Most of what passes for entertainment in Roppongi is only skin-deep. And while the area itself may appear to be a dense maze of bars stretching for miles, it is only a facade, barely extending more than one block off the strip. The 4-chome area, in particular, which fills the blocks behind the bank at Roppongi Crossing, is one of the quietest patches on the grid.

So when you see a colorful neon sign reading "Soul Bar" looming like a phantom out of the night, it looks so all alone. In fact, I found myself thinking of lost and lonely souls. But as soon as I walked in and saw the master, I knew it was going to be good.

Genta stood haloed in the center of the darkened bar, the tips of his giant Afro silvered under an overhead spotlight. The scene looked like it could have been lifted off the jacket of a '70s R&B album. Once my eyes had adjusted to the light, I could also see rows and rows of vinyl albums and compact discs lining the wall in back. That's when I realized I had found a quality hideout for those who choose to shun the strip.