It was 1996 and I was in a nightclub in Tokyo. I was 26 and had been living and working in Japan for three years. I was dancing, along with my friends, to the thump of hypnotic house music. Next to me, an older Japanese man wearing glasses moved closer. Dressed in a dark blue suit, the attire of a “salaryman”, he looked out of place. He puffed on a cigarette as he tapped me on the shoulder. “You look like you can sing,” he shouted over the music. Why would he think that, I wondered. Because I am Black, something of a rarity in Japan? Did he also presume I had natural rhythm and could run a speedy 100-metre dash? I told him I taught English in a language school, but he pressed a crisp meishi (business card) into my hand and said: “I’m a talent scout for a music label and you look like you can sing. Call me.”
I wasn’t sure that I could sing. Like most people, I was partial to belting out a show tune in the shower and, given that I lived in Japan, I sang at karaoke. I could hold a tune, but I was no Whitney. Still, I was curious, so I decided to call.
