Meet The Makers What Happens When A ‘Garage Rock’ Band From Spokane Tours Japan? Big Crowds, Wild Nights And Chopstick-Challenging Meals.

Guitarist Jamie Maker fumbles with his chopsticks.

He’s trying to coax some noodles from his bowl to his mouth, but isn’t having much luck. Just when he seems to get the hang of it, the noodles slide off the sticks and back into his bowl.

Undaunted, Jamie (born Jamie Nebel) continues his struggle in the Tokyo restaurant.

The rest of the Makers - singer Mike Maker (Mike Reetz), older brother and bassist Don Maker (Don Reetz) and drummer Jay Maker (Jay Crook) - are showing more promise, although their techniques might cause some patrons to snicker.

They all have an excuse.

Just one day earlier, the band members were in the United States. Now they’re half a world from home.

So what are the Makers, a garagepunk band from Spokane, doing in Tokyo?

They’re about to embark on their first tour of Japan. Over the course of 11 days in October, the band will headline shows in Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka and Nagoya - five altogether.

The Makers update an almost forgotten punk genre - ‘60s garage rock. Some say punk was spawned by the Ramones or the Sex Pistols. The Makers make a strong case that it started with the Sonics, Them and the Wailers.

Like the Ramones - a trail-blazing punk band that formed in the early ‘70s - each Maker has adopted the band’s name as his surname.

Since forming in 1989, the Makers have released three albums (“Howl,” “All-Night Riot” and “The Makers”), three EPs and almost a dozen 7-inch vinyl singles. Their albums have sold 40,000 copies combined, making them the bestselling Spokane band ever. The fulltime musicians, who just scrape by, have toured the United States many times and Europe once.

In modern-day garage music, the Makers stand alone. No other band in America plays the ‘60s genre with as much originality.

Better known outside Spokane, they draw sell-out crowds of hundreds in San Francisco and New York.

The Makers are outsiders in Spokane, steering clear of the city’s cliquish punk scene.

Don, Mike and Jay, all graduates of North Central High School, grew up fast in the city’s West Central neighborhood. In school they were bullied, which they say toughened them up. Afterward, the three stayed tight, eventually learning to play instruments and starting a band together. They share a North Side home.

“We take care of our own” is the band’s motto.

In their first few years as a band, they earned a reputation for being dangerous - not by playing risky music, but being plain physically dangerous.

They were often provoked at shows because, as they say, they were doing something different musically. So they’d settle up with their fists, throwing a punch or two. Three years ago, the Makers were banned from most Spokane nightclubs.

Much of their violent reputation was overblown.

Jamie became a Maker after guitarist Tim Absalonson left. Though a veteran of many notable local bands, until he joined the Makers, Jamie’s music had never taken him outside the Northwest.

The Japanese underground became aware of The Makers when their first record began to trickle into the country soon after its release in 1993. Word also spread after some Japanese fans and bands caught a Makers performance at the Lollapalooza of garage music, Garageshock, in Bellingham two years ago.

Eager to play Japan for a couple of years, the band finally got its wish, thanks to 30-year-old Nagoya promoter Jun Miyake, a longtime Makers fan. He advanced the band $5,000 for plane tickets and paid for all accommodations and expenses.

The Makers, along with their manager, Vic Mostly (a.k.a. Harry Reetz, Don and Mike’s older brother) and roadie/close friend Kevin Gillette arrived in Tokyo on Thursday, Oct. 10.

Now, a day later, they’re killing time on a cool overcast Friday afternoon in Tokyo’s business district. In just a couple of hours, they’ll try to conquer their first Japanese audience.

First, they try to conquer their chopsticks.

The Makers are overwhelmed by Tokyo.

“It makes New York City look like Spokane,” says Don, 25.

“It’s the biggest city I’ve ever been in,” says Jamie, at 26 the oldest member of the band.

In fact, Japan’s capital is among the largest cities in the world, home to twice as many people as the state of Washington.

Urban traffic conflicts with the Makers’ typical leisurely pace. The band members have to dodge bell-jingling cyclists and rushing pedestrians.

“I’m not even going to give it a day,” predicts Vic, 28, assessing his chances of surviving Japan’s helterskelter sidewalks.

Yet Tokyo fascinates the Makers as much as it intimidates them.

“It’s like an old ‘40s movie with skyscrapers that are 10 times larger than life,” says Mike, 23.

At night while walking the streets before their first concert, Tokyo reminds the Makers of a scene from “Blade Runner,” a 1982 cult classic futuristic thriller.

High-rises snuff out the sky while projecting colorful ads on screens as big as basketball courts. Trains whiz by 20 feet above the streets. Traffic stops and goes as throngs of people pop in and out of restaurants, shops and storefront markets. The eerie echoes of wailing sirens and campaigning politicians speaking into megaphones can be heard for blocks.

If nothing else, Tokyo has the perfect atmosphere for the night-crawling, chain-smoking Makers.

The four cities they’ll visit each have unique personalities. Kyoto, renowned for its religious history. Osaka, center of commerce and leisure. Nagoya, industry. And Tokyo, the mighty Godzilla, purveying all things to all people.

Nearly everywhere they turn in Kyoto, ancient Shinto shrines and temples surround them. Exotic remnants of the old world sit defiantly among new structures. Before and after the Kyoto show, the awe-struck Makers visit two of the shrines.

All Makers love Osaka as they spend their free time walking the streets.

“Osaka’s got that good vibe to it,” Don says.

“As much as I like those temples, I like walking down this street in Osaka,” Mike says. “That’s what I like, the dirty city. I love it here. It’s like Vegas without all the hicks.”

“This is supposed to be one of the roughest towns in Japan,” says Jay, 25. ” … it’s like clean.”

It is rough, though.

The club in Osaka - Fandango - is nestled in a bank of buildings right smack in a Yakuza-regulated neighborhood.

Yakuza, band members learn, is Japan’s mob.

Next door to Fandango sits one of the Yakuza’s preferred hangouts. What lies beyond the two stern men standing at the doorway, the band never finds out. The pair just stare at the Makers, and their message doesn’t require translation.

In Nagoya, Don and Jay stumble into a Yakuza bar and ask for a beer. The bartender - the only other person there - merely folds his arms across his chest: “Japanese only.” Only later do the two learn from their nervous promoter, Miyake, that they’d crashed a mob joint.

For rest, the band generally sleeps at ryokans - traditional Japanese hotels. In the $200 rooms, there are no beds. Guests sleep on a mat laid on top of soft flooring made of woven straw.

One night some members of the band actually sleep in beds in an American-style hotel room.

On another night, the Makers hole up in a dumpy youth hostel in Kyoto. Seven people share an empty room, also $200, that’s only 15 feet by 15 feet. It’s tight, but everyone fits.

The promoter apologizes for the accommodations. The rooms Miyake usually books in Kyoto have been snatched up. In Japan, the band learns, hotel rooms are hard to come by.

Miyake learned of the Makers through the band’s record label, Estrus Records.

A fan of the label’s roster, he decided to give the Makers’ “Howl” a whirl on his turntable. The raw and raucous album impressed him. Since then, he has bought whatever Makers release makes it into Japan.

So when Vic phoned him on the off chance of arranging a possible Makers tour, Miyake convinced his bosses at the Diamond Hall concert venue to finance the tour. The cost: $26,000.

“I think Makers are great band,” Miyake says, carefully choosing his English. “And I want to see them. Many garage bands, they want to see (them).”

“He thinks the Makers are a great band and they will be much bigger next time,” offers Momo Masui, Miyake’s assistant and translator, and another big fan.

Miyake, Masui and driver Yasuji Nakase accompany the band for most of the trip, escorting them between venues, hotels, toy stores and restaurants.

“Having Momo and Jun around makes life so much easier for us,” Vic says. “It makes a big difference not having to check into hotels, buy train tickets and things like that.

“They’ve been holding our hand through the whole ordeal. We are powdered, primped and pampered.”

Before the band even lands in Japan, it’s warned about the prospect of timid, tame audiences.

The Japanese are sincere and appreciative, they’re told - just shy.

That doesn’t discourage the Makers. If anything, a calm audience makes the four even more determined to ignite them into a frenzied mob. And they succeed at three of their concerts.

“The reason why they’re doing it (being reserved) isn’t so weird, because they’re actually listening to the music,” explains Mike backstage in Osaka. “In America, they’re freaking out no matter what you’re playing. If you’re the headlining act, they’re jumping around and freaking out and you could be playing ‘Stairway to Heaven.’ “

“Part of it’s probably that people don’t get as wasted here either,” says Jamie.

Early on, though, reserved audiences aren’t what the Makers worry about.

The band wonders if anyone will even show up.

The four fear that high ticket prices - 3,500 yen, roughly $35 American - will dissuade kids from attending the first of two shows in Tokyo.

One hundred twenty-five people do attend, but that’s 25 fewer than the promoter had projected.

Fortunately, the numbers improve as the tour progresses.

Even Saturday’s gig in rain-pelted Kyoto is a hit, despite Miyake’s warning that Kyoto residents hibernate on stormy nights. Two hundred Japanese kids ignore the weather and show up.

Generally, attendance is strong. The Makers average about 200 people a night, and Miyake only needs 150 to cover costs.

Unlike Washington state, Japan has liberal liquor laws. Kids under 20 - the legal drinking and smoking age - are allowed in bars, where four of the band’s five shows occur. (And beer and cigarettes are readily available on the streets in vending machines). Kids younger than 20 are at least a third of the audiences.

Japanese fans elevate the Makers to rock-star status. That’s different for them. Americans don’t.

After shows, the musicians don’t retreat to the dressing room. They mingle, sign autographs and patiently listen to their Japanese fans speak what little English they know.

“You guys - great, great, great,” a fan gushes following the Nagoya concert.

“Good show, very good,” another fan raves. “You please sign?”

Along with rock-star adoration come requests for autographs.

“It’s totally weird,” Mike says while signing a kid’s pair of Nike high tops at the Nagoya show. “It’s more embarrassing in America, because you can tell people have an attitude like, ‘You’re signing autographs?’ ” American fans feel it’s un-cool and un-punk.

“The cool thing about that is just imagine how much those Nikes cost,” Mike marvels. “They’re worth nothing now.”

A young girl recognizes the Makers while they stand outside a Nagoya store. She doesn’t speak English, so she exchanges words with Momo Masui.

“She says she will be at show Friday,” Masui says. “She says you guys are very good.”

The four smile and nod their heads in approval.

The Makers are recognized on the street several times during the trip. With their suits and shades, they definitely stick out, but to be noticed in cities overflowing with people isn’t what they expected.

Driving to Kyoto four days earlier, a group of blushing girls spot the band at a rest stop. Too shy to approach, they giggle and walk back to their cars.

Before the final gig in Tokyo, miles from the club, two fans approach the parked van where the band waits while Miyake collects money from two record stores that sold advance tickets. They speak some broken English and hand the band a marker and some paper.

Night after night, the Makers play like underdogs with something to prove.

And they do have something to prove, since these shows will determine whether the foursome is welcome back in this country.

Before their first appearance, a different Makers - an out-of-sync version - turns up at the Shelter, a west-side Tokyo pub, for their sound check.

They’re rusty, not surprising since they haven’t practiced since they got back to Spokane from their American tour two weeks earlier.

There’s a concern about Jay’s drumming. He’s usually excellent, but during the sound check he doesn’t demonstrate tidiness.

“Think you can do ‘No Count?’ ” Vic asks Jay. The song will appear on the band’s fourth album, due in January.

“No, let’s not do that one,” replies Mike. “It’s just too risky.”

But by showtime, the Makers pull it together and dish out 20 swift jolts of bruising, barbed garage music to the 125 present.

At all five shows, the promoters and club managers are prompt and precise, which surprises the Makers camp. They’re accustomed to disorganized and chaotic American club shows.

In Japan, even though clubs push entertainment, they’re expected to run with factory-like clockwork.

Sound checks start at 4 p.m. sharp. Each band gets 15 minutes to test equipment and adjust the mix. Shows start at 7 p.m. The first two bands play for 20 minutes, the third 30 minutes and the headline band 45 minutes or more.

Most bands share the same drum kits and amplifiers, supplied by the club, eliminating time-consuming switches between each set. Only five minutes separate the end of one set from the beginning of the next.

The Makers save their best performances for Osaka and the final Tokyo show.

In Osaka, Tokyo’s Guitar Wolf’s set runs over by 30 minutes. Then without warning, the crowd of 250 meets their Makers.

The band drenches sweaty fans with rollicking versions of “Bust Out,” “I’m Not a Social Kind of Guy,” “Waste of Flesh” and “Angry Young Man,” plus a battery of new songs.

Seconds after the Makers dive into their set, the crowd erupts, pogoing, slamming, bobbing and dancing for the duration. When the churning pit spits some girls out, they spend the rest of the evening dancing on the wings of the stage.

Six days later the Makers show signs of exhaustion, but still manage to crank out their best show of the tour.

The 250 packed into the Shelter quake violently as the band’s tremors spew forth from the stage.

Pounding like brass knuckles on the skull, the Makers put forth as much adrenaline, guts and bravado as they can muster - and the crowd goes nuts.

It’s a good note to end on.

Japan is a haven for underground rock bands. The music scene brims with fertile talent, and the Makers witness it first-hand.

Joining the group on stage Oct. 11 are three fine Japanese bands: Jet Boys, Tonight and Gasoline.

Singing mostly in English, they sound like American or English punk bands circa 1977. Their sets boast heaping amounts of savvy, snot and vinegar, tension and youthful spirit.

At each show, the Makers don’t pull the rock-star trip by staying backstage until they perform. They watch the Japanese bands, most of which they like.

Mike Maker is particularly fond of Nagoya’s Gasoline. Before the trip, the singer received a demo from the band in the mail, and he quickly became a fan.

It’s almost a surprise to hear Mike and his mates speak so highly of the band, since the four are usually fickle, snobbish music critics.

Gasoline, which opens four of the Makers’ Japan dates, forges bluesy punk and is led by a singer-guitarist who dresses like an out-of-work Las Vegas lounge singer displaced from the ‘70s.

Of all the opening bands on the tour, the singer - who goes by the moniker Gun - has the best schtick: He slicks his grease-laced black mane back with a switch-comb and fires a toy ray gun into his guitar pickups.

As the band discovers, gimmicks are effective ploys for gaining fans. Japanese bands are extremely competitive and feel they have to supplement the music.

The one-upmanship makes for inspired performances, forcing the Makers to boost their shows a notch.

“The best live bands in the world are in Japan,” says Mike. “The bands in Europe can’t even compete (musically).”

“The thing is, man, playing after Gasoline - that’s real competition,” says Jay.

“Or Guitar Wolf,” Mike adds. “It’s hard because they’re great. I totally have respect for these Japanese bands. And they have respect for us.”

The Makers don’t believe the natives are undercutting their shows.

“Nobody sounds like us,” says Mike. “They’re more ‘70s style punk rock. They’re from a different school than us.”

Magnitude 3, which opens the Osaka gig and the final Tokyo show, is another Makers favorite.

Two years ago, after singer Joe Morimoto started corresponding with his American idols, both bands decided to release a joint 7-inch vinyl EP. It’s now available in the United States on Sympathy for the Record Industry label.

At both shows, Mike joins Magnitude 3 on stage for Yardbirds, Animals and Them covers.

In Nagoya, Switch Trout, a band of the garage-surf persuasion, takes the Makers by surprise by tearing through two of the band’s instrumentals from the “Devil’s Nine Questions” EP.

“Did you hear them do the Makers song?” Vic says to Kevin after Switch Trout gives “Kushticaw” a once-over. “They did it better than the Makers.”

Switch Trout closes its opening set with “The Red-Headed Beatle of 1,000 B.C.”

“It’s a hard song to play,” Vic explains, noting the tune’s frantic fret work. “Tim (former guitarist) could only do it once … when they recorded it.”

The four venues the band plays are all radically different. Yet each reflects the personality of its respective city.

Much like the colorful Osaka, Fandango is a wild place. With its chaotic graffiti-saturated interior, grimy floors and industrial fixtures, Fandango resembles a crusty American joint - the perfect ambience for a trash-rock band like the Makers. Of all the stops, the Makers favor this club the most.

“This club seems a lot more American,” says Jamie.

“It seems crazier,” adds Jay.

“The last place we played (Whoopees, in Kyoto), it was like a lounge,” Mike says.

“Yeah, it was kind of weird,” Crook says.

Whoopees does resemble a hotel lounge, from the 1970s - mirrors, leather couches, marble floors, disco ball.

For the first and last shows, the Makers make noise at a tiny, cave-like, subterranean club in Tokyo called the Shelter. Bomb Shelter is more like it.

“This is one of the smallest places we’ve played,” Jay says.

The bar is shoved off in a corner, and the stage is almost as big as the black-and-white-checked floor. Supposedly, this place can handle 200 people, but would probably feel crowded with half that.

When 125 people attend the band’s first show at this dark, smoky night hop, the crowd is manageable. One week later the audience doubles in size, converting the club into a claustrophobic sweat box.

An even larger crowd turns out at Diamond Hall in Nagoya, but that venue can handle 1,000 people. Diamond Hall is easily the biggest place the Makers have ever played, with a monster sound system and an even more monstrous stage.

Unused to so much room, the Makers feel like the stage might swallow them whole. Fortunately, they aren’t too intimidated.

“I like it in small clubs better,” says Mike before the show. “You get the amps. Here it has to go through more (stuff), it sounds computerized. It’s different, but I guess it’s supposed to be like this.”

“It’s fun to do that kind of thing every once in a while,” Jamie says “but it’s not really where we play best.

“We like a smaller stage,” say Mike, “where the crowd is up there with you.”

On their first day off, band members open their wallets for a Monday afternoon of shopping in Osaka.

The Magnitude 3’s Joe Morimoto and his girlfriend, Haromi Yakada, escort the Makers, Vic and Kevin through the New American Plaza, a district occupied by small curiosity shops, vintage clothing stores, record emporiums and restaurants. The district’s landmark is a miniature Statue of Liberty perched atop a 15-story office building.

The chic Osaka youth hang out here and spend their allowances on a slice of Americana.

Mike scopes out a number of shops, but doesn’t buy much - prices are alarmingly high. Until this year, he owned a store in Spokane called The Thing, peddling ‘60s clothes, toys, comics and more.

“It’s too expensive,” Mike says of the garb. “That’s where all the good stuff goes. It’s like untouchable. This is its resting ground because there is nowhere to go from here.”

In one shop, a beat-up brown bomber jacket hovers over customers. It’s not just any bomber jacket. It belonged to a member of the 8th Army Air Corps, the group that bombed Tokyo during World War II. In the States, the jacket would hang in a museum. Here, it’s on sale for $6,000.

The band saves its money for some heavy-duty toy shopping, visiting several stores in Nagoya. Since their funds are limited, they don’t buy much. But they have fun playing with the Japanese sci-fi toys.

One thing the Makers can’t get over is how expensive Japan is. With a single beer costing around $6, “we can’t afford to get drunk,” Don says.

What really catches the band by surprise is the amount of money kids spend to see an unproven band. Tickets cost roughly $35.

In the States, the band plays for between $4 and $7 covers. They realize the cost of living here is higher - still, $35 seems exorbitant.

Miyake contends that’s how much he must charge per night to break even. But the band worries it will deter potential fans from attending. Advance ticket sales had been slow.

“I normally don’t care about bad shows, unless it’s at someone else’s expense. It’s like Alabama on a Tuesday night,” recalls Vic, alluding to a time the Makers played to no one at an Alabama concert.

The band also raises the price of their merchandise, as advised by Miyake. Typically, the Makers sell their LPs for $8, CDs for $10 and the same for shirts. In Japan, the prices for the stuff rise a few dollars.

The punk-rock ethic encourages cheap prices, but once the band realizes that people are willing to pay 3,500 yen for a show and another 2,000 yen for a T-shirt, they grow more comfortable.

Merchandise sales yield $3,200, and the band’s share of the tour’s profits is just over $2,000.

“I expected us to do a lot better than we actually did,” Vic says. “What killed us was those four days off. A day off in the U.S. means feeding four or five people, renting hotels, spending money instead of making money. A day off in Japan is killer.

“Next time we’re going to do four or five shows back-to-back.”

“If I was an orphan, I’d stay here,” laments Jay.

On the eve of their final show, The Makers walk to the Shelter having just finished an interview with Doll, Japan’s punk-rock magazine. Tomorrow, the band flies home, and a sinking feeling sets in among all four musicians.

“Jamie’s looking forward to fruits and vegetables,” says Mike, poking fun at Jamie’s futile search for fresh fruit he usually eats.

“I have other reasons for wanting to go home. I miss my family a lot,” says Jamie, the father of a seven-month-old daughter.

“Well, yeah, we all got families and stuff that we miss. But we love it here,” adds Don.

The Makers hope to return as soon as possible.

Back at the club, a sold-out crowd has turned up for the Makers’ send-off concert. Tokyo’s elite punk-rock musicians also come. Fink from Teengenerate is there. So are members of Supersnazz and Jackie and the Cedrics.

The Makers make their final stand at 9:30 p.m. By the time they finish their last encore, a heaping pile of equipment is all that’s left on stage.

Ninety minutes later, a small crowd of fans and members of opening band Gasoline gather on the sidewalk to say good-bye.

“Man, I don’t want to leave,” Don says from the back of the van. The rest of the Makers are quiet.

The next day, Sunday, Vic, Kevin and all the Makers except Jay (whose passport was stolen in Nagoya, forcing him to stay another day) prepare to fly back to America.

Miyake and Nakase see everyone off at the airport.

They exchange thank-yous and embraces. Miyake, who hopes to bring the Makers back next spring, gets a little misty-eyed.

The good-byes echo in the terminal as the musicians and their tiny entourage turn away and walk silently to their gate.

, DataTimes ILLUSTRATION: 14 color photos Map of Japan

MEMO: These sidebars appeared with the story: MUSIC MAKERS If you’re wondering what the Makers sound like, you can hear snippets of three of their songs - “Angry Young Man,” “I’m Not a Social Kinda Guy” and “White Bread”- by calling our Cityline service. A touch-tone phone is required. In Eastern Washington, call (509) 458-8800 and enter category 2028. In North Idaho call (208) 765-8811, category 2028. Cityline is free, but normal charges apply to longdistance calls.

More online To see more photos of the Makers in Japan, check out http://www.VirtuallyNW.com

NEXT SHOW The Makers play Ichabod’s North on Saturday. Opening guests haven’t been announced. Showtime’s at 10 p.m. The cover is $4.