There are lots of different styles in the visual kei scene, some of then has appeared recently but some others have a bit more history. So here I'm going to jot down some of them and try to explain its origins and main characteristics. If I have forgotten any style, feel free to let me know so I do some research.
· Angura Kei
· Eroguro
· Kote Kote Kei· Nagoya Kei
· Neo visual Kei· Shibuya Kei
· Oshare Kei
To celebrate de Spanish Death’s Day (1st November), here I show you a Japanese ghost’s story:
Ingwa Banashi
The wife of the daimio knew she was dying. From the beginnings of autumn of the year ten of Bunsei, she had been confined in her bed. It was already the fourth month of the year twelve of Bunsei -1829 in our chronology- and the cherries had started to bloom. The woman thought in the cherry-trees of her garden en the happiness of spring. She also thought in her husband’s concubines, especially in Lady Yukiko, who was nineteen years old.
“My dear wife,” said the daimio, “you has suffer a lot during three long years. We have done everything possible so you can get back your health. We have been taking care of you night and day, we have pray for you, we haven even fasted. But despite our loves efforts and the skills of the best doctors, it seems that the end of your life is no so far away. Probably we will suffer more than you when you abandon what Buda called wisely “the world’s burning home.” I’ll entrust all rites’ celebration necessary to favour your next reincarnation without caring about money. And each of us will pray restlessly so you don’t have to wander through the Dark Emptiness so you enter immediately in Paradise and reach Buda’s state.”
He talked with lots of tenderness while caressing his wife. Then, with closed eyes, she answered him with a so fragile voice as an insect:
“I’m so grateful for your kind words… Yes, it’s truth, as you say it has been three long years of illness. I’ve received all kind of attentions and the most caring cares… Then, why I should detour of the only Real Path in the precise moment of my death?... Maybe it’s not right to think in earthly issues in a moment like this, but I have to ask you one thing, just one… Make come Lady Yukiko; you know I lover her as if she was my sister. I want to talk with her about this home matters.”
Yukiko came to her Lord’s call and obeying his sign, she kneeled in front of the bed. The daimio’s wife opened her ayes, looked Yukiko and said:
“Ah, Yukiko! Here you are! I’m so happy to see you!... Come here just a little bit so you can hear me better: I cannot speak louder. I hope you will be loyal to our dear Lord. I want you to take my place when I leave… I wish he loves you forever; yes, that he loves you even one hundred times more than me. I hope that you ascend of rang very soon and you become his honourable wife… And I beg you to love forever or dear Lord: never let another woman to steal his keenness. This is what I wanted to tell you, dear Yukiko… Have you understood?”
“My dear Madam,” protested Yukiko, “I beg you not to tell me such things. You know very well that I’m from a poor and modest condition: how can I aspire to become in our Lord’s wife!”
“No, no!” answered the wife with a husky voice, “It’s not time to ceremonious words: we should talk frankly. After my death it’s sure you will ascend to a higher position. You have to know that I want you to become the wife of our Lord: yes, that’s my higher wish, Yukiko, even higher than become Buda… I nearly forget it!... I want you to make something for me, Yukiko. You know that there is a Double-Cherry blossom tree in the garden, which was taken here from Yoshino’s Mount, in Yamato, last year. I’ve been told that it’s all blossomed; I wish so much to see its flowers! Very soon I’ll have already died; I need to see it before die. I want, Yukiko, you to take me to the garden so I can see it… Yes, take me on your back, Yukiko, on your back…”
While she was demanding this her voice’s tone became stronger and lighter, as the intensity of the desire gave the woman a new strength: suddenly he started to cry. Yukiko kept kneeled, motionless, without knowing what to do; the Lord nodded with a light head’s movement.
“It’s her last will,” he said, “she has always loved flowers and I knew she fervently wished to see Yamato’s tree bloomed. Come on, my dear Yukiko, make her wish to come true.”
Yukiko offered her shoulders to the wife as nursemaid to a child and said:
“Madam, I’m prepared. Tell me, please, how I can help you.”
“Like this!” answered the dying woman getting up with a superhuman effort clinging to Yukiko’s shoulders. But as soon as she got up she slipped her skinny hands under Yukiko’s kimono and grabbed the breasts of the young woman bursting out a malicious laughing.
“This is my desire,” she shouted, “cherry blossoms, but not the ones in the garden!... I can’t die without accomplishing my desire. Now your beautiful flowers are mine!”
And after saying these words, she crumbled over the young woman and died.
Servants tried to lift Madam’s body up, under which was Yukiko, to place it in bed. But, despite weird it may seemed, they couldn’t carry out this easy task. The death’s cold hands had linked to the Lady’s breasts in an incomprehensible way. It looks as if the hands had grown up inside the flesh. Yukiko, terrified, fainted of pain.
Doctors came and they barely could believe the phenomenon their eyes witnessed. They cannot split the death’s hands from the body of her victim, though they tried in different ways. The hands were clinging in such way that any try to split them up will provoke a hemorrhage to the young woman. That the fingers grabbing strong the breasts was not the reason to not to be able to split them but, what happened was that the hands’ palm melted inexplicably with the flesh of the Lady’s breasts.
In that time, the most renowned doctor in Yedo was a foreigner, surgeon from Holland. The daimio decided to call him. After a careful examination he stated that he was unable to explain that strange case and that the only thing he could do to help the young woman, was to cut the corpse’s hands. And he said that it would be too dangerous to the Lady to try to split the hands from her breasts. So they follow their advice and cut out the hands by the writs. And the hands kept clinging in the breasts till they darkened and rot, as the flesh of a corpse.
But that was only the begging of the nightmare. Though hands seemed to be apparently death and lifeless, they were not death. Sporadically they moved stealthily, as big spiders. Night after night, counting on the Hour of the Ox (two in the morning) till the hour of the Hour of the Tiger (two hours later), the hands pressed, squeezed and tortured the young woman.
Yukiko shaved her hair and became mendicant nun. She got the religious name of Dassetsu. She ordered to make death’s splint for the death Madam, which she carried with her at every moment. Everyday she begged humbly so the death forgiven her and made a Budist ritual so her jealous spirit can finally achieved peace. But the negative karma that that harm had caused, cannot be calm so easily. Every night, over seventeen years, on the Hour of the Ox, the hands tortured, as the witnessed to who she had told her own story a night in the house of Noguchi Dengozayemon, in the village of Tanaka, Karachi district, in Shimotsuke province. All this happen in the third year of Koowa (1846). Since then, there were no more news from her.
This story it’s not mine, I just translate from a version I get of Lafcadio Hearn. If you want you can buy his book In Ghostly Japan.
The spring breeze makes the uneasy sound as my dreams crumble and my future brakes. I have no more... I want to be with you more. I want to be near you. I try to hide my weak tears behind a smile, but I can't hide anymore. My years of dreaming, at the end, will my true self be there I tried too hard to bear with it. I even put out my hand. But what it all comes down to was now; we are in hell under his control. So this is the end I tell you. Lights will be turned off and the stage will turn to darkness. Let me hear your voice more, I still want to be here. Goodbye to an anonymous girl I loved from my heart. I remember the promise we made, by the spring breeze I felt in my back. My tears mix with blood, and it brings to life my new dream in my heart. Until our voices go out, at last. Lets sing until our voices go out.
Dying a Child Child Prey Hurry & May the reasons why one can't laugh from the heart. It's a simple reason that's life Kiss Me Deadly Kiss Me kill Me Love Me Kiss Me kill Me Love Me Child is Burning Kiss Me kill Me Love Me Kiss Me Deadly
It's time to escape, there's no time to lose. There's no way to go, for me. Laugh, BANZAI by force, but I can't sing to your expectation... Identity Smash & Smash The guys with just all talk. Dance I say, joyfully la la la. I don't wannna be a pig like you. Identity Smile & Smile Happy & Happy Are you happy? He's simply a fool with no reason. Symbols of malice swirl around. You know, money can buy anything.
To try to answer all these questions and clarify a bit what Visual Kei is I'm going to write a series of articles about different aspects of Visual Kei. I have written these articles with the information I've read, see or listen in the web along all my years as VK fan. So the articles shows my conclusions and opinions. To fully understand the articles you should have some general knowledge of western rock, metal music.
Origins
At the end of the 70's, with the boom of glam metal, a group of Japanese designers open a boutique called Visual Scandal. These guys adopted the glam fashion, at the beginning they focus on clothes, wearing extravagant outfits, and later on they started to create their own make up designs.
In 1979 they formed a music group, also called Visual Scandal. They called their own style 'Beautiful Elegance', but then, in 1980 other bands with similar looks and influences start to used the term Visual to identified themselves, as Murbas which motto was 'Visual Violence'.
I reminisce under the late afternoon sky of the pressed flowers I miss so dearly. Back then, I counted down the days with my fingers to the day I would see you. The sky was blue, the good old days when my dreams were shattered. It brings sadness and sorrow. The sin is endless. Not a single sound to be heard. Tonight it is spring. One cold evening I saw her as she stood under the cherry blossom tree, with petals that bloomed too early. This story goes way back. She was beautiful and pretty but there was something about her. She had a very sad face. Her long hair hid her tears of late afternoon. Through the forgotten seasons, this place still reminds me of her. Time has made her disappear, as she was so delicate with her black and white scar. The sky was blue, the good old days when my dreams were shattered. The sin is too deep to bear, as I hear the sound of darkness. Tonight it is spring. The show booth. It was a cold late afternoon and I remember seeing her being colored by people. She couldn't do anything but cry as her tears bloomed like the petals. I reminisce under the late afternoon sky of the pressed flowers I miss so dearly. Back then, I counted down the days with my fingers to the day I would see you. The late afternoon sky lights the shed. The cherry blossom tree grew in back of it. And underneath the tree, she lies hiding her scar with the sleeve of her shirt hoping it would disappear just for that moment. The sky was blue, the good old days when my dreams were shattered. It brings sadness and sorrow. The sin is endless. Not a single sound to be heard. Tonight it is spring.
You're the one that's stupid. You're a pig; acting all honest but you hide your true self. Can't hear anything, Can't feel anything. This is a place of contradiction. My heart screamed out, you make fun of me like you make fun of my deaf left ear. I know everyone isn't like that, but I can't accept everything. So I still, even now scream out in a hoarse voice to all you rotten people... There is an answer, so writhe in agony and let your will to live come out. Everyone's the same once they sin.
You were crying with an apple candy in one hand... walking into the twilight. "Where's Mommy?" your eyes the shape of the moon burn inside my head and I hold you. It's August, when the insects start to cry at the sensu shop on the Gion Hill. The happy month of May that this child is looking forward to will not come. Paper balloons fly high in the sky. There, the tears overflow with the memories of the red candy ball as it melts together until it's gone. I wake up at 4 o'clock in the morning by the sound of a small cry. I put the child to sleep by reading the child's favorite book. Good Bye. Paper balloons fly high in the sky. There the tears overflow with the memories of the red candy ball as it melts together until it's gone. How many more years will it take for the tears to be all gone? The sun sets, underneath the burial is the truth and... 13 o'clock in the afternoon, not a single sound of the wind can be heard. Her body, still to this day, lie very quiet, underneath the tatami.
You're a monkey, looking all honest all over the wall. One Twelve Two Eleven Three Ten Four Nine Death Thirteen. Shoot the guys who are just talk. Am I insane? Is society pleased? Suck, suck, suck'em all till the end mine death thirteen. It becomes reality as my wrist pricks. Ain't fuckin' around. Mouth to Mouth. Can't hear the cry of the newborn baby. Honey looks down at the scaffold. Stuffed inside the refrigerator is a sacrificed flower. It's the highly praised Serial Horror Show. Nobody,s hell liike mine. You're a Dancing Majestic Baby. The works of orange is Thirteen. Lets play with the chainsaw. SUCK ME. Living honestly is a my good point and I have no bad points to my personality. One Twelve Two Eleven Three Ten Four Nine Death Thirteen. Shoot him who just screamed. Am I insane? Is society pleased? Suck suck suck'em all til the end mine death thirteen.
It becomes reality as my wrist pricks. Ain't fuckin' around. Nobody's hell like mind. You're a Dancing Majestic Baby. The works of orange is Thirteen. Nobody's hell like mind. You're a Screaming Majestic Baby. A clockwork of Death Thirteen.
It's 9 o´clock in the morning on the third Friday, and outside the glass window, its irritating sunny as hell. I prefer the rain. You know when you have those days? You just can't laugh. If it's possible, somebody please tell me my purpose to live. I want to jump off from this life that's so ordinary. No more whitewashing. People stare at me with cold eyes because I'm all wet for not using an umbrella in the pouring rain I'm hunting myself, and I don't even know it. I want to laugh on the third Sunday after the rain has cleared up. The social face, the private face, it's nice to see you use it both so nicely. Well, thank you I haven't thrown away being human... No more whitewashing HUMAN GATE
shaba dababiba shubidababiba duebidabidaba sharu rarararan
Day by day the innocence if my voice is being buried down. Don't you think it's stupid? Being scammed by a same human being like yourself? Please cry... just a little. While you sit and cry on the bench, your future is like a crow that goes through garbage. Please cry... just a little. The morning of the fourth Tuesday. I will soon be with my people. HUMAN GATE. No more whitewashing.
In the room, on the red wall hang Rosalyn, and the scent from the petals of the flowers fills the room but you are not here. On the velvet sofa as the dreams that turned to ashes quietly I watch a local movie. The reason to laugh is seeing you on the screen. The moon-shaped lamp still shines red. Goodbye... My to my dearest Vivian-scented girl. The decorations of perfumes in the sink, the black and white picture cries. What you see is everything and there's no reason to that. Cut down your discomfort wings. It's dying on you. Cut down your discomfort wings. To a tomorrow that can't be reached. Children sing the church choir at the newly built church. Whenever I walk past it, my heart screams. There's no forgetting the Past, the Present, or the Future. Will only the believers be led to salvation? That's stupid. Why can't we be perfect? Why can't it be? The merry go round that goes around and around and around has dried you up. I hold in my sweaty hand, a picture of you and an ice pick. Cut down your discomfort wings. Be freer. Cut down your discomfort wings.
But keep the door closed.
