Tour of Japan 2025: day 2

Today something special is on the program: the World Expo in Osaka. Together with my content colleague Sanne, I get to capture the performance of the brass ensemble. And not just any performance: the ensemble is playing at the official opening of the Dutch pavilion. A musical calling card, in the presence of ambassadors, policymakers, and cultural representatives from all over the world.

That raises very practical questions: what do you wear in 32 degrees and 70% humidity? I choose a white blouse and black trousers—the smartest combination I could find in my suitcase. Later that day I realize: stylish sweating is still sweating.

Our tour bus—or should I say “tour bus”—is packed to the brim with people and instruments. And by packed, I mean not a centimeter of space between tuba and trumpeter. In the hour-long ride to the Expo grounds, we get to know each other very well. Very well.

As we drive, Japan slides past my window: the streets, the signs, the cars, everything looks familiar and yet completely different. Sanne sits beside me editing footage from the previous day, but she still grabs her camera when a taxi zooms by. Click. Just a taxi. Just a fleeting moment—but captured with an eye for detail.

Once we arrive at the Expo grounds, we first go through security. I’m struck by how friendly everyone is. In the scorching sun, they smile as they open every instrument case. My eyes can’t take in all the movement, all the people.

For lunch we’re given a bento box. For some, eating with chopsticks is still an adventure. “Any sandwiches?” someone jokes. But that’s part of the experience. After lunch we go over the schedule with the media team: lighting plan, screen presentation, musical cues. Everything is timed to the minute. During soundcheck, the ensemble already tests the acoustics.

In addition to documenting everything happening backstage, I’m also responsible today for clicking through the presentation slides on the big screen behind the ensemble. During rehearsal, Alexander Verbeek, principal trombone and the mastermind behind this special performance, comes over to walk me through the sequence of slides once more, and the musical cues I need to follow. “There really should be a black slide before Sakura Sakura, since we begin again in darkness,” he adds at the end. No problem, I say, I’ll fix it.

For a moment I think the jet lag has gotten to me, because PowerPoint looks strangely unfamiliar. Until I realize, of course—it’s all in Japanese. After ten minutes of stubbornly trying, I finally swallow my pride and ask someone who actually understands what the menu says. Together we add the black slide. Crisis averted. Sweaty armpits remain.

The doors open, and suddenly I hear something I can’t quite place. Murmurs? Angry voices? Heated discussion? I look questioningly at tour manager Daniel. Calmly he nods and says: “The line is so long that people can’t get in anymore.” Of course I have to see this with my own eyes. A mass of people fills the entrance hall. I follow the queue outside, which winds leisurely yet determinedly around the building. And then it hits me: this is the audience for our brass ensemble.

I knew that classical music had a different following in Japan than in the Netherlands, but this? I truly hadn’t expected it. As if a pop star were about to take the stage.

And as I stand there, it dawns on me that all these people will also be looking at my screen. At my slide-clicking in PowerPoint. My confidence wavers slightly. Suddenly it doesn’t feel like running PowerPoint anymore. It feels like I’m VJ-ing at Coachella… except in Japanese.

For the musicians it must be a dream. For me, hand hovering over the clicker, it’s pure concentration. Because if you don’t hear exactly when a piece ends, and you can’t quite see when the musicians lift their instruments again, you also don’t know precisely when to advance the slide. For the full sixty minutes I sit with sharpened ears, utterly focused, hoping my PowerPoint flows seamlessly with the music.

And then: silence. One more breath, one final note—and then the applause bursts forth. Long, loud, straight from the heart. As if the entire hall can breathe again. The musicians receive a standing ovation, and even from behind the screen I can feel the floor trembling.

Afterwards, Sanne and I join our colleagues who didn’t perform. We find double bassists Ricardo and Javi in the audience, and suddenly realize we have to run to catch the bus back to the hotel. Zigzagging through the crowds, I take in the stunning location. It’s a global showcase of ideas, innovation, and culture. Countries from all over the world build their own pavilions here to show who they are, what drives them, and how they envision the future. It feels a bit like an international playground for big dreams: architecture, technology, sustainability, art—all coming together in one place. Half-sprinting, I catch the scents of cuisines from different countries and feel a pang of regret that I couldn’t explore more.

On the way back, the bus windows glow with warm golden light. The day’s excitement slowly fades into fatigue. I scroll through my phone to quickly post an update on our social media. Behind me, I try to start a conversation with Bruno to stay awake. He’s already ahead of me—fast asleep. Bruno snores, Sanne edits, I upload. And somewhere in Osaka, the sun sinks behind the pavilion, closing out our very first real tour day.

Text: Maxime de Bruin. Top photo: NL Expo 2025

Photo report through the eyes of general director Rob Streevelaar: