He takes time out of his busy stage schedule to tend his own farm. He is always on his feet for about an hour on stage. After a performance, dentures and hearing aids from audience members who have laughed too hard sometimes fall out in the audience. “60 shows a year! I’m still talking on stage!!” “Welcome! What did you come to ask today? If it’s about the new LDP president, Ishiba, I know him very well, you know? He doesn’t know me though. Let me say this first.. Alright, here’s my bare face” (removes his hat). Starting with a light-hearted conversation, the comedian Kimimaro Ayanokôji (73) removes his cap, revealing what is usually “private” under it. With a big smile, he greets the Friday reporter and starts speaking while pouring homemade herbal tea into a cup. “Recently, TV appearances have been sparse. Once you hit your 70s, it feels like a dismissal from the team. I’ve been in this industry for a long time, full of dreams, hopes, misunderstandings, and illusions. But lately, I’ve been busy on stage. Around 60 performances a year! You know, I have friends in Russia, but no matter how many times I try to call, I can never get through. The phone just goes beep, beep, and then you hear a ‘chime’ sound. …I end up talking for about an hour on just this kind of stuff. Since I don’t have any writers, I come up with my own material and just go with the flow every day.” In fact, he had changed his style of comedy. He broke out at the age of 51 in 2002. His first stand-up CD, released at the same time as artists like EXILE and Ayumi Hamasaki, reached a peak position of No. 3 on the Oricon charts and sold a total of 1.85 million copies. Kimimaro Ayanokôji was known for his sharp-tongued comedy based on the “common experiences” of middle-aged and older people, but he had actually been reassessing his comedic style. “Before, I used to make jokes about people’s appearances or health problems, like ‘Middle-aged people have no teeth, no hair, and no future,’ or ‘If you wear a bodysuit and force it, you’ll look like a ham.’ People would laugh, but they didn’t think it was about themselves. They thought I was talking about their spouse sitting next to them, so I would attack relentlessly with a fast tempo. But in 2009, when I was featured on NHK’s Close-Up Gendai, the host commented, ‘It’s strange that the audience is laughing even though you’re pointing out their flaws.’ That hit me hard. I hadn’t noticed it myself, but when I thought about it, I realized it wasn’t good. Since I was talking unilaterally, it could have felt like I was abusing the audience. From then on, when I created new material, I began incorporating self-deprecation like, ‘I’m getting older, and I’m becoming like this,’ so that the audience could relate.” As he grew older and became an elderly person himself, Kimimaro reflected that the senior figures who used to give him advice were no longer around. When he shifted to a self-deprecating style, he felt a sense of relief. There were also other positive changes. “Since the pandemic settled down, the audience has broadened. The older audience in their 60s hasn’t changed, but the younger crowd in their 30s has joined in. When I first became popular, I thought I would grow old with the elderly fans, and as they disappeared, I would too. But now, the children who used to listen with their parents or grandparents have grown up and still come to my performances. I can really feel the passage of time. If you stay healthy and keep working hard, you can still reach a lot of people, and that encourages me.”