The great thing about traveling to Europe for a three-day music conference is that you never have to get off of Eastern time. The last two nights I went to bed around 11pm EST (5am local) and got up when most Norwegians were eating lunch. As far as my body is concerned, the shows start late in the afternoon and end in time for me to watch the Democratic presidential debate.
So I got up yesterday and decided to explore the city in the daylight before hittin’ da clubs. Here’s what I can tell you about Norway:
1. It’s an extremely walkable city with many of its cobblestone streets pedestrian only.
2. It would have great shopping if the dollar weren’t so weak.
3. The national dish is not, in fact, lutefisk, but kabobs. Or pizza. 80% of all restaurants are Middle Eastern or Italian. I even saw one enterprising restaurateur advertising his gyro pizza.
I thought I would have to leave without a good Norwegian meal until stumbling upon the special “delegate” area in the main tent venue downtown, where I had some good ol’ fashioned Norwegian fish.
Well-fed and much better prepared than the previous night (I brought my non-working cell as a timepiece this time), I headed to Fabrikken to see I Was a King, a straightforward indie rock band to whom I’ll award three out of six scarves (which also happened to be the ratio of bandmembers wearing them). Most all Norwegians sing in English and it’s quite possible these guys were too, but all you could hear was the wall of guitars.
But that gave me time to head next door to see Boys in a Band from Faroe Islands, the home of Teitur and not quite 50,000 other people. The room was packed, and the audience was reveling in the cheese dripping from the stage in the form of Casio tones, Billy Squires-inspired guitar, speedy riffs and thumbs up gestures from the mustachioed lead singer. It was, in a word, awesome, and I was bummed to have only caught two songs.
After a couple more times popping into venues only to head right back out (this happened several times throughout the night), I stumbled across Kine Nesheim, a 19-year-old whose live show was polished enough to air on radio. She plays again tonight, so expect a full report to follow later.
Next I caught The Fernets, who had won the Zoom competition for new bands at last year’s By:Larm. They wore angular haircuts (plus one scarf and one mustache) and play the kind of energetic rock—with lyrics like, “It’s out of control, baby/ It’s all right/ I found love, love, love”—that NME will fall in-and-out of love with in a matter of weeks.
Better was Hilde Marie Kjersem, a contralto who takes her eclecticism seriously. She was joined on stage by a backing sextet that included tinkling piano, muted trumpet, an electric clarinet and something that looked even taller than a bass saxiphone. All that was missing were trashcans and Marc Ribot on guitar.
I had to leave Hilde a little early to make sure I got in to see Lykke Li after last night’s debacle. It was the industry event of By:Larm, a chance to see Sweden’s Lily Allen, and I had to climb 11 flights of stairs to reach the small bar overlooking the city for the privilege. She’s definitely a starlet waiting to happen. Just dance-y enough for the clubs (though music industry folks aren’t allowed to dance), every song was sung to a lover, an ex-lover or, most-often, a potential lover. She’s a hell of a performer and my pick for the most-likely-to-achieve-international-fame award.
But she’s no Ida Maria. A singer I met at Lykke’s show made me promise to check out Ida, and I now publicly thank her. Originally from the town of Nesna (pop. 1776), she lives in Bergen and if justice reigns will be the next of that city’s residents (following Royksop, Kings of Convenience and Sondre Lerche) to be embraced by America. The first lines she sang were “Fear is no longer in town/ fear is no longer hanging around,” but it’s hard to imagine that she’s afraid of anything. She’s absolutely crazy on stage, jumping around, diving onto the floor and rolling around. At one point, a roadie was picking up her mic stand and she was slamming down another one. My notes are filled with phrases like “Happy abandon!” and “Spastic!” Her bio compares her voice to Björk, Janis Joplin and Billie Holiday. All somehow fit, and so do Judy Garland and Morrissey in the best mood of his life. She has the crowd singing along to “I like you so much better when you’re naked” and then completely captivated by “OhMyGod.” She came back out for an encore and played the deceptively deep “We’re All Going to Hell” with the audience hanging on (or singing) every word. (http://www.myspace.com/idamaria)
And just when I thought the night couldn’t get any better, I went to a perfect little hole-in-the-wall club called Revolver, which has been the self-proclaimed home-away-from-home for Posies frontman Ken Stringfellow, whose new band The Disciplines was unexpectedly rocking. That encounter deserves (and will get) it’s own post.
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