"Tibet . . . hmm . . . it's a foreign country, I know that," mused one young man.

"In the mountains," said another hopefully.

Everyone, of course, knew the Beastie Boys, the show's primary sponsor. But the youngsters who flocked to the Tibetan Freedom Concert last Sunday night seemed more than happy to sacrifice their hard-earned dough for a chance to see their favorite band; that the money would go to a good cause was a fruitful coincidence.

For most kids, that band seemed to be Hi-Standard. If the concert proved anything, it's that mellowcore (the energy of hardcore punk softened by a greater grasp of melody and a more accessible, less aggressive performing style) now rules Japan's indie scene, and that Hi-Standard is its anointed king. The gangs of high school kids who camped out all night in front of Tokyo Bay NK Hall proved that a band can "make it" without the mechanisms (major label, overbearing management, coy media coverage) of the mainstream rock world.

While concurrent shows in Amsterdam, Chicago and Sydney featured superstars such as Alanis Morrisette and Run DMC, Tokyo's first Tibetan Freedom Concert was a relaxed affair with a mostly indie profile. There were no special meals, no fancy backstage perks. The groups didn't look or act much different from the kids who had come to see them, many of them walking unidentified among the crowd to take a peek at the other performers.

The only emissary from the major leagues was RC Succession's Kiyoshiro Imawano, who strutted through his solo set dressed in a kimono and full makeup. Only when commenting on the current state of youth culture did he drop the gruff samurai act to show a glimmer of the intelligence that made RC Succession the radically important band that it was.

"In my day we wrote protest songs about the Vietnam War," he observed. "I don't really understand today's young people. If you know about a problem, you should make an appeal, send a message."

Kan Takagi had the unenviable task of opening the event in front of a young audience basically there to see somebody else. Nevertheless, Takagi bounced around like a man far younger than his 38 years.

The crowd was similarly lethargic for Audio Active. Though they played their usual tight, hyperdriven set of techno-laced mayhem, it produced only a lukewarm response. Audio Active's lyrics often have a radical edge (their opening tune, "Citizen Zombie," could easily be an anthem for the younger generation). The group has said, however, that they are less interested in pushing a particular message than exposing the audience to "something different." There was one message they were pushing however; they ended their set with a call to "Free marijuana," as well as Tibet.

The crowd was more enthusiastic for Scha Darra Parr, warming to their brighter (some would say innocuous), take on hip hop. Despite being the Beastie Boys opening act of choice on their Japanese tours, SDP confessed to being rather poorly informed about the situation in Tibet prior to being invited to play the show.

That was the rule rather than the exception; the chance to be affiliated with a decidedly "trendy" event seemed to be as big a reason to perform in the benefit as a do-good agenda. Still, once they committed, most of the bands seemed to take a rather responsible approach, with many saying they had spent the few weeks before the concert educating themselves on Tibet's situation.

Brahman, the youngest and perhaps least established group playing the concert, admitted to being more than a bit nervous about playing the show. "We couldn't sleep all night," said one member. "We just didn't know if we had the confidence to participate in such a meaning-laden event." The concert was as much a learning experience for them as for the audience.

The purpose of the concert was brought to flesh by traditional horn and wind player Nawang Khechog, the only Tibetan performer on the bill. For three years, his family struggled through the rough terrain of the Himalayas to escape the Chinese occupation, finally arriving in Dharamsala, the Dalai Lama's base in India and the center of the Tibetan diaspora. Most of his family died on the journey.

His last piece, an improvisational duet with Kashihara, former drummer for the Blue Hearts, was the highlight of the concert, bringing a touch of spontaneity. The mysterious, otherworldly quality of the Tibetan music also brought an introspective moment to the show. Khechog's attempts to start a chant of "free Tibet" fell flat, not so much from lack of enthusiasm as from a state of shock -- most kids had never heard music that sounded anything like it.

The crowd really came to life when Hi-Standard finally hit the stage sending kids spinning into the mosh pits. But fitting the general mood of the show, the rough-housing at the front of the stage had a good-natured rather than aggressive quality with a fair number of girls raising a ruckus too.

In one of the show's most emotionally touching, though musically bizarre, moments, the group spontaneously invited Kechog to play with them during their final song: Hi-Standard plus Tibetan horn rollicking through Elvis Presley's "Can't Help Falling in Love."

Buffalo Daughter, the only group to have played at previous Tibetan Freedom concerts in the U.S., wrapped up the show. Given the reception for Hi-Standard, it was a difficult task. Jamming their way through "New Rock," with DJ Moog Yamamoto adding "free Tibet" exhortations like a whacked-out James Brown, BD played with the professional aplomb that demonstrates yet again why they are one of Japan's best bands.

Japan's first Tibetan Freedom Concert may not have had the marquee names or glamorous sparkle of the other worldwide events, but for the young people that attended and the bands that played, it could perhaps pave the way for heightened social awareness.

"Japanese kids are alienated from their Buddhist roots," noted the official representative of the Dalai Lama, observing the crowd before the show. "But they have a tradition that can act as a seed."