Jun Takahashi — Across the Universe

Across the Universe

A conversation with Jun Takahashi
of UNDERCOVER
— as appeared in the Permanence issue of Whitelies Magazine

Interview & Words
Akio Kunisawa, Nami Kunisawa
& Daniel González

Photography
Brian Scott Peterson

As all the appraising eyes turned toward Paris Fashion Week in January 2020, prior to our prolonged pandemic, one particular show stood out as a uniquely imaginative triumph — transcending the framework of genre and time and transposing the rarified world of feudal-era Japan to the runways of Paris. That show was, of course, Undercover’s 2020 Autumn-Winter collection: Fallen Man.

Inspired by Akira Kurosawa’s film Throne of Blood, the production was a veritable art installation in its own right — an intricate tapestry interweaving contemporary dance and fashion, set to a pulsating electronic soundtrack.

A seminal masterwork of the Japanese cinema, Throne of Blood was a lavishly stylized adaptation of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. For the film, Kurosawa consciously relocated the play’s medieval Scottish setting to a feudal Japan, showcasing the aesthetic signifiers of yesteryear in a sweeping meditation — rich on armor, familial crests, samurai, horse-mounted cavalry, and Noh theatre.

The film follows the machinations of General Washizu (a Macbeth equivalent) who, goaded on by his wife and a soothsayer’s prophecy, assassinates his Lord Tsuzuki in cold blood — only to become entangled in the same fickle web of power from his stolen throne. Culminating in a shower of arrows on the upper echelons of the Spider’s Web castle, Washizu’s agonized expression of defeat in the throes of death has been seared into celluloid history. Akin to the firing squad, the barrage of anonymous arrows can be taken to represent the will of the people — a decisive symbol of mob justice and a swift rebuke of a tyrannical false prophet. Perhaps it is telling that Fallen Man recreated this particular scene for its finale, the fashion show closing with a shower of arrows raining down around a lone dancer perilously navigating the bullseye onstage.

Of course, this sort of homage is not out of character for Undercover. After all, their past col-lections have drawn on a wide range of cultural touch-stones — running the gamut from Stanley Kubrick to Dieter Rams and Cindy Sherman. This far-reaching intellectual curiosity has garnered a loyal following of aficionados who are drawn to the label’s garments as they deftly transcend country and era to become not only the embodiment of a distinct design vision, but also confirm the fashion house as torchbearers of a higher calling in cloth form.

Highly intrigued, we visited the Tokyo atelier of designer Jun Takahashi on a quest to take a rare glimpse behind the creative curtain of Undercover.

I — Inner Space

The “Undercover Lab” — epicenter of the brand’s creations — is tucked away in a relatively quiet residential area in the hills behind the Omotesando neighborhood of Tokyo. Designed by Klein Dytham architecture, visitors first encounter a long, cantilevered corridor that stretches out overhead the building’s entrance, reminiscent of a jet bridge plugged into a futuristic space station.

A vintage Fiat sits parked outside the entrance. The car’s rich Bordeaux patina is complemented by a beige rubber accoutrement affixed to the steering wheel. Upon closer inspection, I realize that my gaze is returned by an E.T. figurine. Silver apples dangle from the rearview mirror, while the front windshield is adorned with a sticker resembling the unblinking Masonic Eye of Providence.

Upon stepping into the building, I am greeted by a cosmic, abstract painting and Grace, a waifish creature of Takahashi’s imagination perched inside a large birdcage. I press my nose nearly up against the struts of the birdcage, admiring Takahashi’s handiwork. Grace has very small humanlike hands, and the pronounced ears of a teddy bear. Adorned in timeworn jewelry and a white cotton dress, she seemed to personify the dreams, memories, and consciousness of a young girl tucked away in her childhood room. I imagined a palpable narrative arc, as if this young girl had herself been reincarnated as Grace, bursting forth from the fluffy recesses of her teddy bear’s gauzy wadding, a conduit that had absorbed the maiden-like reveries of a former, corporeal youth.

Proceeding up the wood and metal mesh staircase, I arrive at the third floor to find a glass-paneled space: Takahashi’s atelier. A single room occupying the entire third floor, his atelier is strewn with a kaleidoscopic collection of furniture, audio equipment, sculptural objects, and other bric-a-brac on an enviable scale.

Easing gingerly into a beige leather chair in the center of the room across from Jun Takahashi, I glimpse his personal desk in the background — supporting the supersized iMac that presumably serves as the powerhouse behind his prolific graphic design work. In lieu of legs, the desk is balanced on a giant Gilapple, ensconced in a clear acrylic box. The wall behind the desk is filled with an expansive array of vinyl records. Manuel Göttsching’s E2-E4 caught my eye, the jacket propped up on prominent display. The records shared their shelves with a retinue of figurines. Shotaro Kaneda straddling his iconic ruby-red “ceramic, double-rotor, two-wheel disk drive” motorcycle from the Akira series, next to an axe-wielding Jack Torrance from The Shining. On the bookshelf to Takahashi’s left sits a menacing, miniature model of Alex from A Clockwork Orange.

On Takahashi’s right, a glass chest sits in front of the glass wall, topped by a cylindrical display and a trophy from 2001: A Space Odyssey, all forged of the same material. Giant vintage speakers looming behind us, flanked by a portrait of John Lydon painted by Takahashi, alongside wooden furniture produced by an artist in Copenhagen, and a newborn Grace specimen. Toward the far-left corner, I spot a six-volume set of ink black hardback books, their spines emblazoned with a powerful white calligraphic script reading, “The Collected Works of Akira Kurosawa.”

Surveying the scene, I am struck by the impression that I have intruded upon Jun Takahashi’s inner mental sanctum — the disparate cornerstones of his creative world physically manifest within arm’s reach, presided over by Jun himself from his own throne in the center of the room. Takahashi wears skinny black trousers and a black hoodie featuring a print of Tetsuo Shima, a pill capsule resting on the Akira antagonist’s outstretched tongue. His pensive eyes beam intently beneath his black felt cap as he reveals:

“I realized that my own mentality and the present-day world intersected neatly with the themes explored in Kurosawa’s Throne of Blood.”

II — Parade + Ballet

Road to the Throne of Blood

“After wrapping up our 2020 Spring-Summer show, I felt like I wanted the next show to probe new ground. I wanted a fresh departure from the conventional runway and all its strutting models.”

As Takahashi is mulling over the direction for the next season’s show, he receives a timely email from choreographer and contemporary dancer Damien Jalet: I’m heading to Tokyo soon. Want to meet up?

“He reached out at the perfect time. I had just begun searching for a new approach, and had always enjoyed contemporary dance. When I proposed that we work together on the next show, he kindly accepted. The rest is history, I suppose.”

Yet at that early juncture, the question remained as to exactly how to go about incorporating contemporary dance into the fashion vernacular. Takahashi struck upon the idea of designing a collection inspired by the work of Akira Kurosawa, developing choreography along with Damien based on one of the director’s films.

“I’d wanted to create a collection drawing upon Kurosawa’s filmography. I even embarked on a project with Toho Studios, but the project never seemed to come to fruition, and I had to put the idea on the backburner a number of times. In particular, I was always intrigued by Throne of Blood. The Noh theatre element appealed to me. I had always thought it would be interesting to try and meld the film’s classical narrative with contemporary dance.”

“When I tentatively broached the subject of Throne of Blood, Damien was shocked. As it turns out, he had apparently been asking around to see what people thought of choreographing a new piece around the theme of fog and mist. Someone highly recommended that he check out Throne of Blood, and it was at the top of his viewing queue. I guess you could say it was one of those serendipitous coincidences. Needless to say, he quickly viewed the film, and we discussed the possibilities in earnest. I felt that we were both on the same page, envisioning something very similar. Our collaboration began in full force pretty much immediately.”


A Delicate Dance

Jun Takahashi had been aware of Damien as the choreographer for the 2018 remake of the 1977 film Suspiria. As an old friend of the film’s musical director Thom Yorke and acquaintance of director Luca Guadagnino — Damien had evidently sought out Takahashi’s contact information from Guadagnino directly. Damien had previously selected an early Undercover collection as the wardrobe for one of his stage productions, and over the intervening years, had frequently discussed the label with Thom Yorke.

For Fallen Man, Damien and Takahashi ultimately decided to reconstruct Throne of Blood in three abbreviated acts. Takahashi penned the script, while Damien devised the choreography that would constitute the crux of the performance. All told, four dancers would take the stage, donning costumes designed based on Damien’s input to prioritize freedom of movement.

“I only saw the full choreography three days before the show, at a rehearsal in a dance studio in Brussels. I had seen Damien’s work before, and assumed that I was familiar with his style and thought I generally knew what to expect. But when I saw what he had created for us, I was blown away. His choreography far exceeded my expectations. He delivered a true masterpiece.”


Music

The soundtrack of the show was delegated to Ron Morelli, who created an unsettling aural atmosphere built on sampled sound from Kurosawa’s film, ranging from the rustling of kimonos to the gravelly voices of old women and the recitations of medieval poetry. Owner of the Brooklyn-based industrial techno label “L.I.E.S. Records”, Morelli is incidentally also the man responsible for Takahashi’s introduction to the world of techno and electronica.

Coincidentally, Ron happened to independently reach out to Takahashi on the heels of that initial email from Damien. Ron reportedly required little convincing when Jun relayed the formidable potential of a tripartite collaboration between Damien, Ron, and himself.

“I did ask Ron to revisit Throne of Blood before proceeding with the project, but he was already a maniacal connoisseur of Japanese film, which certainly expedited the process. He knew exactly what we wanted to achieve. In retrospect, this was a very peculiar project. We were all brought together through a strange caprice of timing and fate. Although we only first met in person right before the show, we were able to enjoy many long email exchanges addressing our vision, and the direction to take for the soundtrack.”


Applause and Encores

Washizu’s doppelganger dashes frantically around the circular stage garbed in Undercover’s newest collection, dodging the arrows that cascade down from the rafters in divine judgement, guided on invisible strings. Boxed in with no escape, he leaps onto the bullseye, looking up in time to witness the final arrow that rains down as a decisive coup de grâce. As he silently collapses limply onstage, the viewer is reminded of the symbolic cutting of life’s string à la Atropos of Greek mythology, or perhaps the severing of a marionette from his tethers. And the curtain falls in Paris. The silence is fleeting, soon replaced by rapturous cheers and applause.

“I speak for all three of us when I say that we were quite impressed by the final performance. It was as if we had witnessed the birth of a new genre. Ultimately, the show proved a gestaltesque melding of our individual strengths: my clothes, Ron’s music, and Damien’s choreography. The quality of the completed product far exceeded our expectations, and I think we were all deeply moved by what we saw.”

“Through the Throne of Blood collection, we sought to go beyond merely presenting the garments on a conventional runway. It was very important that we harness the unbridled artistic energy found in the original film, while also presenting my own interpretation of that world. Of course, fashion shows are still conduits to show off our clothes. But in this particular case, the clothes weren’t necessarily the main event.”

III — Tumult + Order

Takahashi now rewinds the tape of time, obligingly discussing his prior collection that was inspired by the films of Stanley Kubrick.


2001: A Space Odyssey

Undercover’s 2018 Autumn-Winter collection, order-disorder, was a noteworthy tour de force based on 2001: A Space Odyssey, opening with Joy Division’s track, Atmosphere.

“I always liked Joy Division, and felt that their poetic lyrics and worldview shared some elements in common with A Space Odyssey.”

The lyrics in question tend toward a particular moody introspection of the osmotic pressure found in the cognitive dissonance between internal and external worlds. The titular “Disorder” was penned by Ian Curtis upon reading J. G. Ballard’s dystopian classic, High-Rise.

Rather than an existential unknown, this is the world of the intangible, the nebulous realm of obscured consciousness, emotions, and desires — untethered in human existence. Although A Space Odyssey is most often remembered as a work of science fiction foretelling a not-so-distant future, perhaps it can be more accurately mapped onto the latter intangible realm. Revisiting Undercover’s 2018 collection, it was as if Takahashi sought to bridge these two worlds, offering the missing link between the existential and the ethereal.


A Clockwork Orange

Meanwhile, Undercover’s subsequent 2019 Autumn-Winter collection, The Droogs, was inspired by Takahashi’s first blush with Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange. When Takahashi saw the film in theatres, he would have been 15 years old — the same age as Alex. The film left an indelible impression on Takahashi, who was also a budding disciple of punk rock and the same in-your-face subculture overtures.

Does anyone have the right to control the freedoms and fortunes of their fellow man? The thugs persecute the weak, wantonly trampling on civil liberties for little more than a groundless sense of entitlement. But is the firm clutch of control ever justifiable in the lofty name of politics and morality?

Although the collection seems prohibitively arcane on the surface — grappling as it does with a profound, eternal theme — viewed from a reductive angle, we realize that it follows a deceptively simple storyline.

The genius is in the balance. Takahashi explains that his collection was designed to share this balance so deftly navigated by Kubrick before him.

“The costumes worn by the Droogs had a sort of medieval vibe, which I mashed up with contemporary streetwear or so-called anti-fashion, along with the neo-futuristic touch found in the film itself. Through this collision of past and present, I sought to give birth to a new timeline, as if I were creating a parallel world.”

Takahashi experimented with an image of Malcolm McDowell as Alex. Some items in the collection featured a standard photo-size print, while others were blown up to an exaggerated extreme, as if to convey a sort of subliminal message.

Young Japanese trackmaker Mars89 was tapped to provide the show’s musical direction. Takahashi has made a habit of devoting his mornings to exploring new music, and it was during one of these “research” sessions that he happened upon Mars89. Despite a two-decade age gap, the men found common ground in a shared appreciation of films. Jun Takahashi recalls that Mars89 instinctively understood his vision with little prompting.

“I could simply tell him that I wanted to capture the atmosphere of this or that scene, and he would know exactly what I meant. I have a fundamental trust and respect for people like Ron and Mars89. I try not to step on their toes, and give them the freedom to create their art. Ultimately, I think this freedom produces the best end result.”

Valentino

Around the same time that Takahashi was working on The Droogs, he was selected by Valentino’s creative director Pierpaolo Piccioli to create some graphics for the maison’s Men’s Autumn-Winter 2019-20 collection. Piccioli suggested integrating a common theme across both collections, and Takahashi delivered a series of otherworldly designs referencing motifs ranging from A Clockwork Orange to Beethoven.

“On the day of the Valentino show, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that they had independently decided to use Ludwig van Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 as their soundtrack. Paolo and I are both from the same generation, and he shares my passion for music and film. I think we have similar aesthetic sensibilities in that respect. It turns out that Paolo has also been a longtime follower of Undercover. In an interview from before we met, I saw that he was kindly wearing one of my T-shirts. He stopped by my atelier one day, and we’ve been friends ever since.”

True to his fashion roots as a T-shirt designer — Takahashi’s contributions to the collaboration played with a strongly graphical, 2D element. He remembers being curious to see how Valentino would build on these collage-esque designs.

“I had been told in advance that they weren’t going to simply reproduce my designs, but I hadn’t specifically heard what they had up their sleeve. I certainly never imagined that they would enlist a small army of haute couture artisans to hand-embroider my graphic designs onto their garments.”

“Needless to say, I was impressed. I had the opportunity to visit their workshop and see the embroidery process in person. The embroiderers are simultaneously master craftspeople and true artists. As a designer, I couldn’t help but covet this creative environment and their ability to harness such a refined mode of artistic expression. At the same time, it was certainly a rare experience to watch as my digitally designed computer graphics were brought to life through such a traditional, analog process, stitch by painstaking stitch.”


The Unbroken Creative Chain

This openness to cultural cross-pollination would seemingly herald a potent new phase in Undercover’s history, signposting a new chapter in Takahashi’s pedigree as a designer.

“I’ve been working in the fashion industry for thirty years. Now that I’m in my fifties, I feel like I’ve at last accumulated a sizable repertoire of technical knowhow, as well as a deeper awareness of society and even a more intimate familiarity with myself. I think this toolkit has finally freed me to go beyond simply showing, and instead allowed me to instead expressively speak t o the people who wear my designs.”

“The Kubrick collections are a prime example. I’ve reached a stage where I’m able to not only do justice to the work that I’ve always admired, but also manifest motifs in a compelling way. I guess I feel like I’ve matured as a designer. I started to be truer to myself, and started depicting those things that I personally like in my own unique vernacular. I’ve found out that this approach seems to have resonated with a base of like-minded, idiosyncratic miscreants; their support has been very encouraging and I can’t thank them enough. I see this as an unbroken chain of connections with new friends who become collaborative co-creators — this experience, this cycle has proved remarkably important for me.”

IV — Sound + Vision

Even as a young boy, Jun Takahashi was already immersed in the fashion, music, cinema, and art that would go on to form the building blocks of his praxis at Undercover.

“When designing clothes, I try to interweave all of these elements. In my mind, you can’t separate culture and fashion — they’re intrinsically linked. To put either under the microscope and think too literally would be to completely miss what I hope to convey through my work.”

“Art, film, music. There’s an interrelated correlation between all the things that I love. I don’t discriminate between the mainstream and subculture. For example, if we’re talking about music, I listen to Krautrock, Suicide, and Silver Apples in the same company as Bill Evans and even pop artists. I like everything equally, and see it all as part of a non-hierarchical continuum — you could say that I’ve always simply been experimenting with what would happen if I mixed together all my favorite things, and then applied my own filter. It just so happens that the resulting work is oftentimes presented on the Paris runways. But you would be surprised. I feel like many people in the world of high fashion are actually quite sensitive, and pick up on the deeper nuances of my work. Plenty of people in Paris interact with fashion from uniquely multifaceted angles. A famous fashion journalist who used to make a living as a music critic comes to mind. Whenever we meet, we inevitably end up talking about music.”

“When putting together the Undercover shows, I pay particular attention to their emotional quotient. I want people to walk away from my shows with that same indelible feeling you get after watching a film in the theatre. Before creating a show, I always start with a clear worldview and story that I would like to express. For that matter, I often use film soundtracks. Film soundtracks help create the physical and emotional space of a given scene, and I think this has a strong conceptual kinship with my shows.”

“Of course, it’s important to have a pragmatic grasp on reality and one’s present environment. However, this pragmatism is still distinct from my work. My influences and message remain constant, unswayed by the times — ultimately, I continue to apply my own filter to those elements that I would like to introduce to a greater audience. I hope that my work provides a chance for people to discover new worlds.”

V — Across the Universe

“Each work begins the same way, when I’m overcome with an impulse to create. The most important thing is that I am able to create the work that I want, in a way that is unique to me. If that weren’t the case, I doubt that my work would appeal to people of Damien’s caliber.”

“When you’re happily engaged in the work that you want, you’ll soon find yourself surrounded by a natural community of like-minded people. I think this is the real fruit of the creative process. There’s little more thrilling than being able to meet and work alongside the people who have inspired you.”

“Fallen Man is a case in point. I was fortunate to work with such a miraculously talented team. Thanks to them, we were able to create something entirely new, on a level I would never have dreamed up on my own. Although serendipitous, we weren’t brought together by accident. I think we found each other by necessity. Maybe that’s why we do what we do. All the little steps taken on our creative journey inevitably lead us to intersect at those perfect moments.”

Faithful, honest work generates the gravitational pull that attracts a constellation of sympathetic creators. One is reminded of all the platforms that used to exist in downtown New York as hotbeds of youth culture and artistic fraternization.

Although such physical spaces — The Factory, CBGB, The Mudd Club — are now nothing more than ephemeral figments of a bygone era, perhaps their ethos has simply migrated inward, transposed from physical to inner space. Like attracts like, and artists still seek out other artists, just as Damien and Ron were pulled into the orbit of the inner space called Undercover.

As Takahashi said, the creative chain remains unbroken. With creativity as their lingua franca, artists continue to transcend era, nation, and genre, working together to forge new cultural legacies to be passed on to the next generation.

Jun Takahashi concluded our conversation with a gentle smile:

“I wonder what Kurosawa would say if he had seen my show. I received overwhelmingly positive reviews from the Kurosawa Film Studio, which was a relief. But I still do wonder what Kurosawa himself would think. Well, I suppose I will never get the chance to ask him directly. For better or worse...”

If one thing is for sure, it’s that Jun Takahashi is certainly one of many who have been captivated by Kurosawa’s Inner Space, a ripple in time left in the wake of the great director. Perhaps Kurosawa himself summed it up best toward the end of his long, productive life:

“I want to make movies. Beautiful movies. No matter where you are in the world — movies let you live alongside the characters who appear on the silver screen. You can share their suffering, share their sadness, and even share in a mutual understanding. Movies are special in this way, and this is what makes the medium so wonderful. That’s all the more reason why we need to foster understanding through the beauty of film. Beauty is universal. People experience beauty in the same way all across the world. This beauty can open up hearts, and help people see eye to eye. [...] Yes, those are the kind of movies I want to make.”