January 1, 2012, fell on a Sunday. For most of the world, that meant a long weekend and a slow return to work. But in the Japanese underground, the first day of the year has a different kind of significance. It is the day when the year's first cassette dubs are made, the first field recordings are attempted, and the first blog posts of the year appear — often with a single word in the title: “greeting.”
The word “greeting” (挨拶, aisatsu) is a loaded term in Japanese culture. It implies a formal, almost ritualized exchange — a bow, a set phrase, a recognition of the other's presence. In the context of tape labels and DIY networks, a New Year's greeting is not just a pleasantry. It is a signal that the label is still alive, that the address is still valid, that the slow machinery of tape trading is ready to turn again. For collectors, this annual digital handshake is as important as any release announcement.
The January Dump: What a Greeting Actually Contains
When a Japanese noise label posts its New Year's greeting, it rarely looks like a corporate holiday card. More often, it is a plain text post or a single image — a photo of a stack of blank tapes, a scan of a handwritten note, or a shot of a cluttered desk. The text is frequently minimal: “Akemashite omedetou gozaimasu. This year again, please.” Sometimes there is a list of upcoming releases, sometimes just a date stamp.
But the greeting post is also a practical document. It often contains the label's current address, a confirmation of shipping rates for international orders, and a note on which formats are still in stock. For a collector in Europe or North America, this is the moment to place an order before the year's first batch sells out. The greeting is, in effect, a window of opportunity — a narrow opening when the label is actively checking email and responding to inquiries.
In 2012, this ritual was still firmly anchored to the blog format. Twitter existed, but many labels clung to their long-form blogs for official announcements. The greeting post was often the only post of the month, and it would sit at the top of the blog until February or March. Its permanence made it a reference point — a timestamp that collectors used to gauge a label's activity level.
The First Dub of the Year: A Sonic New Year's Resolution
For musicians, January 1 is not a day of rest. It is a day to make the first recording of the year. There is a certain kind of discipline in this — the idea that the year's sound should be established early, that the first tape should set the tone. In the drone and electroacoustic scene, this often means a single, long-form improvisation, recorded in one take, with no overdubs. The result is a raw document of the room's acoustics, the weather outside, and the performer's state of mind.
One common practice is the “New Year's field recording” — a walk with a portable recorder, capturing the sounds of the first morning: temple bells, birds, the distant clatter of a train. These recordings are rarely released commercially. They are made for personal archives, or for inclusion in a compilation tape that circulates among friends. The greeting post might mention such a recording, but the audio itself is often kept private. It is a ritual, not a product.
For those who do release their January work, the cassette format is the natural medium. A C30 or C46 is enough for a single long piece, and the physical object carries the weight of the date. The J-card might be a simple photocopy, or a hand-stamped card with the date and a single kanji. The label “greeting 2012” appears on some of these releases, though it is more common as a blog title than as a catalog number.
Decoding the Greeting: Dates, Numbers, and the 2012 Shift
For the collector, the greeting post is also a source of metadata. The date stamp on a blog post — “January 1, 2012” — is often the only clue to a tape's provenance. When a cassette arrives in the mail with a J-card that says only “greeting,” the collector must cross-reference the blog post, the label's history, and the physical characteristics of the tape to identify the exact release. This is a familiar process for anyone who has spent time with Japanese cassette archives; the same logic applies to filenames and catalog numbers, as discussed in our guide to decoding the secret language of Japanese cassette blog archives.
In 2012, the Japanese underground was at a particular inflection point. The CD-R era was fading, and the cassette revival was gaining momentum. Labels that had been dormant for years were re-emerging with new batches of dubs. The greeting posts of that January reflect this — many mention “new address” or “new PO box,” indicating a move or a reorganization. The year 2012 also saw a noticeable increase in the number of international orders, as Western collectors discovered the deep archives of Japanese noise via blogs and forums.
This cross-referencing is not just about dates and numbers. It is about understanding the rhythm of a scene. The greeting post is a marker in a cycle that includes the summer tape trade, the autumn compilation, and the winter silence. Knowing where a tape falls in that cycle tells you something about its sound. A January recording, made in the cold, tends to be slower, more spacious, more reliant on the natural reverb of an empty room. A July recording might be more aggressive, more distorted, driven by the humidity and the noise of insects.
How to Greet Back: Practical Etiquette for Collectors
If you are a collector and you see a “greeting 2012” post on a label's blog, there is a right way to respond. First, do not reply in the comments section with a long message. The label is not running a forum. Instead, send a direct email, using the address provided in the post. Keep it short: “Happy New Year. I would like to order the following tapes. Please confirm availability and shipping cost.” This is the standard protocol.
Second, be prepared for a slow response. January is a holiday period in Japan, and many labels are run by people who have day jobs. A reply might take a week. Do not send a follow-up after two days. The greeting is a signal of presence, not an invitation to instant communication.
Third, if you are a musician, consider making your own greeting. It does not need to be a release. A simple post on your blog or social media, with a photo of your setup and a note on what you plan to record this year, is enough. This is how the network stays alive. The greeting is a form of mutual recognition — a way of saying, “I am still here, and I am still listening.”
For those who are new to this world, the greeting post is also a good entry point. It is a low-pressure way to contact a label, to ask about their catalog, to express interest in a particular tape. The formality of the greeting makes it easier to approach. There is no expectation of deep knowledge; you just need to acknowledge the new year and state your interest.
The practice of the New Year's greeting is not unique to Japan, but it has a particular weight in the underground. It is a way of marking time, of acknowledging the continuity of a scene that is otherwise diffuse and decentralized. The greeting post is a small, almost mundane thing — a few lines of text, a date, a signature. But it is also a thread that connects the year's first sounds to the years that came before. For the collector, it is a reminder that the tape in your hand is not just an object; it is a moment in a longer conversation.
One label I remember from that year posted a greeting with a photo of a single blank tape on a tatami mat, the J-card already folded. The text read: “This year, I will only release tapes that sound like winter.” That single line told me more about their aesthetic than any catalog description. I wrote to them and received a C30 with a hand-stamped cover — a field recording of a frozen river. The greeting was a promise, and it was kept. If you find a similar post, take it seriously. The address might still be valid, and the tape might still be in stock. That is how the network stays alive.