'I got the sheets but not the bed/I got the jam but not the bread/But, heh, I'm big in Japan." So sang Tom Waits in 1999's Big in Japan, his nod to the resilient prejudice that success in the far east is cause not for congratulations but for mirth. Retro Brit-soul band Mamas Gun (pictured) recently outsold every other western band to reach No 3 in the Japanese charts, but their achievement is unlikely to impress anyone other than their accountant as long as they remain virtually unknown on home turf: their modest UK tour starts at Birmingham's O2 Academy tonight.
The phenomenon of being "big in Japan" dates back to when Japanese record-buyers were condescendingly regarded as kooky and gauche, prone to aiming their affection for western culture at the wrong targets. In 1962, US instrumental rock band the Ventures were the first to find an unexpectedly enthusiastic audience there, and have toured the country every year since: their albums have outsold the Beatles two to one.
But it was in the late 70s, around the time that Cheap Trick unexpectedly launched their US career off the back of a live album recorded at the Tokyo Budokan, that it became an industry in-joke, representing a comical second chance for bands who can't make it at home. Big in Japan was the name of a short-lived Liverpool punk band, while This Is Spinal Tap ends with the hard-rock has-beens reforming for a Japanese tour.
But why does the cliche persist even now that Japanese fans are associated with hip discernment rather than cluelessness? It speaks to both the country's enduring sense of otherness (see Lost in Translation) and the cultural snobbishness that considers success far from home merely a consolation prize. Mamas Gun have got the jam but, to British eyes, they still need the bread.