality of her mind, it's almost the same as if she herself had been Kissed by Acchan.

Or perhaps they're even hoping that someday, Acchan-chan himself will turn up to watch the show...in which case, I fear they hope in vain. The transplanted fangirls are the very reason why Mr. Sakurai is never going to turn up to a tiny live house in Kichijoji to see his band members do their own thing. Any time he shows up anywhere, he attracts so much fangirl attention that nobody actually watches the show. (And before you ask: yes, Cayce has seen this happen. No, we won't say when or where, but it was a while ago.) In this way, desperate fangirl stalking of peripheral figures actually makes their true idols less accessible.

While receiving the new-found devotion of transplanted major-label fangirls can put much needed money in the pockets of indie musicians and attract more attention to their music, there's also a price to be paid. Indie bands who may formerly have fan followings composed primarily of bona-fide rock fans who were in it for the music will see the crowd vibe of their concerts transformed as the fangirls take over. An influx of too many fangirl transplants will ruin the fun for the real music fans, and may even drive them away completely, especially if they're men who don't want to be associated with fangirl mania. On the flip side, female fans of the indie band who really were there for the music are now automatically assumed to be fangirls and treated accordingly. An indie band who formerly maintained loose, casual friendships with their following may have to cease interacting with their fan base to avoid fanning the flames of fangirl jealousy. Beyond this, the indie musician gets the unease of knowing that now, he's mostly not being appreciated for himself or his own work, but rather, he's being used as a surrogate for his more famous friend. This phenomenon may be a sad fact of life for any stage performer, but it leaves a bad taste in the mouth nonetheless.

A similar phenomenon occurs with bars and restaurants operated by friends of major Japanese rock stars, or known to have been patronized by them. Quickly, such bars become fangirl stakeout hotspots. (We're not going to name names, but there are a bunch of places like this in Tokyo.) On the one hand, it's good business for the bar owners. On the other, it's pretty silly. Once a bar has been taken over by fangirls, band members aren't likely to come back...so at that point, what's in it for the fangirls? Either they are enjoying the fantasy of proximity to their idols, or they mistakenly believe that perhaps, one day they'll get lucky and meet the idol in person.

And yet...what would the fangirls do if they actually did meet their idol? What would they say to him, beyond “I'm your biggest fan”? That's the trouble with identity erasure – people who've erased their identities don't make for interesting company. If you want to hold the guy's attention, you need something real to say.

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