“There is no such thing as an insignificant act.”

— Robert Augustus Masters.

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I lived in Osaka, Japan from 1995 to 2001. This is just one of many stories I will be sharing from those days. I’ve told it many times, and each time this lesson becomes clearer and clearer to me…

It all started when a fellow folksinger dude got me this sweet corporate gig that he couldn’t do. A booking agent contacted me and said that they needed to approve my song list for two twenty minute sets and most importantly, to know that I could do Puff the Magic Dragon. That was going to be the theme song for their client’s new beer, and they needed a “gaijin” to sing it. That’s right, Puff the Magic Dragon.

Well, that part was easy and I was booked. I had at least a week to practice so I was good to go (musically anyway). As I arrived at Umeda train Station (Osaka’s largest) I was feeling pretty good, but approaching the stage set up in the center of the main concourse, I began to get a bit nervous. I’d known this was going to be a pretty big deal but I had no idea it would be such an extravaganza.

The stage was quite big and flanked by two HUGE inflated bottles of this new beer Sapporo was introducing (or was it Suntory?) and for which this whole thing was happening. There were dozens of cute girls everywhere in uniform short skirts and cowboy hats giving out free mini glasses of beer to passersby. Once I was recognized, I was ushered into the center of activity where my assistant (yes, I had an assistant) began briefing me on what would be happening as he took me to meet the big boss man.

I’m sure just about everyone has an image in their mind of the typical Japanese businessman. The crisp business suit, closely shaved face, neat hair parted on the side and simple glasses. Any personality is expressed in the tie, and rank is seen in the quality (and obvious expensiveness) of the suit. But this big boss man I was meeting, was of a whole other category. I can only speculate as to how much power he wielded but based on his appearance, he obviously could do whatever he liked in the big corporate monster beer company world. He was “rough”-looking. A weathered face, clean-shaven but tan and one could see that he often allowed some stubble to grow. His hair was significantly longer than the average cut, with a natural yet well-controlled bang sweeping across his rugged forehead. He wore very expensive-looking sunglasses that he probably only took off when looking directly at someone to make a point. And his suit… well it was tweed. The jacket had (of all things) patches on the elbows and he wore it quite casually, over a very nice turtle-neck sweater. I would lay money it was “real” cashmere.

Only a really big wig or radical artist in a company like Suntory (or was it Sapporo?) could get away with this kind of look, and by the way everyone was treating him, this guy was both. My assistant did all the speaking. I doubt Mr. Big had much for English and he was not about to show how badly he pronounced whatever he did have, to the likes of me. After that brief meeting, I was taken by my assistant to my dressing room (yes, I had a dressing room) in the nearby five-star hotel.

I was given the full celebrity treatment. I was offered sushi and other fine snacks and drinks in my comfortable dressing room and on the way there, my assistant wouldn’t even let me carry my guitar (I think he actually had an assistant for that). As we went, my assistant gave me all the details of how the show was to go. He reminded me several times of how, the famous comedy team (the emcee for the show) would introduce me and I would then go straight to the center of the stage, look directly into the camera and say the name of the beer. I would then sing Puff. This was to happen several times throughout the show, but it was a live televised event, so the first time I spoke would be crucial.

Ok so this story is how I really screwed this whole thing up, and although I take full responsibility and don’t want to sound like I’m making excuses or anything…

But… you see.

You see, this beer being introduce by Sapporo (or was it Suntory?) seemed to me to be an attempt by this one beer company to try and piggyback on the success of the other, already established beer and take some of their market. Actually that was really obvious. As you can see by how I’m writing this story, I still can’t remember which company (Sapporo or Suntory) I was working for. On top of that, the specific names of the two beers were very similar as well. I can’t remember those beer names now or find any evidence online for either one but the “wrong” beer name was very well known at the time.

And so when it was time for me to make my way to the stage, with my assistant saying things like “Remember it’s (insert correct beer name) NOT (insert wrong beer name)…” it was almost inevitable that I would get it wrong. Ok so that’s me telling myself that, so I can feel better. The truth is I screwed up and when it was time for me to hit the stage I looked into the camera and said the wrong beer name, the wrong company name and then just happily started playing Puff the Magic Dragon completely unaware how I had just destroyed this company’s plan (and the plans of Mr. Big) to roll out their little scheme smoothly.

And I did it again!

Since I had planned (been told) to say the beer name and play the song three times in each set, I made the same mistake the second time. I got it right the third time but only because after my second screw up, my assistant had made a big cue card with the correct beer name on it and was jumping up and down waiving it from the wings for me to see. But by that time I think the TV cameras were gone. One can only imagine the jokes that could have been made on Japan’s various variety shows about this new beer rollout screw up, but if that had happened, I didn’t hear about it. Perhaps it became the butt of corporate and/or TV studio jokes or perhaps Mr. Big and his competitor at Suntory (or was it Sapporo?) had successfully squashed the story by both companies working together in some manner. My mind can have a lot of fun making up scenarios of the possible fallout.

All I know for sure was that after my set, I went over to Mr. Big to apologize. I gave my best “gomennasai” I could muster save getting down on my knees and offering to perform hari-kari (which may have been the only thing he would have accepted) but Mr. Big was stone-faced. He then took off his sunglasses, looked directly at me and said in his very strong Japanese accent, but very clearly… “Little angry”. He then put his glasses back on and turned away. Anyone who knows anything about Japanese culture would know that this meant something like… “I am so fucking pissed at you I can barely speak!”

My assistant said I should go back to my dressing room and as I went I said “I supposed I’m fired eh?” and he said, “No, you need to do your set number two and you will be paid.” But then a bit under his breath, I heard him say… (In English so I knew it was for me to hear) “Though I will probably be fired”.

I don’t think what had just happened had really registered yet. My head was spinning as I walked though my second set and there seemed a hopeless feeling everywhere. I looked around at this now very sad spectacle. What had I done? No more festival feeling. No more rah rah new beer. The girls were still smiling but I have no doubt they were under obligation to never stop smiling. After my set, I put my dingy coat back on over my cheap suit and was about to walk off into the cold rain, when a few of the girls came over. They politely thanked me for my performance and loaded my coat up with cans of this, soon to not be continued beer. What a joke! But it was not a funny one. How many people lost their jobs because of me?

I had no way of knowing.