But a few girls dressed in uniform-like fashion—way too skimpy to be seen in school hallways—linger at the edges. Inside is a single row of seats reserved for female fans like these, and another row for families. On one wall of the lobby dozens of small brass plaques bare the names of the diehards who have attended over a hundred concerts, and there is little room for more. These fans worship AKB48 the way idols are meant to be worshipped, with an almost religious fervor.
YOU, BE COOL!/KING
AKB48’s penthouse theater represents the pinnacle of success. But out in the streets of Akihabara there are plenty of wannabes. Sidewalk idols appear in the area singing gooey pop songs in hope of creating a grassroots fan base among the otaku (geeks or fan-boys) who congregate there. These street idols are considered more “real” than inaccessible pop idols because regular folks can see them up close and personal. They are called aidoru (会いドル), a word play on the Japanese pronunciation of “idol” (aidoru; アイドル) with the Japanese kanji “ai” meaning “to meet.” Interaction with fans is essential to their success: they hold intimate concerts, pose for photographs, sign autographs and even partake in handshaking events where thousands of fans line up to meet members, but only if they first purchase the group’s latest single. AKB48 is a product of an era in which social networking sites seemingly make everyone accessible and everything personal. So far, it’s working: in 2009, AKB48 set a record for first-week sales by female artists with the chart-topping single “River.” In 2013 the group beat their own record, becoming the biggest selling female group in Japan ever.
Just like the girls struggling at ground level, the girls of AKB48 are approachable but just out of reach, and true fans would not have it any other way. “What if I did actually date an AKB48 girl?” says one waiting fan. “Then all my friends would be jealous and maybe even hate me. And what if dating her was not as I imagined? What if I was disappointed?” What if, what if?
AKB48 is the brainchild of Yasushi Akimoto, the lyricist and record producer of the original girl idol super group of the eighties, Onyanko Club. With AKB48 he has tapped into the desires of the otaku who hang out in Akihabara, with the “AKB” being short for “Akihabara” and the “48” referring to the number of group members (though the real number hovers close to ninety). The concept behind AKB48 is to offer fans a huge selection of girls to adore, make sure each girl has a different personality for fans to identify with, and make the girls perform live often enough for fans to see them regularly. The group is split up into several teams, each of which take turns performing at the theater seven days a week. When they perform, they’re typically in school-uniform-inspired outfits, while their music videos are often set in schools. AKB48 is
the schoolgirl super group.
Sixteen girls in matching school blazers scuttle on stage. Pre-recorded music strikes up as they go into a choreographed dance sequence and start singing. They’re young and cute. They chatter between themselves and banter with the audience, which reacts with its own performance—of chants and synchronized dance moves. The atmosphere is festive, everyone is happy, and the theater is throbbing. It’s summer 2009, and AKB48 is on the verge of going supernova.
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After the show, team member Rino Sashihara—decked out in a frilly light blue tutu, Mickey Mouse jumper, and white cowboy boots—ices down her calf. “There’s a mosquito in here,” she warns, “it stung me.” Then adds in English, “Oh my god!” gesticulating wildly. Rino has been an official member of AKB48 since October 2008. Ditto for her schoolgirl compadres Moeno Nito and Tomomi Nakatsuka, who are also taking a break between shows. “I was a fan of AKB48 a long time before I auditioned,” the sixteen-year-old Rino says. “I love idol music. Onyanko Club were super!” She and Tomomi gush about following AKB48 before joining, while Moeno is frank: “I’d heard of them, but I wasn’t a big fan or anything.” She was, instead, into Gothic rock and decorating her nails.
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“There aren’t just lots of girls in AKB48, there are lots of different types of girls,” Rino says. Tomomi, decked out in a track suit and sneakers, chimes in. “Yeah, there are cute girls, beautiful girls. Everybody is different. I think that’s really what makes the group unique.” Tomomi, for example, likes manga and video games, and Rino’s hobby is eating udon noodles. Scan the profiles of other AKB48 members and you’ll find girls into professional wrestling, horror movies, or anime. It’s an idol smorgasbord where fans can find at least one idol to his or her taste. The music might be what draws folks in as listeners, but it’s the girls who turn them into fans.
“The big difference between AKB48 and other mainstream idol groups is the interaction with the fans,” Tomomi points out. “We try to make a connection with the crowd,” Moeno adds. With weekly performances, TV shows, radio programs, recording and video shoots, the AKB48 girls are busy. “Sometimes it’s hard to always be smiling and happy,” Rino says with a wide grin. “Not that I’m horribly depressed—the furthest thing from it!” Sharing these feelings and personal issues with fans is something idols tend to avoid. It’s too much information, and a total buzz kill for the escapism that idols buffs want.
In the wake of World War II escapism and hope was provided by a trio of schoolgirls dubbed “Sannin Musume” (“three girls”). Hibari Misora, Chiemi Eri, and Izumi Yukimura made their name covering jazz standards and belting out entirely new Japanese creations. The three starred in a couple of MGM-style musicals together, and the biggest star, Misora—the Shirley Temple of Japan’s post-war war era—captured the ears of a nation with her 1949 smash hit “Kappa Boogie Woogie.” The East-meets-West ditty was about a mythical Japanese creature getting his boogie woogie on.
During the 1950s, American G.I.s and Japanese greasers alike rocked out to local cover bands doing their best Elvis impressions at live venues across the country. Covers soon gave way to original tunes and the first Japanese language rock songs. When rockabilly started attracting thugs and bikers, music producers decided they needed a new sound and a new look. Out went the leather, pompadours, and uncontrolled hip wiggling. In came clean-cut kiddies and choreographed dance routines. The “idol age” was dawning.
SONY RECORDS
Thank the French for helping popularize the word “idol” in Japan. In 1964, the comedy film Cherchez l’idole hit Japanese theaters, and Sylvie Vartan’s “La plus belle pour aller danser,” the movie’s theme song, sold a million copies. As a wave of Gallic tunes from young, pretty French chanteuses were snapped up, cover versions of the Franco hits were released to capitalize on the trend. What the burgeoning Japanese idols lacked in French sang-froid, they made up for in cute.
It was in the 1970s that girl idols would truly come into their own. This new generation of Japanese popstars had grown up in a very different period from their parents. It was an era free of Japanese imperialism and American firebombing: the Olympics had taken place in Tokyo in 1964 and the World’s Fair was held in Osaka in 1970. The future was now, and girlish dreams of becoming a pop star were possible. Unlike the matinee idols of the 1950s and 1960s, idols during the 1970s were created on television in living rooms across the country. On talent-search TV shows like A Star Is Born!, stars really were born.
