Betty Davis in Japan - Entry #1

A Travel Journal by Danielle Maggio. Entry #1 of 7.

Day 1: Friday, March 1st/Saturday, March 2nd

Betty Davis entered the ancestral realm on February 9^th, 2022. More than her physical presence, Betty left behind a legacy of pioneering musical excellence. Her full discography documents the inception of Afro-futurist feminist funk forged by raw rock innovation and a deep reverance for the blues.

As one of the first Black women to write, arrange, and produce her own albums in the 1970s, Betty was a visionary who defied genre, disregarded gender norms, and embraced the erotic in a way that few have come close to replicating. Simply put, she paved the way for generations of future artists who dared to live and create unapologetically. Betty gave us a glimpse of what liberated music can unlock within society and how expressing unadulterated pleasure can shape the sound and style of an industry.

Like so many from a younger generation, I became a Betty Davis superfan with the 2007 reissues of Betty’s first two studio albums on Light in the Attic (1973’s Betty Davis and 1974’ s They Say I’m Different). But, by some cosmic design unbeknownst to me, I also became much more than that between 2016 and 2022. I became her friend, a confidant, an assistant, a researcher, a creative collaborator, and, towards the end of her life, a caretaker. 

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If you’re familiar with Betty’s career, you know that her absence from the music industry–marked by her final 1979 album Crashin’ From Passion being shelved and never legally released with her permission (until LITA’s 2023 release) – was also marked by her infamous reclusion. It was a reclusion that lasted for decades and created a mystique around Betty that was often overshadowed by scandalous rumors and sexy characters such as Jimi Hendrix and Miles Davis.

However, even the biggest Betty superfans are unfamiliar with how and where she spent the final months of her career; unfamiliar with the last stage she performed upon and the last group of musicians with whom she performed. Up until now, Betty Davis’s experience in Japan in 1983 has not been documented. After an epic week in Japan with Betty’s chosen family in which we retraced her steps and met with her former backing musicians, friends, and lovers, the Queen of Funk’s final bow as a working musician is, for the first time, in focus.

In 1983, Betty Davis was living in Los Angeles, grieving both the loss of her father and the loss of her standing in the music industry. Without a record label, manager, or a band, Betty took matters into her own hands and embarked on a journey that would significantly impact and inspire the latter half of her life.

At some point between 1980 and 1983, Betty met Japanese musician Fumio Miyashita (1949-2003) in Los Angeles. Miyashita gave Betty an open invitation to visit in Japan if the occasion should ever arise. During this same time, Betty’s brother told her about his friend, Alex Easley, from their hometown of Homestead, PA who was in Tokyo making a living as a musician. Determined to make one final push in her career, and intrigued by the possibilities of a different culture without America’s hang-ups, Betty made her travel plans and moved to Tokyo for several months in 1983. 

Initially rooming with Easley before moving into a YWCA on her own, Betty found interest amongst a jazz fusion group called Arakawa looking for a female vocalist to work with. Led by Tatsuhiko Arakawa, the jazz fusion band had a steady working relationship with Mr. Nishi over at The Crocodile Club, a live music venue that’s been around since 1977. 

Betty had told those close to her that she performed in Tokyo at a club called The Crocodile, but the prospect of learning more about that performance, and the possibility of hearing a recording of it, felt like an impossible Betty fantasy. That is, until 2019, when I was contacted by Saori Kappus (neé Asaba), a Japanese woman who was a backing vocalist with Arakawa in the early 80s and backed Betty on songs like “Steppin’ In Her I. Miller Shoes” and “The Lone Ranger.” 

Connecting with Kappus ignited Betty’s memory of her time in Japan, as the two women began speaking on the phone and sending each other cards. Their correspondence also revealed the existance of a cassette tape containing a partial live audio of one of Betty’s performances with Arakawa at The Crocodile Club. 

Listening to her final performance on that tape brought Betty an incredible sense of joy during the last years of her life. Watching Betty’s face light up as she heard the audience cheering and reacting to her performance is something I will never forget. Japan was no longer a distant memory accessed solely from her book and music collection. Betty Davis, live at The Crocodile Club, was now part of her collection. Her final moments in front of an audience were audible. And they loved every minute of it.

At some point during Betty’s 1983 stay in Japan, Betty was brought to Mount Fuji, one of Japan’s three sacred mountains. She was accompanied by Fumio Miyashita and a Shinto priest. It was an experience that would significantly impact her life over the following decades. It would stay with her as a calming source of spiritual groundedness during the most difficult times in her life.

Years before she told me about her time on the mountain, she spoke about it to her friend and confidant, John Ballon, a music writer and historian who was instrumental in bringing Betty’s music back into public discourse. A few years later, friend and producer Damon Smith, who would go on to become co-executor of Betty’s estate, also heard about Betty’s memories of Japan. These two men, along with Matt Sullivan, the founder and co-owner of Betty’s beloved champion record label, Light in the Attic, formed Betty’s inner circle during the last two decades of her life.

At various times over the last twenty years, Betty confided in each of us her final resting wishes upon her death. For a woman who placed the highest importance on artistic control and self-production, Betty ensured that her final decision on this Earth was well known to those she loved and trusted. Her instructions were simple: her ashes were to be brought back to Japan and scattered at Mount Fuji. With the support of Betty’s family, that’s exactly what we did.

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In the early morning hours of March 1^st, I boarded a plane at Pittsburgh International Airport bound for Tokyo, Japan. Sitting next to me was an elderly man keen on making small talk before our long flight across the world. I grudgingly obliged. “What brings you to Japan?” he asked far too energetically for a 6 am flight. I groggily began to tell him the story of Betty Davis, my role in her life, and her final wishes. I show him a picture of her straddling a motorcycle, wearing a zebra print bodysuit. His eyes get wide. “Oh my!” Through my sleep-deprived fog, I was instantly reminded of what an awesome privilege it is to share her story. “It sounds like it was a great honor to know her,” he said. 

The greatest honor, sir.

As any good audiophile would, I created a playlist for my trip. The first song I listened to as the plane took off down the runway was Ryuishi Sakamoto’s “Riot In Lagos.” Betty must have played this song for me a hundred times during our visits together. “The layers of rhythm, the intensity builds, can you hear it?” she would say. I do hear it. And I feel it. I feel Betty guiding this entire journey.

Thirteen hours later, my plane touched down in Tokyo. As I made my way through Haneda International Airport with my Google Translator app at the ready, I couldn’t help but wonder what Betty must have felt as she arrived, alone, in a foreign place, without the technological bells and whistles we enjoy now. I imagine that, like many pioneering musicians who are called “ahead of their time” in hindsight, she may have rightly felt exiled from a music industry that did not acknowledge her efforts and sacrifice. Perhaps she also felt exiled from herself and the life she was about to leave behind. 

I get in a cab and head to our hotel, All Day Place, in Shibuya, a bustling city center known for its nightlife and fashion districts. There, I meet up with Betty’s chosen family who she entrusted on this mission: John Ballon, Damon Smith, and Matt Sullivan. Over the years, the four of us have bonded through our love and stewardship of Betty’s music, her story, and her well-being. After this week, our bond would be unbreakable.

We are also joined by Greg Gouty, who handles international sales for LITA. As a fluent Japanese speaker, Greg is there to provide integral translating services as we speak with the people who knew Betty during her time in Japan. This includes bandleader Tatsuhiko Arakawa, musician Itsuro Shimoda, club owner Tetsuya Nishi, composer Shigeru Umebayashi, fashion designer Yuki Torimaru, and Homestead, PA native Alex Easley. Over the next six days, we will honor Betty as she intended herself to be honored. 

Once we all arrived in Tokyo from our prospective cities, we gathered ourselves in astonishment that this moment has actually arrived. After years of planning and connecting with both the living members of Arakawa and Betty’s former friends and lovers who’ve helped fit the missing puzzle pieces of her career, we are finally in Japan: Betty’s “spiritual home,” as she called it. As an ethnomusicologist and writer, it was a dream trip to embark upon. But, above all else, this trip was about seeing through Betty’s final wishes. As John Ballon so beautifully put it, this trip was about keeping a promise to a friend.

We made our way to a local izakaya and had what would be the first of many incredible meals. With our glasses raised, we remember the woman who brought us all together. 

To Betty: Kanpai!