Salsa Rhythms Spice Up Lives of Young Japanese

A pulsating mambo fills the air at a cavernous club near Tokyo Bay. “Ayyy-esssooo!” the song calls in exhortation as a sea of sweaty dancers roll their hips and swirl into turns with increasing abandon.

With its bare skin and clingy clothing, this scene is a world away from the formal and orderly Japan that lies outside -- and that’s exactly why these dancers love it.

Salsa, the catchall name for a variety of music and dance with Latin and Afro-Caribbean roots such as the mambo, rumba and Cuban son, has found an unlikely group of hard-core enthusiasts in Japan.

“It’s like they’ve suddenly woken up. They’re shocked by the gap between their daily lives and life on the dance floor,” says George Watabe, 56, an events producer credited as the force behind Japan’s salsa boom.

“It’s a kind of revolution, a mass rebellion,” he adds with a beaming smile.

The signs of the boom in Japan are unmistakable.

The monthly “120% Salsa” has grown from a one-page flier in 1996 to a full magazine with a circulation of about 40,000. Its pages list some 200 salsa-related events across Japan every month. Music stores sport sizable collections of salsa CDs, and salsa-based fitness classes are standard at Japanese gyms.

The salsa rebellion was in full swing in Tokyo when 3,400 people converged for the sixth annual “Japan Salsa Congress” -- a three-day sweat fest devoted to the serious business of dancing.

And serious it is.

Although salsa encourages dancing with abandon, Japanese fans leave little to chance. At the event’s boot camp, some took notes and others recorded moves with video cameras so they could study and master them at home.

“Japanese love to learn and study things. Look at how they took to golf. It’s the same thing,” says Chiaki Noji, a film production company employee who danced at the salsa congress.

As with other hobbies in Japan, practitioners must dress the part -- and money is no object.

Dancers can spend as much as $250 for an average pair of must-have “salsa shoes” with reinforced heels. Female fans drop hundreds of dollars at tanning salons to achieve a “sexy Latina” look.

Salsa’s popularity in Japan coincides with a worldwide Latin boom over the last decade fueled by films like Wim Wenders’ 1999 documentary “The Buena Vista Social Club” and the success of singing stars like Ricky Martin.

But many say salsa has a special resonance in Japan because of its dissonance with the wider society.

“Japanese are shy and they tend to keep things pent up inside. Listening to the music and moving the body is really liberating,” says Mayumi Iida, 27, an office worker.

For some Japanese, salsa is more than just a hobby; it’s a way of life.

Ryoko Ohara, 31, lived for years under a dual persona as “Office Lady by Day, Salsa Queen by Night” that earned her the stage name “OL Ryoko” -- short for “Office Lady Ryoko.”

She says salsa helped her escape long working hours and the inflexibility of the workplace. “After I started salsa dancing, suddenly my life became fun,” she says, describing how she spent her lunch hours scribbling down choreography for her routines.

Ohara quit her clerical job last summer. Now she dedicates herself professionally to salsa, running three dance teams, teaching and performing.

Salsa literally means “sauce” in Spanish, but as a dance it refers to the fiery passions the music evokes that are like a rare seasoning -- piquant, provocative. Part of its popularity is that it allows an open celebration of sensuality that is unusual in Japan.

“Japanese are not used to expressing their sexuality. Japanese culture doesn’t allow you to,” says Miwa Asano, a salsa instructor in Tokyo.

She says that freedom appeals to many Japanese, especially those in their late 20s and 30s who are seeking alternatives to traditional social values.

“Salsa attracts people who are taking their happiness into their own hands, who don’t need a group,” Asano says. “Especially the women -- they come to class alone, they go out to clubs alone. They are women who are OK going it alone.”

Albert Torres, a major producer of salsa events worldwide, thinks Japan’s salsa scene is a reflection of larger changes in society.

When he began co-producing the Japan Salsa Congress with Watabe six years ago, salsa was “too sexual, too taboo,” he says. He remembers dance teachers -- afraid of being stigmatized -- hiding their salsa dancing from family and friends. But now he sees attitudes changing in Tokyo.

“The Japanese have really embraced it,” he says. “It’s like night and day. There’s no comparison to six years ago. It’s not the same city.”