Japan has sat on my holiday wishlist for far too long, and 2025 looks set to keep the drought alive. My best friend and I have been scheming a trip for what feels like forever, but the stars just won’t align. Luckily, there are photographers like Australian Freddie Roach who let me live vicariously through their lens. But more on that later.
When I first touched base with the Melbourne/Naarm-based photographer, the week previous had been mellow, filled with nourishing life activities. “I’ve just been hanging out with my wife, eating amazing pork sandwiches, drinking lots of double espresso, and shooting rolls of film. Life is good.”
For Freddie, photography is all about the pursuit, and the quiet acceptance that mastery will always be just out of reach. “The journey or effort involved in achieving something is more rewarding than the final outcome,” he says.
An unapologetic advocate for the behemoth Instagram, he thrives on the instant access to photographers and their work from all around the world. For him, it’s a daily reminder to keep pushing, keep refining. Before, it was flipping through glossy surf magazines; now it’s high-definition frames available at the tap of a screen.
It was the sound of cameras that first pulled Freddie in. If you’ve ever handled a film camera, you know the satisfaction—that goddamn beautiful whir of the mechanics as they spool the film into place. Fondly, he recalls moments from his childhood when he’d sprint ahead to the local pharmacy to pick up his family’s photos. “We were always so excited to pick up those yellow envelopes!” Again, Freddie gives thanks to the vibrantly coloured surf publications of his youth, which helped inform his photographic style.
“I always remember being bored with the quintessential surf shot, the guy getting barrelled or riding a huge wave. I was drawn to the moments in between. The photos of the village the surfers were in, the people of that village, the surfers on the boat while they weren’t catching waves.”
These moments left an indelible mark on Freddie. So, naturally, as he grew, he sought out more photos just like them. Soon after, Freddie found himself lost in the pages of Life Magazine and National Geographic, quickly realising there was a whole world of observational photography waiting to be discovered. “I’m a massive introvert, so I’ve always naturally observed instead of partaking…I enjoy capturing authenticity, the real stuff.”
It’s this style that Freddie fully embraced during his recent journey to Japan.
His frames are hyperreal, some of the sharpest film captures I’ve ever seen. As Freddie hinted above, these photographs distil “the real stuff”—glimpses of Japan’s citizens in their natural habitat, moving through life in one of the world’s most electric cities. In one frame, an elderly gentleman stands in golden light, absorbed in his morning paper, oblivious to the world around him. In another, a female geisha is caught in a striking moment of stillness, her expression unreadable amid Tokyo’s bustle. Is it anger, sadness, or quiet determination? All I know is I’m left wondering about her story.
Even before Freddie raised his camera, Tokyo’s scale and gleaming polish left him awestruck. “I grew up in a small coastal town, so stepping onto these streets was mind-blowing,” he says. All the more so because this trip wasn’t just about discovery, it was to marry the love of his life in a city that means the world to them both.
A natural wanderer, Freddie drifted through Tokyo’s concrete tributaries without a plan, often winding up in the hidden corners of Harajuku. For him, the gemstones lie in the quiet backstreets. With its whimsical passages and one-of-a-kind architecture, Harajuku quickly became a place he could lose himself in day after day. Listening to him, my FOMO is palpable. “Once you get away from the main streets and tourist spots, Japan becomes an even more beautiful place in my opinion.”
In one picture, Freddie nails this exact essence: a suited gentleman pauses at the window of a classic Toyota Crown taxi. The sun cuts across a secluded street, while a tangle of powerlines webs the sky overhead—a singular moment of calm. Elsewhere, an elderly clothing shop owner is caught mid-binge, eyes glued to a smartphone balanced on a cupboard—his makeshift cinema. Sitting with this pair of images, I sense the peacefulness inherent in everyday life.
“This time I really leaned into the mundane everyday things; crates of empty bottles, phone booths and cars parked in garages just big enough to fit them in, barely.”
“Why can’t regular life be pretty?” Freddie wonders. Most of our lives are made up of these small, ordinary moments, why not document them? Drawing on a niche example from his formative years, the photographer shares his love of anime. “It was the in-between scenes in these shows, of everyday life or cityscapes. It wasn’t until I first visited the country that I realised these visuals are based on real-life Japan.”
What I love most is how Freddie’s frames honour Tokyo’s workhorses, the true fabric of the city, the people who keep it moving. Chefs bent over sizzling hotplates, chauffeurs darting past, policemen and guards keeping the peace, everyone manning their respective posts. The power of Freddie’s imagery comes from his ability to make the day-to-day pop. Tokyo’s relentless Monday-to-Sunday energy has clearly sunk its claws into him; the proof is in the pictures.
Freddie tells me his deep love for Japan stems mainly from the temperament and vibe of its people. “They really take the time to appreciate the small things in life. I mean, even a word like komorebi—which means ‘sunlight filtering through trees’, sums it up perfectly.”
Interestingly, Freddie then raises something that strikes a profound chord with me. He says:
“I love the feeling of being surrounded by millions of people, yet still feeling isolated at the same time. The high-octane lifestyle is a sensory overload, but just one hour from Tokyo, you can find yourself at the base of Mount Fuji in a small lakeside town that shuts down at 5 pm.”
Having just relocated to New York City three weeks ago, knowing only a handful of people, I’m wrapped in the very feeling Freddie describes above. Wandering avenues teeming with life, headphones on, I find solace amid the crowds. And, like dipping into a cute town beneath Mount Fuji, New Yorkers have a critical need to head upstate and touch grass. In places like these, nature is treasured like I’ve never seen before.
Amid this incredible collection, three shots in particular piqued my interest.
“The Sumos arrive in black vans and hop out onto the red carpet, fans screaming for photos and signatures as the giants walk past them with their game faces on. These guys are big time, like a designated hitter for the New York Yankees vibe.”
In Japanese culture, Sumo wrestlers are revered and, for centuries, have carried an immense aura. Freddie tells me they’re “like rockstars”, always with an entourage in tow. Although it’s a sporting event, Freddie explains there’s a vintage quality to the spectacle. The history, heritage and tradition are palpable. Regardless of him sitting in the bleachers (where the above photo was taken), Freddie says he’ll never forget the sound of skin on skin each time the wrestlers collided. “It was like watching two bulls in a ring.”
Another sport held in the highest regard in Japan is baseball. Freddie tells me how charming it is to wander down a quiet Tokyo street and suddenly stumble upon a little league game in full swing, true community spirit. The shot in question was taken at a Giants game, Tokyo’s home team, captured at the exact moment the pitcher winds up and the batter poises to strike. You can almost hear the crowd’s collective inhale, suspended in anticipation of what’s to come.
“The games themselves are mind-blowing…each team has its own set of chants, and they spend the whole time singing. In true Japanese style, each team’s supporters respect their opponents…they literally take turns singing songs.”
Days after the matches, Freddie admits he’s still humming the songs to himself—a sign of just how deeply the experience left its mark on him.
The final image in the trio is the most powerful. Taken during Tokyo’s 3-day Sanja Matsuri festival in Asakusa, which is held each May to honour the founders of the Senso-ji Temple. Remarkably, the festival has been running since the 6th century and is still shadowed by a heavy yakuza influence. Participants wear traditional garb, most notably the hanten, a short, thick jacket. Each hanten is decorated differently, depending on which neighbourhood you call home.
Everyone is here to participate in the Daigyoretsu or grand parade, which involves carrying over 100 portable shrines called mikoshi. Not only are the mikoshi carried, but they are shaken around violently as thousands of people rush the grounds to assist in the lugging process. “So-iya! So-iya! shout the crowd in unison over and over again. They do this to show strength and work together as a community; it’s an impressive sight.”
The final afternoon marks the festival’s fever pitch, as three massive mikoshi (portable shrines weighing nearly a ton each) are carried toward the main Senso-ji Temple. It’s here that Freddie found himself perched above stacks of inebriated revellers, a gun barrel view before him.
What begins as a spirited, all-for-one celebration has now shifted. Look closely, and the unity has unravelled; people are no longer helping their neighbours, but jostling for a grip on the sacred object in its final moments before being laid to rest. The shot is compelling, visceral force on display, that real heave-ho feeling. From Freddie’s stellar vantage point, the magnitude of Sanja Matsuri is apparent, an unbroken sea of people as far as the eye can see.
“It’s so packed inside the square that those holding the shrine often can’t move forward. Eventually, the shrines fight their way to their rightful positions, and after 3 days of high energy and lots of alcohol, everyone goes home to sleep it off.”
These may be my top picks, but Freddie’s favourite is a motion blur of a speeding taxi he snagged at a bustling crossing in Shinjuku. Plastered in the centre of the frame with a backdrop of streaked rainbow colours, zooms a solitary cab. It appears as though this cabbie got lost and accidentally drove through a wormhole into another dimension, caught in transit to some other realm. “It’s a special shot because everything had to line up for it to work. It’s pretty rare for a single taxi to drive through there. I wanted a yellow, orange or green cab, but I’ll take black.”
Now, you’ve probably noticed that each of these photographs is bathed in an inviting, warm glow. Don’t be discouraged, although Freddie is forever shooting in the golden hours, this isn’t simply raw talent. It’s carefully crafted in post, and he’s not shy to admit it. “Of course, there’s post-production involved. Slowly over the years I’ve created an editing style that compliments my photography and compositions.”
No surprise that he champions Kodak Gold 200 film—a stock that lets in less light, giving Freddie far more control over his composition once the images are scanned. Generally, the analog rolls are wound into his Fujifilm XT-5 or Pentax ME Super (35mm).
A walkthrough of Freddie’s photographs is an authentic taste of Japan, like fresh sashimi from a restaurant tucked away in the very alleyways he captures. This journey to Japan, while immortalised through his beautiful photography, is far more about fleeting, physical moments that stick with him like glue. Whether it’s locking eyes with a fearless sumo, being swept up in a religious gathering as old as time, or capturing a young girl perched atop her father’s shoulders with her whole life ahead of her—this is real life in still form.
