Malmö

Malmö festival was the self-prescribed experience for festival withdrawal. It produced euphoric effects in small pockets and nourished cravings but there was a price to pay in kicking the habit. Unforeseen challenges and general naivety made the trip memorable with brute intensity in a dead city. What I mean by dead is that I didn’t see any edge to the place, nothing was really happening (besides for festival), the living stay home inside their coffins while the dead play in moderation before the swedish reaper politely asks em to return home. The one and only liquor store closes mid-day, the bars close shortly after midnight and the store-beers are just awful. Searching for excitement in Sweden is like looking for good basketball players in Denmark. On any given day, there’s a 25% chance someone might show up and a 50% chance they’re decent so usually you end up shooting hoops with no one to challenge you but yourself. What I mean by intensity is going for a ride with little money and surviving on the streets. The first bad omen was losing 10 kr. to a coffee machine and not being able to make sense of how to get the money back. Not a big loss but a loss nonetheless. We learned that most places accept our Danish crowns but the exchange is received at a one to one ratio with the Swedish krona. So, any time you buy something you pay the higher swedish prices and lose a little extra on top with the exchange. It’s a lose lose situation. We were forced to count every crown, luckily we saved money sleeping around town. 

Stepping off the train into Malmö central station had me gung-ho about the next 24 hours. Nothing was planned and the only item on the itinerary was hard alcohol. A bottle of whiskey is like bringing an extra sweater to wear underneath your skin. The hard lesson we learned is hard alcohol is not easy to get. There’s one store, owned by the government, and it closes around 5-6 pm. The control over alcohol shows up on the faces of the citizens. I’m the only guy beer in hand during Mikael Wiehe‘s main stage performance. He’s an older fella, playing music your grandparents can enjoy. Good sound, good songs and good musicians. His stage banter danced around like the tip of a conductors stick and all I could understand was “Bradley Manning” and “Julian Assange”. Getting fizzled off 2.5 % alcohol beverages we venture further into festival area and are struck by two beautiful sirens killing it softly on stage with chill-wave sensuality and steamy soft-core vocals. They’re called Say Lou Lou and that’s either a french expression or infant yap. The best part was how beautiful these girls were and I think 100% of the male audience thought so too; daydreaming of sharing an early morning vanilla yogurt with these girls in a white room on an all-white bed. I left reality with a blood alcohol level of .01 and thought I might never come back. I fell further into hypnosis by Anna Viser‘s gyrating hips at an oriental dance exhibition. Lovely ladies young and old, of all pan tones, moved them bodies to an ipod bumping world music with the accompaniment of a live percussionist who gave the doumbek hell. Shifting rhythms and alternating currents produced a visible connection between body and sound. The crowd of Malmös minorities yelped, hollered and whistled with cheer. These dancers would have been exactly what the saudi prince had ordered. Capping off the night of music was Linnea Olsson and she hit a grand-slam, an expression nobody here understands. There’s a young princess on stage with her cello, looping bass lines, laying melodies on top and delivering a powerful vocal. Each number is stunning, the crowd responds with standing ovations and she is in total control of her sound. She’s a cleaner version of Björk armed with a big classical axe. I felt beyond satisfied by that performance and so began the exploration of a non-existant night-life. With no money and no where to go, we crashed by a coffee shop that had suitable ikea furniture outside. It got damp and chilly before I could count to 2 am. 

Waking up in an over night freeze, we had to go to the nearest indoor facility open at dawn. McDonald’s welcomed us in with open arms. Hot coffee and a cheeseburger was like taking a hot shower after a week long grind. No one is about but the alcoholics, homeless, and employees of this sanctuary. Walking around sleepless in the early morning felt like being in the perfect movie where everyone is fulfilling their script and nailing their roles. The bus driver arrives at 8:55, picking up tired actors and dropping off the new cast into our scene. I’m not part of the movie, I am just an observer but I can’t shake this strange feeling any longer and it’s driving me up the coconut tree. I want to break free, improvise off the script and piss on the director. I had lost my wits so I drowned myself in a Zywiec and took a nap riverside. The stale jazz music sure helped me in to a state of intense day dreaming right until the sound of a distorted guitar had shaken me out of unconsciousness and my operating system hit reboot. From Dead Air shook up the festival with heavy riffs and an inspired performance by a growling vocalist. They seemed young, like they were just beginning their studies at university and deciding if rock n roll is a plausible life choice. The drum/bass mix wasn’t right but the performance was exciting, relaxed and full of good humor. With friends moshing, older folks curiously observing, and me getting energy from the band it was time to go and explore for more. I had found it in Klubbkören, a 30-piece choir providing a nice mix of RnB, dance, hip-hop, and world sounds conducted by a hipster band leader. The band leader is bringing energy to the choir with his funky dance moves, cueing vocal lines with flamboyant hand gestures and flashy movements. I was fascinated by the concept and the vocalists as individuals proved to be very powerful. A good-time was had and a cheeseburger was well-deserved. The final band, The Driftwood Sign, was not anything spectacular, just young fellas doing a heavier Pearl Jam. The drum sound was particularly disappointing, a non-existent kick drum ruined the whole sound for me and the band. The tent was packed and people enjoyed it but I was ready to pack it in and get back to the Mediterranean of the North. 

Overall, it was more of a cultural learning than a music festival. What really irked me was how much street food you could possibly pack into a city center. I guess food festival is part of the package, among the art stuff and other important happenings. Just a handful of stellar moments among the throngs of beautifully restrained Swedes. The inability to get inebriated gave me the sober perspective of everyday culture. You need to make some money to enjoy all the expensive food and drink. To make that money you gotta find a producer who’ll give you the role. Feels like a weight on the soul that I’m not particularly interested in. I wish I liked making money and some people think that’s a poor excuse but maybe it’s a poor motivator. I don’t really know where I’m going with this but I don’t think I would go back to Malmö as I much rather spend time in Copenhagen where things are happening. You can make shit happen without money. But you’re in shit when money doesn’t happen. Invest in yourself, your soul, and a money tree. 

Læsø

Langeland

By the end of Langeland festival I was relieved that this paragraph of my life was coming to an end. Not to say that I didn’t enjoy my stay in the danish country-side, I was just worn out by the week-long family vacation. All good things come to an end and I was glad that my stay had ended with a tranquil over-night drive back to Copenhagen.

When I think of Langeland, I hear the theme song that must have been played everywhere within shouting distance at a rate of brainwash. I spent time partying in the tents doing the hill-billy ho-down and you hear a lot of danish folk tunes that bring natives from a two step shuffle to a stomp, hop, and a clap. It feels like a polka and brings out the inner bunny rabbit. These are like typical country-side barn-yard bon-fires that bring all-ages together for good-times. It’s the place where Lasse met Linda, Soren met Stine, and Claus does his penance for the church of beer. These ceremonies are like going for a swim in the community gene pool. When the recipe of physical attraction, dance skill and social charm cook together in a stew you never know what it will do. The younger boys are naturally shy, learning and observing the mating rituals of older males. The inexperienced have to learn the game quickly and instinctively replicate dance moves that are cool.  Older males are confidently rolling the dice with anything and everything that resembles feminine figure. Young girls are fending off about 99% percent of males only inviting the most attractive and charming mates. The more intoxicated the female, the easier she is to fool with false confidence and shitty genetics. If she keeps her wits and uses her wisdom than she will select the best mate. It was always her choice to begin with since the beginning of time. This is the power of the pussy.     

I hadn’t ventured into the festival area until danish pop idol Medina hit the main-stage. Disco balls shattered and young girls cried their eyes out as their idol was only a stones throw away. She’s got a sexy confidence to her stage presence, nothing flashy or over-the-top just her band and the music. Her voice held strong through-out the set and delivered number after number with sweet emotion. 10 minutes later and I’m joined by friends to see “non-american influenced” danish hip-hop act Østkyst Hustlers. I’m expecting a page out of the Beastie Boys Bible but instead get a whole new testament in performance, story-telling, and crowd interaction. The music can be described as a bluesy blood sugar sex magik with deep pockets and bluesy licks. Every musician is given the spotlight treatment and nail their cues, sinking the audience under the table. The 3 MC’s tell everyday stories and turn them into poetic performance. The good-times are rolling and the crowd is sliding left to ride, hands up in the air, bouncing to the one-two-three. I couldn’t understand a single word that was spoken but I fully understood the message. These cats are doing their thing and having fun… one line I had translated was  “We might be getting old. But the thing is… so are you!” And with a roar they launch into an encore and leave the crowd in a frenzy. Closing the night was Alphabeat, a danish party-band with sugary soda-pop harmonies lead by a young male and female duo with support from pop-corn beats that have you bouncing till your kernel bursts. The lead male has the charisma of a pre-pubscent teen watching his first porno going bananas all over the stage wanking his tambourine and exploding confetti into the crowd. The lead female is a slice of cutie-pie that probably tastes really good. They drop an ecstasy bomb on the crowd and teenagers fortunate enough to be at ground zero take their excitement back to the camps. 

A band that didn’t seem to fit the program was 90’s rock band Saybia, with a main-stage audience that was too young, too old, and not all too present for the performance. I could at any moment stand front-row if I wanted but decided to stand third row as this was my first exposure to their sound. Their sound is akin to danish rock act Kashmir & early-Radiohead without the melancholy. It’s a marsh-mellow camp-fire sound with deep stories and touching moments through-out the performance. The next act comes from a recommendation by a drummer dude who I met earlier in the week and as expected the drums in this act were upfront and a force to reckon with. Pretty Maids are years past their prime but still deliver a good rock show with a charming front-man who resembles Mickey Rourke from The Wrestler. It’s the danish interpretation of LA rockers Motley Crue and Guns N Roses. It’s tough to get past the superficial layer and think that these old men look a bit ridiculous but they’re the keepers of the metal key waiting for the next generation to take hold.  

An unusual performance was given by peace-loving, socially responsible band Outlandish. What I mean by unusual is that the back-up musicians talents out-shined the performers in vocal deliveries and instrumental intensity. The group is fronted by three MC’s of different minority decent, a latino, a moroccan, and a pakistani. Their message of love, peace, and respect for all human-beings is a nice message for the kids but I felt like there was a bit too much cheese and not enough meat on this sandwich.    

I guess it’s worth mentioning some of the bigger names who were there but, not really there. Tina Turner, U2, Lynyrd Skynyrd. You get the point. The older folks really enjoy that kind of stuff but I doubt they even know where Sweet Home Alabama is. Year after year these folks will return to the island summer tradition that is Langeland, where the skies are so blue. The areas surrounding are very beautiful with narrow tree lined paths opening up to sun-tanned wheat fields and colorful houses planted along streets that breathe a sea-side charm.  

This festival is made for families because their is a lack of edge in the atmosphere. First, their is a noise curfew and if that doesn’t shout “old-timing” than I don’t know what does. Second, there is the all-danish music program which is a mix of old and new pop-acts, rock bands and child stars. You have a kid zone where children can wild-out and indulge in imagination. You have a youth-camp where teens and pre-teens are experimenting with alcohol and the opposite sex. For young people, it’s the plan B if your parents did not let you go to Roskilde and you want to train for Roskilde-style partying. For older people, it’s the festival experience where you can relive those crazy times and bring the kids too. 

I think about all the faces I’ve met and spent time with. The shared ideas and perspectives gained. Flowing in the present with intimate strangers. This is what the tour experience has been to me. Coming home to dwell on your experience and what you’ve learned. We are always alone looking for a connection yet we’re always disconnected. When I meet someone, I always think that this is the last time I will see this person ever in my life so I better make sure my impact is a positive one. Learning to be yourself without any censors. Filling life with sweet surprise and genuine gestures. Letting the right people in. Not giving a fuck and drinking too much alcohol!