SoundProof - Live: Molice

Johnny Marr . . . The Smiths. Do you know The Smiths? . . . The Doors and Velvet Underground.'' The ghosts of dead rock bands haunt Tokyo's Basement Bar, where I sit in the cramped, dirty ‘dressing room’ with Rinko and Yuzuru Takeda from Molice. Takeda (lead guitar) and Rinko (songwriter and singer) are strikingly subdued compared to my memory of their set — they played with joyous and desperate intensity until their songs burst open. Rinko sang and danced with a gleeful swagger, and with her bob haircut, I kept thinking she was channelling Karen O. But Jim Morrison? Tired as they are now, Rinko and Takeda's weary smiles broaden while they're telling me who they would love to play with, and not a single band outside of 1988. Although they are tired, they are clearly genius. Like The Smiths or the Doors, they've made every element a strength: basslines mixed high, a charismatic singer, a unique guitar sound, and expansive drumming.

Their set began as a relief from the overwrought seriousness of Sister Paul, a bass and drum duo playing early punk, but ape-ing androgynous-era David Bowie for fashion. Aggravatingly, they lacked the energy of early punk or Bowie's gift of melody, and I left with my ears covered.

With the drinks cheap and the rhythm tight, Molice's desire to have ''everyone dance, everyone jump'' was nearly fulfilled by the end of their set. Drummer Takashi Koyama only paused when they broke before the encore, and they returned quickly to rip into ''Foxy Lady.'' Takeda and bassist Ikuhiro alternates kick jumps off an empty chair; Koyama sings into the air; Rinko dances through a variety of sexy poses like she's punching the face of every misogynistic rock star. In their next and final song, Rinko looks possessed, her eyes open so wide it seems they'll pop out her skull. Many people scream.

In a city of 12.5 million, a show in front of 40 people could be a dejecting experience, but Molice played like we were all the chosen ones.