You don't need to speak Japanese to love what they're saying...

My weekend vice is an all-female Japanese punk band speaking to all of us

Mar 22, 2024

It’s just fun to say: Otoboke Beaver.

Right?

This is my vice for the weekend.

They’re an all-female punk band from Kyoto I discovered last year while trying to find something serious for a story on the SXSW website.

As soon as I watched the SXSW video, I was hooked and knew I would do anything to see them live.

In Lilly Pulitzer-style sundresses that look like they’re headed for a long weekend in Palm Beach, these ladies rip.

At Poisson Rouge in NYC, Feb. 2023

The lead singer, Accorinrin, leans into her singing with rage and urgency. She flips off the audience, she dives in. She crowd surfs on top of a giant, inflatable beaver. She’s young Ian MacKaye the way she tears it up in pink, Kathleen Hanna in attitude, bitch-slapping Japan’s shriveling, salaryman patriarchy.

A sample of their tracks:

“I’m Tired of Your Repeating Story”

“After Making Love With Me, You Eat Your Wife’s Meal”

“Introduce Me to Your Family.”

“Dirty Old Fart is Waiting for My Reaction.”

“I Won’t Dish Out Salads”

“I Am Not Maternal”.

How can I not see them? Quick check on their page and the closest show is in New York, in a week. I’m in!

That was last year, before my youngest son could drive – when I still meant something to him – so he had no choice but to come with me.

I miss the days when I had built-in partners for my madness, the kind my husband won’t abide. When the boys were in grade school, they’d be all-in when I loaded the skis into the car at 6 p.m. to catch a couple hours of night skiing. A weekend trip to Minnesota to see a local rapper perform at the state fair? Hell yes! (Side tour to Paisley Park, natch). The younger one was always game for joining me at all-ages shows at the Pie Shop, 9:30, Fillmore during the week. Dingledodies for life.

We hopped into the car on a Wednesday (he had a couple days off school – perfect) and jammed up to New York.

To keep it cheap – and authentic – we stayed at the fleabag hotel where GG Allin (finally) died and ran around St. Mark’s Place and the Village:

I smoked a clove.

We got to Poisson Rouge in the Village too early, so we caught the opening act. It was a great argument for always catching the opening act.

Hear me out: all-female, all-immigrant, Latina accordion punk, played, according to their social media profile “with a putazo of estrogen.”

And it fucking works.

“We’re New York’s best accordion punk!!” roared Yadee Araniva, the frontwoman for Ratas En Zelo – which translates to Rats in Heat.

Well, they do have lock on that.

Truth is, they aren’t America’s ONLY accordion punk band. Their brother band is Piñata Protest in Texas.

But they slapped, with Hiromy Araniva’s accordion taking the place of guitar, they fired off ragers about police, the migrant experience as a woman, bad boyfriends.

They all wear mouse ears and yell “EEK! EEK! EEK!” in place of punk’s old skool war cry of “Oi! Oi! Oi!”

Then came Otoboke Beaver, named after one of Japan’s infamous love hotels.

They were fast and funny, outrageous and adorable. We didn’t stop dancing for one minute of the show.

Their lyrics are a mix of Japanese, English and Katakana, the Japanese pronunciation of foreign words. Like, “sunakku” for snack or “hoteru” for hotel.

You can kinda sing along, in the most brilliant way.

Like the Japanese parts of “Don’t Light My Fire” (which is so relatable) translate to: