Many cafes and coffee shops in Japan, although nice, try too hard in curating an aesthetic. Like pre-ripped jeans you pay a premium for, their interiors are filled with intentional randomness that seems a bit off. My wife and I sometimes go to a coffee shop down the road that features chairs from Denmark, Finland, and Norway, and a random backseat of a minivan as a couch. A recycled exercise bike serves as a coat rack. There’s a map of Europe with country names written in Dutch. They’ll also sell you knickknacks from their latest American garage sale haul: mason jars, “I Like Ike” pins, trucker caps. All dramatically overpriced. It’s difficult to discern what is for sale and what is not. Everything seems to have a price tag.

Places like this are exhausting and all too common these days. The vibe is manufactured. That same coffee shop features a playlist of jam-band music that the clientele most certainly has no connection with. Most customers are in the narrow band of 20-23 years old. I watched one couple arrange their coffee mugs on the windowsill for 15 minutes in order to get the best Instagram shot. Most of the time I sit and sip my coffee overly afraid that if I stand up too quick I might break something.

So finding a space that seems authentic has been a quest for me. That’s how I came to the jazz kissa (jazz cafe, ジャス喫茶) scene. I had read about them before. Cafes/bars with huge jazz record collections, excellent audio systems, and rigid rules about listening behavior for the clientele. You come, you sit, you order a drink, and listen. I was intrigued. I found a Sapporo jazz kissa called Bossa that I have adopted as my own once a month haunt. I come on a random free weekday afternoon, nurse a Sapporo Black Label in a frosted glass for over an hour, and just listen. Smartphone off. It’s a meditation of sorts. The walls are littered with memorabilia. The owner is irascible, or at least I like to pretend he is.

Tokyo Jazz Joints is that experience condensed into a photograph/coffee table book. Philip Arneill captures images of each jazz kissa that reveal the clutter, the dust, and organic development of these unique passion projects. Each shot investigates a different aspect of the jazz kissa experience. Backstreet entrances, toilet graffiti, worn out signage. These joints are about one thing: the love of jazz. They aren’t about the food, or the cocktail menus but rather low lighting and real ambiance built upon decades of record collecting.

The introductory notes by James Catchpole are excellent as well and help to set the reader off with the right mindset before exploring the pages. No table of contents. No real order. Experience each kissa just as you should, with a kind of randomness that encourages you to really stop for a moment and take it all in.

You can find more of Philip Arneill’s photos of jazz kissa throughout Japan by visiting the Tokyo Jazz Joints website or deep dive into the overall jazz scene at Tokyo Jazz Site. I also highly recommend you listen to James Catchpole’s OK Jazz Podcast for an eclectic mix of music old and new. You can also listen to Philip and James talk about their jazz kissa explorations on the Tokyo Jazz Joints Podcast. Enjoy…