August 4, 2025 • 27 mins
We go to meet the head of one of Osaka's best known underground racing crews. What we didn't know, is that he's allegedly involved in a notorious organized crime thing. This makes things tricky, and we see access slip through our fingers... for now.
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Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:01):
Causer Media. You're listening to the Away Days podcast on
the ground outside reporting from the underbelly with me Jake Hanrahan.
To watch Awaydays documentaries, go to YouTube dot com slash
at Away Days TV. This is part three Speed Tribe
(00:28):
twenty five, Episode two. This podcast is a production of
H eleven Studio and Call Zone Media, Osaka. At night,
the city is lit up like an led Christmas tree.
(00:50):
Small street stools and larger family restaurants keep each side,
street and back alley busy. The sound of drinking, conversation
and cash red at every corner. There's something to spend
money on if you want to. Vending machines, hole in
the wall, bars and red light private clubs. Large halogen
(01:10):
bulbs light up garish advertisements on every square foot of
free space. We're in a blue collar district where no
one takes card and everyone is sick of the inflation.
I'm on my way to meet with the head of
a Canjo racing crew to negotiate access. I want to
film a real multi car civic race on the loop,
(01:32):
not just a few here and there, A proper race.
I've been told one is planned soon, and I want
in You can't understand the culture behind all of this
properly if you don't see it firsthand. I don't think
so anyway, Yes, I get it. It's dangerous, but it
is what it is. We get to the location this
(01:54):
is where the Kanjo crew told us to meet, and
with two guys from my team and John, who's still
helping us negotiate this clandestine world of illegal street racing.
The location is a really cool independent Korean restaurant. It's busy, cluttered, perfect.
Just as we get to a table, the Kanjo crew arrives.
(02:16):
Now I can't go into too many details due to
various legalities, but it's a small crew of four or
five people. The boss man stands out for his size.
He's about six foot two and built like a brick shitouse,
an unusual frame in downtown Asaka. His number two is
a skinny chainsmoking mechanic with greasy hair and a crooked smile.
(02:38):
The others are quiet and unassuming. Everyone is dressed in
an assortment of trendy Japanese streetwear. The boss man greets
us with a firm handshake and we exchange pleasantries. I'm
eager to give him the present are boring. In Japan,
bringing gifts of people is an important tradition. It's rooted
in the country's strong etiquete culture. It's not just about
(03:01):
giving a present, it's kind of a ritual. It shows respect, gratitude,
and the careful maintenance of relationships. Presentation is key. Wrapping
is considered almost as important as the gift itself. I
wish I had known that. There's apparently an art to it.
Handing over a nicely wrapped box with both hands and
(03:22):
a bow tied on top shows proper etiquet. When visiting
someone's home, bringing a small gift is standard, even if
it's just snacks or a souvenir from your hometown. And
when someone gives you a gift, you're generally expected to
return the favor later, sometimes with a return gift known
as okashi, often worth half the value of the original present.
(03:45):
There are unspoken rules to this. Importantly, gifts are usually
given modestly. You don't open them in front of the
giver unless invited to. Doing so might be seen as greedy.
Lavish gifts can make people feel uncomfortable or feel obliged,
so everyone keeps it simple now. Japanese gifting isn't about
(04:05):
the object. It's about maintaining balance, recognizing relationships, and expressing
thoughtfulness in a way that keeps the social fabric smooth
and intact. Now, with all this in mind, my contact
in Japan told me to bring some gifts before we arrived. Obviously,
I want to respect the customs of the country. Generally,
(04:26):
I do that anyway if I'm going somewhere. It's been
taught to me in my family. You bring gifts to
new people that you meet. That's just how it is. Obviously,
I was not going to turn up empty handed, so
I asked the contact, what the hell do I bring
as a gift to illegal street racing petrol heads in
the gritty suburbs of a Sakka. His response, Max Power magazine.
(04:50):
I laughed, but he was serious. It's the perfect gift
for a brit to bring if you're interested in kanjo zoku,
he told me. Growing up, I remember seeing Max Power
on the shelves of every news agent in Britain. It
was a monthly car magazine. Launched in May nineteen ninety three,
Max Power quickly became the go to publication for what
(05:11):
was then a rapidly growing buoy at racer culture. In
the UK, the peak circulation around two hundred and forty
thousand copies of Max Power was sold every single month.
In its early years, Max Power showcased modifications such as
engine swaps, body kits and huge wheel conversions, not too
(05:33):
far from what the Canjo race is here in Asaka
Get up to Now, And like the model Civics themselves,
the visual esthetic of Max Power was very much in
your face. I wasn't remotely interested in cars back then
when it was on sale in the UK, but the
magazine's style would always catch my eye. I remember it.
I think probably everybody else does. What made Max Power
(05:56):
unique was its indulgence in car culture contra reversy. The
magazine would often have coverage of illegal cruise events and
public burnouts. This drew criticism from police and safety advocates,
but it also sealed the magazine's notoriety in the underground.
Despite the haters, Max Power played an outsized role in
(06:18):
shape and a community and industry tuning shops, aftermarket suppliers,
custom showers the lot. Reflecting on its cultural legacy, the
former Max Power editor described this era as a uniquely
vibrant British car subculture. It wasn't just about horsepower. It
was about mass individuality, diy creativity and youthful defiance. Now
(06:43):
surely that rings a bell. The Max Power aligned world
of British car culture mirrored some aspects of Japan's Kanjo zoku.
John tells me that racers would even import the magazine
in English, even if they couldn't read the articles. So
me to bring over a stack of old Max Power issues.
(07:05):
I got a load off eBay for about thirty quid
and stuffed them into my suitcase. Now Here I am
in Osaka with them all sat in a plastic carrier
bag as a gift for what is the boss of
a notorious Kanjo crew in Japan. Suddenly it doesn't feel
like the good idea it did when I was back home.
(07:25):
Either way, Once we're all seated, I hand the stack
of magazines over and we explain the gift. The boss
band holds them in his hands, briefly looks at the
first issue on the pile, and hands them off to
his chainsmoking sidekick. He doesn't even look at them. Neither
of them are remotely interested. I look at John like
what the fuck? John shrugs at me and orders a
(07:47):
round of pints for the table. I can't go into
exactly what was said at this meeting, but we all
eventually get chatting about Kanjo. I explain what we're trying
to do with the award As project, and the boss
Man likes it a lot. After he gets a little
more comfortable, he makes a comment about some visible tattoos
me and one of my guys have on our arms.
(08:10):
He says he likes them. He grins. This is a
bit unusual, as tattoos in Japan are seen very differently
to how they are in the West. Here in Japan,
there's a complicated and often negative stigma attached to them. Historically,
they've been associated with criminality, particularly the Yakuza, Japan's most
(08:33):
notorious organized crime syndicate. Full body tattoos called irazumi, were
used by Yakuza gang members as a sign of loyalty
and defiance, making them a visual marker of the underworld.
Because of this, many public places like bath houses, swimming pools,
and even weights gyms still ban visible tattoos to this day.
(08:56):
The perception is gradually shifting, but there is still very
much an uneasiness about people with tattoos in Japanese culture. So,
considering the boss Man's comment about our tattoos, I ask
him if he has any. Honestly, I might half joking
when I say this, but he nods, looks me right
in the eye, and rolls up both of his sleeves.
(09:20):
Traditional irizumi tattoos completely cover his ants your cusa. Suddenly,
the secrecy of some of this scene begins to take
on another purpose. I get it some level of organized
crime is involved with some of these teams, not all
of them, not the majority, but it's there. The boss
(09:41):
Man's friends suddenly feel like a bit of an entourage.
None of them even blink when he pulls out the tats.
I guess is they all have something similar? Wow? Nice,
I say. The boss Man grins again, pulls down his sleeves,
and orders Korean barbecue for all of us. He loosens,
and after we eat, for some reason, he pulls out
(10:03):
a little tool he has attached to a set of
his keys and fiddles with it for ages. It's a small,
but sharp, spring loaded metal spike, like a flick knife,
but it's a spike, not a blade. It's hardly a
massively serious weapon, but if you stuck it in your neck,
I dare say you'd know about it. Seems an unusual
thing just to whip out at the table, but what
(10:24):
do I not. At the end of the night, we're
all getting on great and the boss Man takes us
to see his cat. I can't even tell you what
it is, specifically to protect his identity, but it is
a very very nice and very unique Conde civic. Let's
just say that he agrees that we'll join him and
his crew on the Candor Loop late one night this week.
(10:45):
Perfect he even gives us a gift. He takes his
little stabber off his keys and hands it to one
of our team Max Power magazines for a little keyring
stabber Yakuza weapon. Not a bad exchange at all. A
(11:13):
few days past and we've heard absolutely nothing from the
boss Man. Honestly, I'm regutted. He seemed completely genuine about
the access and rapport we'd built with them. None of
us really give a shit that he's Yakuza. The whole
world runs on crime, after all. Some of it's just
legal because governments do it. It seems unlikely that he
suddenly got cold feet, as if we'd inform on him
(11:35):
or something. But here we are, and so we take
up the famous journalists past time. Of waiting around, we
spend the day enjoying a Saka. We rented a tiny
house in an area we're told is quote unquote kind
of the hood. It doesn't feel like that. Though the
streets are clean, everyone is nice, and crime is largely
(11:57):
non existent. People don't even change their push bikes up here.
Each day we go to this little family run cafe
near the house and we order eggs on toast and
black coffee. The family there get used to us, and
we communicate through Google Translate. Tinny Midi style music plays
in the background from a tape. Every space on the
wall is covered with something unique and homely. It's one
(12:19):
of the calmest places I think I've ever been to
in my entire life. I love it here in the cafe,
in the Nishinari ward. It is the total opposite of
the high octane madness of the Osaka street racers. The
next day there's news there's a reason the boss man
we met with recently has ghosted us. He's been arrested.
(12:42):
Nothing to do with racing, not from what we're told,
at least he was taken in on weapons charges, not
because of his spring loaded spike, but apparently firearms in
Japan that is a very big deal. A legal guns
in Japan are exceptionally rare. The country has some of
(13:03):
the strictest firearm laws in the world, and as a result,
gun crime is almost non existent. In an average year,
the number of shootings across the entire country can usually
be counted on one hand. Most Japanese citizens will go
their entire lives without ever even seeing a real firearm
or even hearing gunshots. Even the yakuza tend to avoid
(13:28):
using guns because the legal consequences are extremely harsh and
police raids into their businesses become extremely relentless. Japan's firearm
and sword possession control laws strictly limits gun ownership to
shotguns and air rifles under tight regulation. Even those require
a lengthy licensing process, including written tests, mental health evaluations,
(13:52):
background checks, and regular police inspections. Handguns are completely banned
for civilians forget about it. The general public is culturally
and legally distanced from firearms at all times, and gun
ownership carries a significant social stigma. If you're call in
possession of an illegal firearm in Japan. To put it bluntly,
(14:14):
you are fucked deep trouble. You're potentially looking at ten
years in prison. Sentencing gets harshit if the gun was
used in the commission of a crime or is linked
to organized crime. I hope, for the boss Man's sake,
he was just collecting somehow, though I doubt it either way.
Needless to say, we will not be seeing him for
(14:36):
a while. Even just owning bullets without a gun can
lead to prison time in Japan, and the judges rarely
show leniency to anything. Japanese police also have the power
to investigate aggressively when it comes to gun related offenses.
As I said, it's raids, surveillance and forensic checks. All
this is common. People generally do not mess around with guns.
(15:01):
The system is so airtight that even Japan's underworld mostly
steer clear of them. So what has happened with the
boss Man is completely beyond me. If I had to guess,
seen as he was pretty young and trendy but also
involved in organized crime. Maybe he wanted a gone just
for status. I don't know, though. The whole thing is
a bit mad, so as you can imagine, our contacts
(15:25):
in this race, crew went cold for now anyway. Luckily
for us, Kanjo Zoku is not the only street racing
counterculture here in Japan. Far from it, John happens to
have contacts with a very different style of underground racing.
One night, he randomly calls ahead and tells us we're
going to the outskirts of a Saka. It's about an
(15:48):
hour's drive away to a smaller town where the mountains
and nearby. He comes to pick us up in his
honestly immaculate civic and tells us we're going on a
drive potentially into the world of toga. To understand the
Japanese togay scene, you've got to picture the country's spine.
The winding mountain passes, cutting through dense forests, blurry ridgelines,
(16:12):
and treacherous switchbacks where visibility often drops to zero. These
are the backbones of rural Japan. Originally the land of farmers, villagers,
and monks, but by the late eighties and nineties they
became the battleground for a specific breed of underground petrol head,
the Togay races. This is not a fast and furious
(16:38):
style drag racing scene. This is something much quieter hidden.
The Togay is onder wraps and is incredibly risky, a
dance between man, machine and nature. These drivers drift or
grip their cars down narrow mountain roads at full speed,
with drops of certain death just feet over the fence line.
(17:00):
One wrong move and the Togay cars are flying into
a jagged rock ravine. There is almost no chance of survival.
This all started when the big city boys of Tokyo
raised on the Wangang expressways and toll roads around Tokyo Bay.
The rural and suburban kids had to get their own
thing going. With no money for track days or toll roads,
(17:23):
they looked to the mountain passes nearby. These winding roads
were free, isolated and perfect for testing cornering skills, and
so togo racing was born. Not necessarily to see who
was faster in a straight line, but who had the
precision and the guts to thread the needle through tight
mountain bends at terrifying speeds. Also, the philosophy was different.
(17:48):
This was not about octane and speed. This was about rhythm,
flow and keeping your composure. There is no central Togay organization,
no league, no official hierarchy. It's different to canjo in
that respect. Small circles of trust among drivers keep the
scene active in the underground. In toga, you have to
(18:10):
prove yourself before you're even allowed to race on the
mountain pass. Not with money or care or gear, but
with consistency and commitment. Everyone knows the risks. A crash
in Togai is worse than a bent bumper or smashed windows.
If you fuck up here, you're rolling down a mountain
or slamming into a wall with no ambulances or hospitals
(18:34):
for miles around. Most Togay races happen in the dead
of night, no traffic, no witnesses, fewer cops. Walkie talkies,
burner phones, and encrypted apps are used to coordinate. A
century is placed at the top and bottom of the
course to warn if police or other vehicles are coming.
Some teams even use spotters half way along the route
(18:56):
with torches or laser pens to signal potential has The
roads are never really uniform. You can't exactly get used
to the feel of the road like you can with kanjo.
Some Togay runs are type technical, full of hairpins and
steep descents. Others, like the gun passes have more flow
and open corners, but all are narrow, blind and very dangerous.
(19:22):
Within the togay scene that there's a clear ideological split
the grip drivers versus the drifters. Generally, it's seen that
both come under the same umbrella of togai. Grip racers
believe in maximum traction, perfect apexes, and precision driving. Always
their goal is to maintain speed through corners using racing lines,
(19:43):
breaking points, and tire grip. These guys are usually quiet, disciplined,
methodical drifters, on the other hand, are all about style
and control in chaos. They throw the rear end out
into corners, intentionally breaking traction but keeping control through throttle
steering and counter steering techniques. It's actually not always the
(20:07):
fastest way through a corner, but it is definitely the
coolest way to do it, and to the drifting contingent
of togai, they feel it's the purest the truth. Many
togay racers do both. They can grip when they need
to win and drift when they want to show off
the best affluent in both dialects of speed. It can
(20:27):
even be argued that toga is just the place and
the whole scene, but both are interchangeable. Now, togay cars
are nothing like the quarter mile drag racing machines you
(20:49):
might see in places like America. The Japanese counterparts are light,
nimble and built for twisting roads. Weight reduction is key.
Like they can racing drivers got the interior, remove rear seats,
spare tires, and sometimes even replace the doors and bonnets
with fiberglass or carbon fiber. Popular choices of cars for
(21:13):
racing on Toge include Toyota A E eighty six, the
Mazda RX seven, the Nissan Silvia, the Honda Civic and
Integra type, and the Subaru Impretso Amtsubishi Evil. Engine swaps,
coil overs, strup bars, roll cages, LSD's, and grippy tires
are the norm when it can be afforded. No nos,
(21:34):
nothing flashy, just purpose built machines made to survive the
mountain's pass. Now, despite togate being highly illegal, the racers
live by a strict code of conduct. There are unspoken rules.
Never race in the rain unless you're preparing to die.
Never endanger civilians if a car is coming, stop the race.
(21:55):
If you crash, you fix your own mess. No trash
talking without skill to back it up, and respect the
mountain always. Togai is not a free for all like
other underground racing scenes. Here the mountain is sacred not
just as approving ground, but as a place of honor
for the racers. Whilst the togai scene is definitely still active,
(22:18):
as we'll see, it's nothing like it was in the
mid nineties. Back then toga racing had exploded. There was
even a whole manga series about it called initial D.
(22:40):
It's very cool. You might have heard of it. If not,
check it out. Initial D. Generally, message boards and forums
on the Internet helped u spread the culture internationally. But
with more eyes came more heat from the cops. As
with Kanjo, the Japanese police began cracking down hard night
patrols in togay areas. Increased penalties for illegal modifications got harsher,
(23:05):
and if you got court racing or even being associated
with it, you risk losing your license immediately, having your
car impounded, or getting a hefty fine. It got serious.
In some prefectures. A street racing conviction could even tank
your job prospects or get you kicked out of school.
Some local governments started installing speed bumps or roadblocks in
(23:27):
notorious Togay areas. Others set up permanent surveillance. As a result,
many Togay drivers faded into obscurity. Some moved to sanctioned motorsports.
Others just got older and stopped. But a few the
hard core They kept the torch burning. This hard core
element has endured till today, and there are still Togay
(23:50):
crews popping up around the country. John tells us we're
headed to meet a load of them right now, hard
core underground races adapted to Togay. Apparently they're interested in
speaking to us. First home, we have to go and
meet them at a garage on the outskirts. We drive
(24:13):
out of a saka at night. The more space we
put between us and the city, the less neon and
color days. Here, the roads are longer, flatter, and the
only thing keeping them lit top are led street lights.
A hazy orange glow every fifty feet points us in
the right direction. John says he knows these guys well.
(24:35):
Back in the day, John road around with them, back
when the car counterculture was widespread, violent, and a lot
less hidden. We move through the streets and eventually end
up at the garage. This area is kind of green.
I like it. There's an extremely loud main road running
through the town with angry traffic. Even at this time.
(24:57):
There's rubbish and car deburry gathered in the gutters, and
you can just feel that this is not the city.
I grew up in a place not too different from this,
a backwater that's not so far from the city but
has none of its poncey airs and graces. Halogen lights
from inside the garage beam out to the front. There
were probably one hundred cars here, all lined up next
(25:19):
to each other in the courtyard. Almost all of them
are Honda Civics or similarly adjacent Japanese street racing carts.
The air is thick with the smell of petrol and cigarettes,
not the best combination. A heavily deckaled civic is pulled
up out the front. It's been in a crash. The
(25:40):
marine blue of the chassis is torn through. It looks
as if a giant claw has attacked it and peeled
back its skin to the metal nerve endings. The passenger
door is folded inward, crushed like a cokecan. The windscreen
is a cobweb of broken glass and the front wheels
are bent sideways. Whoever drove this didn't die in the
(26:00):
but they most likely thought they would at the time.
As I examined the rest of the trash civic, we
hear voices approaching. Half a dozen young lads and one
young woman exit the garage. They've all got their faces
masked in nylon bandanas or straight top balaclavas. This is
the team we've come to meet. They'll be taking us
(26:22):
to the mountains next week. You'll hear how we drove
up a small ravine and drove down it very very fast.
(26:44):
You've been listening to the Away Days podcast. To watch
independent Away Days documentaries, subscribe to our channel at YouTube
dot com slash at away Days TV. Your Wait Days
podcast is a production of H eleven Studio for Cool
Zone Media. Reporting, producing, writing, editing and research by me
(27:07):
Jake Hanrahan, co producing by Sophie Lichterman. Music by Sam Black,
sound mixed by Splicing Block. Photography by Johnny Pickup and
Louis Hollis. Graphic design by Laura Adamson and Casey Highfield.
Causer Media. You're listening to the Away Days podcast on
the ground outside reporting from the underbelly with me Jake Hanrahan.
To watch Awaydays documentaries, go to YouTube dot com slash
at Away Days TV. This is part three Speed Tribe
(00:28):
twenty five, Episode two. This podcast is a production of
H eleven Studio and Call Zone Media, Osaka. At night,
the city is lit up like an led Christmas tree.
(00:50):
Small street stools and larger family restaurants keep each side,
street and back alley busy. The sound of drinking, conversation
and cash red at every corner. There's something to spend
money on if you want to. Vending machines, hole in
the wall, bars and red light private clubs. Large halogen
(01:10):
bulbs light up garish advertisements on every square foot of
free space. We're in a blue collar district where no
one takes card and everyone is sick of the inflation.
I'm on my way to meet with the head of
a Canjo racing crew to negotiate access. I want to
film a real multi car civic race on the loop,
(01:32):
not just a few here and there, A proper race.
I've been told one is planned soon, and I want
in You can't understand the culture behind all of this
properly if you don't see it firsthand. I don't think
so anyway, Yes, I get it. It's dangerous, but it
is what it is. We get to the location this
(01:54):
is where the Kanjo crew told us to meet, and
with two guys from my team and John, who's still
helping us negotiate this clandestine world of illegal street racing.
The location is a really cool independent Korean restaurant. It's busy, cluttered, perfect.
Just as we get to a table, the Kanjo crew arrives.
(02:16):
Now I can't go into too many details due to
various legalities, but it's a small crew of four or
five people. The boss man stands out for his size.
He's about six foot two and built like a brick shitouse,
an unusual frame in downtown Asaka. His number two is
a skinny chainsmoking mechanic with greasy hair and a crooked smile.
(02:38):
The others are quiet and unassuming. Everyone is dressed in
an assortment of trendy Japanese streetwear. The boss man greets
us with a firm handshake and we exchange pleasantries. I'm
eager to give him the present are boring. In Japan,
bringing gifts of people is an important tradition. It's rooted
in the country's strong etiquete culture. It's not just about
(03:01):
giving a present, it's kind of a ritual. It shows respect, gratitude,
and the careful maintenance of relationships. Presentation is key. Wrapping
is considered almost as important as the gift itself. I
wish I had known that. There's apparently an art to it.
Handing over a nicely wrapped box with both hands and
(03:22):
a bow tied on top shows proper etiquet. When visiting
someone's home, bringing a small gift is standard, even if
it's just snacks or a souvenir from your hometown. And
when someone gives you a gift, you're generally expected to
return the favor later, sometimes with a return gift known
as okashi, often worth half the value of the original present.
(03:45):
There are unspoken rules to this. Importantly, gifts are usually
given modestly. You don't open them in front of the
giver unless invited to. Doing so might be seen as greedy.
Lavish gifts can make people feel uncomfortable or feel obliged,
so everyone keeps it simple now. Japanese gifting isn't about
(04:05):
the object. It's about maintaining balance, recognizing relationships, and expressing
thoughtfulness in a way that keeps the social fabric smooth
and intact. Now, with all this in mind, my contact
in Japan told me to bring some gifts before we arrived. Obviously,
I want to respect the customs of the country. Generally,
(04:26):
I do that anyway if I'm going somewhere. It's been
taught to me in my family. You bring gifts to
new people that you meet. That's just how it is. Obviously,
I was not going to turn up empty handed, so
I asked the contact, what the hell do I bring
as a gift to illegal street racing petrol heads in
the gritty suburbs of a Sakka. His response, Max Power magazine.
(04:50):
I laughed, but he was serious. It's the perfect gift
for a brit to bring if you're interested in kanjo zoku,
he told me. Growing up, I remember seeing Max Power
on the shelves of every news agent in Britain. It
was a monthly car magazine. Launched in May nineteen ninety three,
Max Power quickly became the go to publication for what
(05:11):
was then a rapidly growing buoy at racer culture. In
the UK, the peak circulation around two hundred and forty
thousand copies of Max Power was sold every single month.
In its early years, Max Power showcased modifications such as
engine swaps, body kits and huge wheel conversions, not too
(05:33):
far from what the Canjo race is here in Asaka
Get up to Now, And like the model Civics themselves,
the visual esthetic of Max Power was very much in
your face. I wasn't remotely interested in cars back then
when it was on sale in the UK, but the
magazine's style would always catch my eye. I remember it.
I think probably everybody else does. What made Max Power
(05:56):
unique was its indulgence in car culture contra reversy. The
magazine would often have coverage of illegal cruise events and
public burnouts. This drew criticism from police and safety advocates,
but it also sealed the magazine's notoriety in the underground.
Despite the haters, Max Power played an outsized role in
(06:18):
shape and a community and industry tuning shops, aftermarket suppliers,
custom showers the lot. Reflecting on its cultural legacy, the
former Max Power editor described this era as a uniquely
vibrant British car subculture. It wasn't just about horsepower. It
was about mass individuality, diy creativity and youthful defiance. Now
(06:43):
surely that rings a bell. The Max Power aligned world
of British car culture mirrored some aspects of Japan's Kanjo zoku.
John tells me that racers would even import the magazine
in English, even if they couldn't read the articles. So
me to bring over a stack of old Max Power issues.
(07:05):
I got a load off eBay for about thirty quid
and stuffed them into my suitcase. Now Here I am
in Osaka with them all sat in a plastic carrier
bag as a gift for what is the boss of
a notorious Kanjo crew in Japan. Suddenly it doesn't feel
like the good idea it did when I was back home.
(07:25):
Either way, Once we're all seated, I hand the stack
of magazines over and we explain the gift. The boss
band holds them in his hands, briefly looks at the
first issue on the pile, and hands them off to
his chainsmoking sidekick. He doesn't even look at them. Neither
of them are remotely interested. I look at John like
what the fuck? John shrugs at me and orders a
(07:47):
round of pints for the table. I can't go into
exactly what was said at this meeting, but we all
eventually get chatting about Kanjo. I explain what we're trying
to do with the award As project, and the boss
Man likes it a lot. After he gets a little
more comfortable, he makes a comment about some visible tattoos
me and one of my guys have on our arms.
(08:10):
He says he likes them. He grins. This is a
bit unusual, as tattoos in Japan are seen very differently
to how they are in the West. Here in Japan,
there's a complicated and often negative stigma attached to them. Historically,
they've been associated with criminality, particularly the Yakuza, Japan's most
(08:33):
notorious organized crime syndicate. Full body tattoos called irazumi, were
used by Yakuza gang members as a sign of loyalty
and defiance, making them a visual marker of the underworld.
Because of this, many public places like bath houses, swimming pools,
and even weights gyms still ban visible tattoos to this day.
(08:56):
The perception is gradually shifting, but there is still very
much an uneasiness about people with tattoos in Japanese culture. So,
considering the boss Man's comment about our tattoos, I ask
him if he has any. Honestly, I might half joking
when I say this, but he nods, looks me right
in the eye, and rolls up both of his sleeves.
(09:20):
Traditional irizumi tattoos completely cover his ants your cusa. Suddenly,
the secrecy of some of this scene begins to take
on another purpose. I get it some level of organized
crime is involved with some of these teams, not all
of them, not the majority, but it's there. The boss
(09:41):
Man's friends suddenly feel like a bit of an entourage.
None of them even blink when he pulls out the tats.
I guess is they all have something similar? Wow? Nice,
I say. The boss Man grins again, pulls down his sleeves,
and orders Korean barbecue for all of us. He loosens,
and after we eat, for some reason, he pulls out
(10:03):
a little tool he has attached to a set of
his keys and fiddles with it for ages. It's a small,
but sharp, spring loaded metal spike, like a flick knife,
but it's a spike, not a blade. It's hardly a
massively serious weapon, but if you stuck it in your neck,
I dare say you'd know about it. Seems an unusual
thing just to whip out at the table, but what
(10:24):
do I not. At the end of the night, we're
all getting on great and the boss Man takes us
to see his cat. I can't even tell you what
it is, specifically to protect his identity, but it is
a very very nice and very unique Conde civic. Let's
just say that he agrees that we'll join him and
his crew on the Candor Loop late one night this week.
(10:45):
Perfect he even gives us a gift. He takes his
little stabber off his keys and hands it to one
of our team Max Power magazines for a little keyring
stabber Yakuza weapon. Not a bad exchange at all. A
(11:13):
few days past and we've heard absolutely nothing from the
boss Man. Honestly, I'm regutted. He seemed completely genuine about
the access and rapport we'd built with them. None of
us really give a shit that he's Yakuza. The whole
world runs on crime, after all. Some of it's just
legal because governments do it. It seems unlikely that he
suddenly got cold feet, as if we'd inform on him
(11:35):
or something. But here we are, and so we take
up the famous journalists past time. Of waiting around, we
spend the day enjoying a Saka. We rented a tiny
house in an area we're told is quote unquote kind
of the hood. It doesn't feel like that. Though the
streets are clean, everyone is nice, and crime is largely
(11:57):
non existent. People don't even change their push bikes up here.
Each day we go to this little family run cafe
near the house and we order eggs on toast and
black coffee. The family there get used to us, and
we communicate through Google Translate. Tinny Midi style music plays
in the background from a tape. Every space on the
wall is covered with something unique and homely. It's one
(12:19):
of the calmest places I think I've ever been to
in my entire life. I love it here in the cafe,
in the Nishinari ward. It is the total opposite of
the high octane madness of the Osaka street racers. The
next day there's news there's a reason the boss man
we met with recently has ghosted us. He's been arrested.
(12:42):
Nothing to do with racing, not from what we're told,
at least he was taken in on weapons charges, not
because of his spring loaded spike, but apparently firearms in
Japan that is a very big deal. A legal guns
in Japan are exceptionally rare. The country has some of
(13:03):
the strictest firearm laws in the world, and as a result,
gun crime is almost non existent. In an average year,
the number of shootings across the entire country can usually
be counted on one hand. Most Japanese citizens will go
their entire lives without ever even seeing a real firearm
or even hearing gunshots. Even the yakuza tend to avoid
(13:28):
using guns because the legal consequences are extremely harsh and
police raids into their businesses become extremely relentless. Japan's firearm
and sword possession control laws strictly limits gun ownership to
shotguns and air rifles under tight regulation. Even those require
a lengthy licensing process, including written tests, mental health evaluations,
(13:52):
background checks, and regular police inspections. Handguns are completely banned
for civilians forget about it. The general public is culturally
and legally distanced from firearms at all times, and gun
ownership carries a significant social stigma. If you're call in
possession of an illegal firearm in Japan. To put it bluntly,
(14:14):
you are fucked deep trouble. You're potentially looking at ten
years in prison. Sentencing gets harshit if the gun was
used in the commission of a crime or is linked
to organized crime. I hope, for the boss Man's sake,
he was just collecting somehow, though I doubt it either way.
Needless to say, we will not be seeing him for
(14:36):
a while. Even just owning bullets without a gun can
lead to prison time in Japan, and the judges rarely
show leniency to anything. Japanese police also have the power
to investigate aggressively when it comes to gun related offenses.
As I said, it's raids, surveillance and forensic checks. All
this is common. People generally do not mess around with guns.
(15:01):
The system is so airtight that even Japan's underworld mostly
steer clear of them. So what has happened with the
boss Man is completely beyond me. If I had to guess,
seen as he was pretty young and trendy but also
involved in organized crime. Maybe he wanted a gone just
for status. I don't know, though. The whole thing is
a bit mad, so as you can imagine, our contacts
(15:25):
in this race, crew went cold for now anyway. Luckily
for us, Kanjo Zoku is not the only street racing
counterculture here in Japan. Far from it, John happens to
have contacts with a very different style of underground racing.
One night, he randomly calls ahead and tells us we're
going to the outskirts of a Saka. It's about an
(15:48):
hour's drive away to a smaller town where the mountains
and nearby. He comes to pick us up in his
honestly immaculate civic and tells us we're going on a
drive potentially into the world of toga. To understand the
Japanese togay scene, you've got to picture the country's spine.
The winding mountain passes, cutting through dense forests, blurry ridgelines,
(16:12):
and treacherous switchbacks where visibility often drops to zero. These
are the backbones of rural Japan. Originally the land of farmers, villagers,
and monks, but by the late eighties and nineties they
became the battleground for a specific breed of underground petrol head,
the Togay races. This is not a fast and furious
(16:38):
style drag racing scene. This is something much quieter hidden.
The Togay is onder wraps and is incredibly risky, a
dance between man, machine and nature. These drivers drift or
grip their cars down narrow mountain roads at full speed,
with drops of certain death just feet over the fence line.
(17:00):
One wrong move and the Togay cars are flying into
a jagged rock ravine. There is almost no chance of survival.
This all started when the big city boys of Tokyo
raised on the Wangang expressways and toll roads around Tokyo Bay.
The rural and suburban kids had to get their own
thing going. With no money for track days or toll roads,
(17:23):
they looked to the mountain passes nearby. These winding roads
were free, isolated and perfect for testing cornering skills, and
so togo racing was born. Not necessarily to see who
was faster in a straight line, but who had the
precision and the guts to thread the needle through tight
mountain bends at terrifying speeds. Also, the philosophy was different.
(17:48):
This was not about octane and speed. This was about rhythm,
flow and keeping your composure. There is no central Togay organization,
no league, no official hierarchy. It's different to canjo in
that respect. Small circles of trust among drivers keep the
scene active in the underground. In toga, you have to
(18:10):
prove yourself before you're even allowed to race on the
mountain pass. Not with money or care or gear, but
with consistency and commitment. Everyone knows the risks. A crash
in Togai is worse than a bent bumper or smashed windows.
If you fuck up here, you're rolling down a mountain
or slamming into a wall with no ambulances or hospitals
(18:34):
for miles around. Most Togay races happen in the dead
of night, no traffic, no witnesses, fewer cops. Walkie talkies,
burner phones, and encrypted apps are used to coordinate. A
century is placed at the top and bottom of the
course to warn if police or other vehicles are coming.
Some teams even use spotters half way along the route
(18:56):
with torches or laser pens to signal potential has The
roads are never really uniform. You can't exactly get used
to the feel of the road like you can with kanjo.
Some Togay runs are type technical, full of hairpins and
steep descents. Others, like the gun passes have more flow
and open corners, but all are narrow, blind and very dangerous.
(19:22):
Within the togay scene that there's a clear ideological split
the grip drivers versus the drifters. Generally, it's seen that
both come under the same umbrella of togai. Grip racers
believe in maximum traction, perfect apexes, and precision driving. Always
their goal is to maintain speed through corners using racing lines,
(19:43):
breaking points, and tire grip. These guys are usually quiet, disciplined,
methodical drifters, on the other hand, are all about style
and control in chaos. They throw the rear end out
into corners, intentionally breaking traction but keeping control through throttle
steering and counter steering techniques. It's actually not always the
(20:07):
fastest way through a corner, but it is definitely the
coolest way to do it, and to the drifting contingent
of togai, they feel it's the purest the truth. Many
togay racers do both. They can grip when they need
to win and drift when they want to show off
the best affluent in both dialects of speed. It can
(20:27):
even be argued that toga is just the place and
the whole scene, but both are interchangeable. Now, togay cars
are nothing like the quarter mile drag racing machines you
(20:49):
might see in places like America. The Japanese counterparts are light,
nimble and built for twisting roads. Weight reduction is key.
Like they can racing drivers got the interior, remove rear seats,
spare tires, and sometimes even replace the doors and bonnets
with fiberglass or carbon fiber. Popular choices of cars for
(21:13):
racing on Toge include Toyota A E eighty six, the
Mazda RX seven, the Nissan Silvia, the Honda Civic and
Integra type, and the Subaru Impretso Amtsubishi Evil. Engine swaps,
coil overs, strup bars, roll cages, LSD's, and grippy tires
are the norm when it can be afforded. No nos,
(21:34):
nothing flashy, just purpose built machines made to survive the
mountain's pass. Now, despite togate being highly illegal, the racers
live by a strict code of conduct. There are unspoken rules.
Never race in the rain unless you're preparing to die.
Never endanger civilians if a car is coming, stop the race.
(21:55):
If you crash, you fix your own mess. No trash
talking without skill to back it up, and respect the
mountain always. Togai is not a free for all like
other underground racing scenes. Here the mountain is sacred not
just as approving ground, but as a place of honor
for the racers. Whilst the togai scene is definitely still active,
(22:18):
as we'll see, it's nothing like it was in the
mid nineties. Back then toga racing had exploded. There was
even a whole manga series about it called initial D.
(22:40):
It's very cool. You might have heard of it. If not,
check it out. Initial D. Generally, message boards and forums
on the Internet helped u spread the culture internationally. But
with more eyes came more heat from the cops. As
with Kanjo, the Japanese police began cracking down hard night
patrols in togay areas. Increased penalties for illegal modifications got harsher,
(23:05):
and if you got court racing or even being associated
with it, you risk losing your license immediately, having your
car impounded, or getting a hefty fine. It got serious.
In some prefectures. A street racing conviction could even tank
your job prospects or get you kicked out of school.
Some local governments started installing speed bumps or roadblocks in
(23:27):
notorious Togay areas. Others set up permanent surveillance. As a result,
many Togay drivers faded into obscurity. Some moved to sanctioned motorsports.
Others just got older and stopped. But a few the
hard core They kept the torch burning. This hard core
element has endured till today, and there are still Togay
(23:50):
crews popping up around the country. John tells us we're
headed to meet a load of them right now, hard
core underground races adapted to Togay. Apparently they're interested in
speaking to us. First home, we have to go and
meet them at a garage on the outskirts. We drive
(24:13):
out of a saka at night. The more space we
put between us and the city, the less neon and
color days. Here, the roads are longer, flatter, and the
only thing keeping them lit top are led street lights.
A hazy orange glow every fifty feet points us in
the right direction. John says he knows these guys well.
(24:35):
Back in the day, John road around with them, back
when the car counterculture was widespread, violent, and a lot
less hidden. We move through the streets and eventually end
up at the garage. This area is kind of green.
I like it. There's an extremely loud main road running
through the town with angry traffic. Even at this time.
(24:57):
There's rubbish and car deburry gathered in the gutters, and
you can just feel that this is not the city.
I grew up in a place not too different from this,
a backwater that's not so far from the city but
has none of its poncey airs and graces. Halogen lights
from inside the garage beam out to the front. There
were probably one hundred cars here, all lined up next
(25:19):
to each other in the courtyard. Almost all of them
are Honda Civics or similarly adjacent Japanese street racing carts.
The air is thick with the smell of petrol and cigarettes,
not the best combination. A heavily deckaled civic is pulled
up out the front. It's been in a crash. The
(25:40):
marine blue of the chassis is torn through. It looks
as if a giant claw has attacked it and peeled
back its skin to the metal nerve endings. The passenger
door is folded inward, crushed like a cokecan. The windscreen
is a cobweb of broken glass and the front wheels
are bent sideways. Whoever drove this didn't die in the
(26:00):
but they most likely thought they would at the time.
As I examined the rest of the trash civic, we
hear voices approaching. Half a dozen young lads and one
young woman exit the garage. They've all got their faces
masked in nylon bandanas or straight top balaclavas. This is
the team we've come to meet. They'll be taking us
(26:22):
to the mountains next week. You'll hear how we drove
up a small ravine and drove down it very very fast.
(26:44):
You've been listening to the Away Days podcast. To watch
independent Away Days documentaries, subscribe to our channel at YouTube
dot com slash at away Days TV. Your Wait Days
podcast is a production of H eleven Studio for Cool
Zone Media. Reporting, producing, writing, editing and research by me
(27:07):
Jake Hanrahan, co producing by Sophie Lichterman. Music by Sam Black,
sound mixed by Splicing Block. Photography by Johnny Pickup and
Louis Hollis. Graphic design by Laura Adamson and Casey Highfield.
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