Japan's jazz kissas
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"UUID": "3ad24c54-5955-49da-9721-0e0be65fb057",
"Title": "Japan's jazz kissas",
"ShortDescription": "Notes from my travels in Japan",
"PublishedDate": "2025-09-27",
"LastUpdated": "2025-09-28",
"URL": "japans-jazz-kissas",
"WordCount": 4447,
"ReadingTimeMinutes": 18
}The jazz kissaten was a gathering spot in the early to mid 1900s in Japan where bars with high-fidelity sound systems would play imported jazz records that were too costly for the general public to purchase themselves. I traveled to Japan primarily to meet a few friends, but ended up learning about, growing intrigued by, and then, spending many of my nights inside jazz kissas. Over the last calendar year I've developed a growing interest in jazz, and my time in Japan unexpectedly reified this interest in a major way.
In the day or two following an evening or afternoon at a jazz kissa I would jot down a few thoughts or notes about my visit, sometimes as well as the day beforehand, like a travel log of sorts. I'm now sat in the Kansai airport, ready to board my flight back to Europe, and figured it be a good time to shape them up, a little bit, into something more readable (this basically means I put my rambly notes in paragraph format without much regard for anything else). I hesitated to share this, but I have titled this section of my website “fieldnotes”, as in qualitative notes a researcher would scribble down during research in the field, so what better for me to share here than notes scribbled down from during my 'research' (drinking whisky and listening to jazz music) in the 'field' (small bars).
Note that I visited "music" or "record" bars that I'm not including in here – while I enjoyed them as well, for the purposes of this I'm going to talk only about older or more traditional (at least traditional as I understand it to mean in this context) jazz kissas. I've written about them in order that I've visited them and have also linked to their respective address on Google Maps.
While wandering in and out of Jinbocho's used and rare book stores, the bright yellow door of jazz BIGBOY caught my eye. It had been a mission of mine, so to speak, to find a jazz kissa simply by wandering Tokyo, and on my second day in the city I had done just that. It was closed, so I wandered some more and stopped in a nearby coffee shop until shortly after its opening at 13:00.
Only one other man was in the shop with myself and the owner so early, sat listening to the trumpet of Thad Jones from a huge speaker (which upon asking I was let know was a JBL 4343B, driven by Mark Levinson preamps, if my memory serves me well). The sound was incredibly loud, given how small the space was (maybe a max capacity of 10 or so people) but its quality was great.
I had a drip coffee and sat near a window. A older gentleman in a blue button-down shirt with big red, green, and yellow bubble letters spelling "SHIRT" stitched from the collar down one side of his shirt, all the way to the hem, sat across from me shortly thereafter and alternated between writing in his notebook, reading, and listening to the jazz with his eyes closed.
I had a few coffees, and the music moved on from Thad Jones to the Phil Woods Trio, to Blue Mitchell's 'The Cup Bearers', which I enjoyed the most of the records that were spun while I was there. People came and went around me, and at a certain point, after maybe two hours, all seating was fully occupied and there was a couple of younger men outside looking to sit in, so having had my fill of jazz music and coffee, I decided to offer my seat and pay.
I spoke briefly with the owner who asked me where I was from and recommended me a jazz kissa in Kyoto – he was a very nice man, who seemed eager to speak, but who also had a lot of coffees to make, so I opted to not ask him too many questions of my own.
I was in Akasaka, very close to my hotel, looking for food. One ramen place looked quite nice to me, but had a long line out the door, so I figured I'd kill some time somewhere nearby. Google Maps revealed to me that Volontaire, a jazz kissa, was just around the corner – and so I went. Up a set of narrow stairs into a room that smelled very lightly of cigarette smoke.
The room was warm in colour, with a lush red carpet and a big wooden bar, behind it shelves of records surrounding a large wooden archway, contained within more shelves, but these shelves of liquor, a CD player, and a turntable. The man behind the bar seemed a bit shy, likely owed to the fact he didn't speak any English. I ordered a scotch and sat listening to the record spinning, the name or artist of which I didn't recognize. I was the only one there aside from him, and he mostly stood at the other end of the bar, going back and forth between looking at his phone and staring off straight ahead. He struck me as a bit nervous, which was fine – he was very polite when serving me.
Maybe thirty minutes into my stay a lady entered, and gesturing to her as "my sister" the man made a quick exit after wishing me a good night. His sister was much more lively, and as it turned out actually owned the place. I had another scotch, she served me some nuts as well, and was much very eager to speak of jazz music.
As it would turn out, not only was she eager to speak of jazz music, but she was seemed quite knowledgeable. She seemed shocked to learn that I wasn't aware Oscar Peterson was Canadian ("He's a countryman of yours!") and maybe even more shocked to know that despite Getz being a favourite of mine I hadn't heard his album with Laurindo Almeida, which she promptly put on ("But you must know Laurindo Almeida!"). She was very friendly, very chatty, willing to take some recommendations (granted I was the only one in the bar), and I ended up sitting listening to music and talking for probably almost three hours before wandering back out to get a bowl of ramen.
With my goal of stumbling upon a jazz kissa fulfilled once by jazz BIGBOY, and then half-fulfilled again with my semi-organic finding of Volontaire, I decided to look the next morning for a jazz kissa that was highly recommended, or a must visit. I found DUG, which as I came to understand was a jazz kissa related to DIG, founded in the late 60s by the late jazz photographer Hozumi Nakadaira. DUG's popularity further grew after DIG's closing in the 80s.
I took a train from Akasaka to Shinjuku around 18:00, and after a short walk from the station, descended the stairs into DUG, where the air was thick and hazy, owed to the fact that not a single person I saw was without a cigarette or cigar. I took a seat at the bar, one of the only seats available, and ordered a Talisker (my favourite). Compared to the previous two kissas I had been in, DUG seemed a lot more relaxed about the speaking (or at least the clientele seemed more comfortable in doing so). I watched the bartender hand carve ice, as I sat between an old man drawing in his notebook, and a younger man smoking a cigar, intermittently chatting with a bartender.
The atmosphere and decor of the bar was great, although I initially wasn't much a fan of the buzzing of conversation all around me, given I had come to have a drink and listen to music. Turns out others conversing is a lot more palatable when you yourself are in conversation, and the man who had been drawing next to me asked me where I was from in incredibly broken english. He spoke very little english and we communicated through our respective translate apps. He was a sculptor, and he wrote his name for me on the back of a drawing he had made (which I now have taken a liking to and have been keeping with me on my travels). He kept referencing the 'master' of DUG by pointing to photos around the bar of jazz musicians and speaking "master". It took me a second before I clued in that he was referring to founder, Hozumi Nakadaira.
I mentioned through my translate app that I had read that Nakadaira has passed away very recently, and the man responded that he had been very good friends with him, then showed me relatively recent photos of him and Nakadaira. I expressed my condolences for his loss, a gesture he took kindly to, and we ended up sharing many drinks for his friend, all the while conversing through translate apps on our phones. I won't write much on the subject of the conversation, but the nature of it was a quite unique experience: being through a language barrier, through translate apps, it was a very slow paced, intentional conversation, yet many messages came across as very abstract.
The young girl who was serving us was eager to show us all the bottles he had drawn on, and indeed there were many bottles behind the bars, the labels of which were covered in his doodles. He jokingly asked a bartender to make my old fashioned cocktail garnished in a silly way, and the girl serving us was very embarrassed and apologetic to hand me a drink that was garnished with half a lime, half a lemon, and a quarter of an orange, the peel of which was cut into a pinwheel, held together by a cocktail stick with a maraschino cherry – he thought this was quite funny. We shared albums we liked by scrolling Spotify, and he asked the bar to play Stan Getz's Quartets for me.
He left at around 23:00, and I left shortly after, only to find he had very generously paid for practically my whole tab – everything but the two drinks I had had before him. I left, got on the subway, rode one stop, before realizing I had forgotten the drawing he had made. I rushed back, and the bartender had saved it, as she believed I may come back for it (very kind). I got a huge bowl of ramen from a nearby shop before heading home.
Possibly my most unexpectedly enjoyable night in Japan, I would love to one day return to DUG. Everyone I met, staff and clientele, were friendly.
My last day in Tokyo was a Friday, and I was set to meet a friend, with whom I hadn't properly caught up with since high school (although we had seen each other at gatherings once or twice since). We were to get dinner in Shibuya area after he was off work, and since I had arrived in the area early I decided to get a drink by myself. I wandered deep into the suburbs, where I found Seabird (with a little help from Google Maps), a small jazz kissa tucked away in between what seems to be a street of otherwise residential buildings. I later learned the busier road on the other side of the buildings has a main entrance, which likely explains why the couple running the place was so surprised to see me come down the stairs from the much smaller doorway.
It being just after 17:00, I was the only one there. The couple that was running it was in the midst of setting up for a live jazz night, which they very kindly invited me to stay for, but my later plans meant I had to go within the hour, well before it started. I sat quietly, drinking a beer listening to Sonny Rollins, while they, in similar silence set up a drum kit. It felt a bit as if I was a welcome intruder on an intimate ritual, watching them set up the space for the live jazz.
It's almost hard to imagine live jazz in such a setting, given that it was a very small room underground, but the idea is exciting and intriguing and I do wish I could have stayed longer than I did. The woman was especially friendly, asking about where I was from; the man seemed to not speak much of english – in fact, when he put on a Getz CD (seems as if every jazz kissa has played Getz ahaha) I recognized his playing and mentioned to the lady, who excitedly told me Getz was also her husbands favourite and that he played the saxophone himself.
I'd like to come back, they were very kind and, at least to my recollection, prices weren't as high here as they were at other kissas I visited.
After dinner and drinks in Shibuya with my friend, who had to turn in early as he had an event to wake up for the next morning, I walked over to music bar 45. I almost missed it at first, but after picking the right staircase I made my way into a dimly lit room and sat at the bar next to two Brits. The owner of the kissa was friendly, and what was particularly notable is the selection of whiskey here was incredible. I chatted with him about my favourite scotches and he made some recommendations. I settled on a Nikki whiskey, a bottle he had very recently picked up during a visit he had made to the Yoichi distillery earlier this month. With the whiskey, he served me some bittermelon he had grown in his garden, marinated in a soy sauce based mixture. I had heard a lot of not-so-glowing reviews about bittermelon online before, but had not actually tried it for myself, and I thought it pretty good – it did have a bit of an acrid aftertaste, but I don't really mind that at all, and so the melon from his garden served as a nice snack with my drink.
The owner made mention he'd play more than just jazz here, and would often have DJs in to spin vinyls (but not tonight, unfortunately). Nevertheless, he seemed to do quite a good job himself with his turntables and set up; when I recognized a city pop song he played as a track sampled by The Weeknd he laughed, "of course you'd recognize it, if you're also from Canada", and quite smoothly transitioned between the original track and 'Out of time' (happy coincidence that he had Dawn FM on vinyl as well).
I had another drink, and spoke more to the owner, who showed me some photos of his distillery trip on instagram. He was very friendly, chatting at a low volume with everyone at the bar individually, never so loud as to contest with the music.
The next morning I woke up to a message from him on instagram thanking me for coming and wishing me safe travels – and then I boarded my train to Kanazawa, ending my time in Tokyo.
After my first full day in Kyoto, I found Jazz in Rokudenashi not too far from where I was staying. Walking up a tight set of stairs led to an old door with a beautiful patina. The room was narrow and not too dissimilar in shape and size to music bar 45. It was similarly dark, but with tattered posters on the ceiling and walls and a very slight smoke that hung in the air. The master was spinning a Kenny Drew album, chatting to a younger man, who was having a cigarette, at the end of the bar closest to the entrance. Two other pairs of women sat at the bar, and I opted to sit at a bench with large foam puzzle pieces acting as cushions behind them, close enough behind those at the bar to almost feel like I was sat a row back on a school bus.
The vibe was good, the owner seemed quite nice, and the prices were very reasonable, but I sadly wasn't carrying too much cash with me; this was a cash only establishment. As I had only a few hundred yen pieces I opted for single of Nikka Black, which I was unfamiliar with, but decided to give it a go, it being the cheapest option. True to the price, it was a lot harsher than the nicer whiskies from Japan I had gotten used to, but still a more preferable drink than Jack Daniels or Jim Beam, to my taste.
I sat and listened to the remainder of Freddie Hubbard's trumpet work, which is what stood out the most for me on Kenny Drew's Undercurrent, before paying with the last of the coins I had in my shoulder bag, and stepping out into the humid Kyoto night.
Edit: a few nights later, equipped with more cash, I went back. It was a lot more lively this time – in fact, it was shoulder to shoulder, jam packed, so much so that some people who tried to enter had to be sent away, and I shared a nice conversation with some Aussies, some Canadians, some Dutch, and some Poles, as well as with a DJ who spins funk, soul, and jazz on vinyl – who I later saw doing a set at a record bar nearby.
The ensuing morning I woke up with the plan of walking the philosopher's path and visiting Okazaki Shrine – I was told by my friend who lives here that it was a shrine dedicated to rabbits, so it seemed fitting to visit since I am, being born in 1999, a rabbit. It also just so happened to be the case that YAMATOYA, a jazz kissa recommended to me by the master at BIGBOY in Tokyo was right down the road from the shrine.
I spent the late morning to early afternoon walking, and haven consumed nothing but a coffee before walking to Ginkaku-ji, a Zen temple I wanted to see near the start of my walk down the philosopher's path. By 14:00 I had worked my way to jazz spot YAMATOYA and, still on an empty stomach, entered the doorway next to it's bold blue sign, and sat at the bar.
The space was a bit bigger than some of the other jazz kissas I'd been to – certainly bigger than Jazz in Rokudenashi – but not huge by any means; it could accommodate perhaps 15 to 20 people. Despite this it felt quite cozy: red carpeted floor to match a red bar surface, flowered wallpaper à la William Morris framed by blue wood trimmings, a beautiful plate that hung on the wall behind the bar (which I learned was changed with the change in seasons), and a menu shaped like a top down view of a piano complete with the keys. In the back corner of the bar, furthest from the door, there was a model train which looked exactly like a model that sat in my Uncle's childhood bedroom in Arnprior, but doubled in size.
When I arrived the place was dead silent, save for the sound of a young bartender adding ice to a cup of water to serve me. I was one of four people in the bar, including one client, as well as the aforementioned bartender and an older gentleman, presumably the master of the kissa, who sat reading behind the bar. A Stanley Turrentine album was playing, with a few more albums – a Dorris Day record, some swing albums – lined up on the ground to be spun next.
I let the master know when he asked me where I came from that I came from Canada, but more recently came from jazz BIGBOY, who had recommended me his bar, which he seemed happy about. I then decided, against my better judgement as I was on an empty stomach, to have a whisky: I had been drinking a great deal of scotch and Japanese whisky, more than I should have been, over the course of my kissa visits, but YAMATOYA had my favourite bourbon, Woodford Reserve, and so I ordered a single, neat. About thirty minutes after I had shown up the place came to life a bit more, with almost 10 others showing up over the course of a five minute period or so. Most notably, a gentleman who seemed to be known to who I had (correctly) presumed to be the kissa's master, sat next to me and ordered a coffee.
Along with the coffee, the master served the man a thick hardcover book, that sported a pale grey cover with pink lettering. It was a photo book, a collection of photos of Japan's jazz kissas, and I watch over his shoulder as he flipped through it. As he did, the young bartender informed me that this was his father, who had been coming here since he was a teenager. I had a bit more a conversation with the bartender who seemed to be about my age and who was very kind.
All the while behind us, a man equipped with a similar digital point and shoot to the one I was carrying with me was engaged in a ritual of sorts, where he would, every time a new record was put on and the sleeve stood up on the shelf to display it's album artwork, make his way to the shelf and capture the album artwork, flash on. I had been using my fair share of Shazam at the kissas when music I liked was played, so can't blame him for using the technology he knew how to use to capture and remember songs in a similar way.
Towards the back half of the photo book my bar-neighbour was flipping through, there a full page spread of jazz YAMATOYA in all its glory, and upon seeing it he pointed to the seats the two of us were sitting in and exclaimed "that's you... and that's me!", to which I responded by pointing to the spot behind the bar and stating that's where his son was.
I had had a few drinks at this point and, while I wasn't really feeling their effect, decided that that was enough for a Friday afternoon and paid my tab after another brief conversation with the bartender. I quite enjoyed my afternoon here, and would certainly come back were I to find myself in Kyoto again.
I was planning on going to a Sukiyaki place for dinner, but the wait time seemed quite long, and instead, recalling I had seen that they served food, walked over to jazz HANAYA to have a drink and bite to eat. The entrance itself was quite unassuming, unless I missed any signage in the dark: just a small silver placard, not much bigger than a business card, and a nondescript door set back into the wall. Upon arriving I was one of two customers, the other being a Japanese man who was sat back turned to the bar, looking at the massive JBL4320 speakers, which were playing Basie Jam.
The kissa was run by an older gentleman and who I believe was his wife: he'd serve drinks and spin records, and she'd prepare food. I was happy to see they had at their bar a recently discovered favourite scotch of mine, Coal Ila 12 year old, a whisky so smoky it borders on ashy with a primary tasting note of burnt and charred unripe padrón peppers. While serving me, the master asked if I was from the United States; when I replied that no, I was from Canada he exclaimed "Oscar Peterson!", before going back to gesturing to the cover and sleeve artwork of various LPs and talking about jazz in Japanese to the other client.
The lady spoke very little English but was incredibly kind and accommodating in trying to explain the menu to me. I settled on cabbage stuffed with pork, in a tomato sauce, and wasn't disappointed. The meat was incredibly tender, the cabbage cooked perfectly, and it came with a few slices of bread with a nice crust on it (something I don't often find in Japan, as my experience has been they have a penchant for delicious soft, spongy bread, but nothing as crusty as, say, a sourdough) to soak up the excess tomato sauce. Very good meal, it was like eating home cooking, in the best way possible.
The closer you looked the more cats you saw in jazz HANAYA: cat silhouettes above the kitchen doorway, stuffed cats hanging off bottle of liquor, wooden cats resting atop the speakers, cat magnets, bookends, you name it. I thought it was very charming. I had another scotch, this time a Highland Park 12 year old, another favourite of mine, and the master made sure to point out just how old the bottle was (indeed it was old and not like the branding I was familiar with).
When the man down the bar from me, along with one other client who came as I started my meal left, I mentioned that the sound system was very good (and it was), and the master seemed happy to hear, and started sharing some technical details about his set up (some of which went over my head): he was very nice and seemed happy to share and converse about his set up and jazz. The majority of what was played was from the 50s and 60s, most notably some Stan Getz, Lester Young, and Grant Green.
Around this time the lady brought me some slices of fruit to snack on, and excitedly told me that it was Japanese pear. It was like the pears my mother would sometimes get when I was a kid (which were, at least in North America, called "Asian Pears"), and was perfectly crisp, mellow and refreshing in its taste.
As I paid, I mentioned through my translate app to the lady that I liked all the cats, and in what was possibly the most confident English I'd heard her speak all night, she exclaimed "me too!". They both thanked me as I exited, and I left quite grateful that instead of getting Japanese hotpot I stopped at jazz HANAYA: a really kind couple who seemed very passionate about what they were doing, certainly somewhere I'd like to visit again if I ever find myself in Kyoto.