Everyone changed their clocks except for me, or that is how it felt when I biked along the canal to the office thinking that it was unusually quiet. Normally the roads are filled with biking people trying to avoid hitting trucks, tourists, trams, tourists, walking people, cars, tourists, and all the other things that constantly is thrown at you while you try and reach the office in a reasonable time. Not today, today life seemed quiet and I thought that it was a very pleasant way to start the week. Then an appointment called and asked where I was and I immediately realized that I was in a different time zone. Jet-lag without flying. When I flew the 45 minutes flight between Las Vegas and Phoenix (an airport with no clocks!) and missed my connecting flight to Charlotte I had a similar feeling. That time I got drunk on white White that I bought in a gas station, this time I biked a bit faster and played catch up with time during the whole day.
I've been around flying and breaking things, and the snow and cold just won't leave Amsterdam, it refuses, it clings on the streets, covers the canals with ice, throws nails against our cheeks and paints our jackets with snow. And there is not much left to do than keep on moving, pull down our hats, put our scarfs on tighter and just face a reality that has no interest in giving us a helping hand. Airportline is past frustration, for now. Instead we make fun of the snow, fly over it, laugh at it, smile in the face its petty tries to put us down, to make us cave. 'Det är inte hur man har det, det är hur man tar det'. Put that in a Swedish/English translation program.
So you put together The Shins lead singer and principal songwriter James Mercer with Danger Mouse, perhaps most knows for being one half of Gnarls Barkley and for his surprisingly pleasant Grey Album, where he put together The Beatles White Album and Jay-Z's Black Album into his own little dreamy world. So yes, you put together these two, and what you get is Broken Bells who release their debut album in March. This is the first single from the album, a vintage sounding pop gem that works perfectly as a cure against the grey Amsterdam clouds this Friday.
I biked with the other people through the streets of Amsterdam. The morning was young and the the streets paved with the gold that was painted by the sun on the water. The bike cues towards our office buildings, I used to stand on the other side and look at them, think that I am not those people, that they do not belong to my city. That they lived in their boxes, with time sheets, and money to buy shoes with their girlfriend/boyfriend on Saturdays in the Jordaan. Now I am on their side, biking the same streets, still wont have money for new shoes, but I will follow the pattern which modern society lays out for most of us. And now I will head over to the floorball court and yell at some floor-ballers, make them follow my instructions. Ah the smell of structure. It smells nothing like Laakso's 2005 Album My Gods. Maybe that is why it sounds to great right now. Specially the song Someone Somewhere, which you can listen to here. There is no 9-5 mentality there, is there?!
Airportline has had Fanfarlo's debut album from last year, Reservoir, on heavy rotation since getting hold of it in early December. After some hazy discussions over vegan food and underground rap music at OT301 here in Amsterdam it was decided that we should try and see if there are any good shows coming up in the city. This is something I normally do, but since my future has been in a constant flux the last few months I have not bothered investigating it very closely. But now, when I have tied up two jobs (one fun with very little money, and one less fun with ok money) which I will do parallel for the next couple of months I can start looking again. And, turns out that Fanfarlo is coming, on Tuesday, to Paradiso! Being lead by the distinct voice of fellow swede Simon Aurell this British folk-pop orchestra ends us sounding quite similar to Airportline favorites Noah And the Whale. Fanfarlo also brings the indie-crescendo masters Arcade Fire, and more acoustic and richly orchestrated folk-bands as Beirut, to mind. All in all it is a band that master to craft beautiful songs that should go down well in the rainy Amsterdam reality we exist in. This Sunday Airportline treets you to two acustic numbers with this wonderful little big band
In a recent interview one of the guitarists in Phoenix explained the band's home town, Versailles, as 'very beautiful and very boring'. Boredom of course occasionally bring great creativity and Phoenix is certainly a great example of this. With their love for R&B, soul and funk and their way of fusing these influences with guitar indie, and on their latest album, a flirt with a more electronic side, the band has risen to well deserved fame. Airportline has been a great fan of this band ever since they had a song in the movie Lost In Translation and I saw them pull of a fantastic show in the hipster heaven of Amsterdam's Trouw this past spring.
However, when I was in Paris last year no one seemed to know about them, hopefully that has changed now. It is still interesting to follow the band around Paris where they performed a few songs (with the acoustic version of One Time Too Many on a tourist bus being my favorite) from the best musicvideoblog around: La Blogotheque. Vincent Moon has once again produced some classic music moments (note the married couple in the 1901 video!) to add to his long list of great videos. Airportline's favourite before was the apartment show with Yeasayer and the street performance with Beirut. Both magnificent.
This blog says nothing about my life. It is a bit cryptic and I think that was the plan. I think that is what I wanted. But, as a road to the person behind the words I will present a three legged series of posts that might shed some light on the individual that hides behind these words. Inspired by a questionnaire in one of the Swedish blogs I read I have made an Airportline version of it. So those of you that will be near a computer with an internet connection this weekend can follow this as it evolves. Here is part one, about sad songs and nicknames. Please note that the answers are about two weeks old. Can't let you get too close.
Nickname: I’m not a fan of nicknames, except the one I created about a year ago: Dr. Mike Freedom. Calling it a nick name might be strong, its more of an alter ego, but it was a nice alter ego. Some of the nick names I’ve had include: Edvard, patte, hypotetisk and Patrix (a nickname me and two other Patrik shared, yes, it was around the time of the first Matrix movie). Lately P Diddy has been suggested and I’m sure there are many more but which I have repressed to a dark corner of my memory.
Songs that you mourn with when you are sad? Have You Forgotten / Song For A Blue Guitar – Red House Painters, Ryan Adams – Call Me On Your Way Back Home (see video above), Aimee Mann – Wise Up, Bright Eyes – Lua, The National – About Today, Hets! – Du Är Också Dum, Håkan Hellström – Nu Kan Du Få Mig Så Lätt, Coldplay – Fix You, Frida Hyvönen – N.Y. and yeah, I have tons of great songs to be sad together with.
What do people think of you? I think people have an ambivalent view of me. I think some people find me serious, driven and ambitious. Generally I think people struggle to pinpoint me but I hope most people find me kind, caring, unselfish and quite funny. This idea might be as far from the truth as the ‘serious, driven, ambitious’ idea. Maybe people describe me as calm; this is probably one of the defining things about me. This all goes out the window after a few beers though as I tend to be one of the most intense drunk persons that people have met.
Is this correct? I think there is some truth to all these things, I enjoy being serious and not so serious. And I am a calm person.
What do you most often receive compliments for? I think it is that I am funny, and that I have good taste in music. I respect both those opinions of course. Although it is worrying that the funny compliments often are highly correlated with alcohol consumption. I guess it is the curse of the Nordic man.
What do you tell people that you try to impress? I make jokes about myself. Works surprisingly well since the world is full of self congratulatory motherfuckers. Yeah, I said it. I also enjoy showcasing my knowledge and interest in rap music since people find this highly unlikely based on my appearance.
How does one impress you? By winning an argument. It might sound strange but I enjoy people that ague with me and win. Otherwise I am impressed by people that have qualities that I do not posses; for example, I am very impressed with people who have a good memory. I’m also impressed with people that have taken a chance and failed and who stand by it. The least impressive people are those that never risk anything.
Do you laugh on your own? Yes, when I watch the Daily Show, when I read something online and watch youtube.
What does your last incoming text message say?: I forgot my phone so can’t check, but it might have been regarding a police stake out in out apartment from my flatmate.
Where do you live? In de Baarsjes in Amsterdam, apparently right by a major drug trafficking operation
I traveled north and south yesterday. North through the brown Swedish landscape and then south over the thick clouds. I fell asleep leaning on the train window as small Swedish towns passed me by. They stood still as if they wanted to hold time. I was in Sweden for a week. But it felt like a year. Or an hour. I told someone.
I left the light snowflakes behind at Stockholm Central and a few hours later I was walking from Amsterdam Lelylaan station towards my home in a thunder storm. I think we all struggle a bit when fall comes and steals all that energy that we recklessly threw around us this past summer. But the melancholia that seems forever built into the gray clouds, the cold rain, and the wind that blow through our clothes also evoke creativity. Two days ago you met Friday Hyvönen by a piano, today you meet Jens Lekman with a guitar. He is another amazing storyteller from Sweden who sings a heartwarming song about a love affair in the cold Swedish winter.
There was darkness and rain between Stockholm and Karlstad. I bought a sandwich with egg and we came home and I sat in the sauna before I found an old Joyce Carol Oates book. I walked by a lake and met friends. I got vaccinated and was given an expensive pen which I will write expensive words with. I took a train south, and a drunk teenage couple almost stopped the train while they were smoking at a stop, and Göteborg is where I laid my head yesterday and it is dark and gray and wet today. Tomorrow I go north and then south and when I lay down my head in the evening it will be in Amsterdam again. Right now I am in a sofa listening to Frida Hyvönen and I think that you should do the same.
Airportline went to Sweden. Took a SAS flight to Stockholm. It was all very quiet, people don't talk too much when going to Sweden. The flight next to us was going to Budapest. But it souded like they were going to a Carneval. Maybe its all the spicy sausage they have over there. When we descended towards Stockholm, breaking through the thick clouds everything was brown and gray. This is the color of Sweden I thought. But today, after watching a great stand up show with the linguist and academic Frdrik Lindström at Norra Brunn last night, I took a walk around Vasastan/Östermalm in the sunshine and saw Swden from a much nicer view. It's still cool and quiet and everyone is wearing black and gray, as if it was some kind of Swedish Uniform, but the trees are yellow and red to make up for the loss of color among the people. I understand the news bulletins (have not decided if this is good or not) and yesterday while waiting for my friend to get some food I understood what the crazy old man who spoke to me said. That never happens in Amsterdam. Not the crazy people talking to me part, but the me understanding them part.
Today is a big day for the Airportline empire. Their founder, all time pop music nerd heavy weight traveler and bike crasher, is picking up his master's degree in the picturesque red light academic pot smoking cultural center of Amsterdam. At this occasion he will be overwhelmed by academic love and maybe even eat a piece of cheese, or two. This magical celebration will then take a break before it once again bloom on Saturday night when a party will be held which is bound to include some ridiculous quotes from the Airportline founder. Most likely due to the shear excitement that friends, alcohol, and maybe a piece of cheese, or two, will bring him. The tweed pants are on, the second hand un-ironed shirt is resting on his Swedish body and the sun is greeting his face as he shortly ventures out into the world to become a master in the true sense of the word. It is a day he greats by fucking modesty and beating himself on his chest. Tomorrow he returns to the gutter with some Norway bashing, see you then!
Yesterday I crashed with my bike. It sent me flying and then down on the ground. Miraculously, and I do not think that this is a word too strong to use, I got away with no injuries whatsoever. Not even my clothes broke. I was on my way home from a friend at around 1 at night, the city was quiet and calm. At one point I saw a guy walking with a shopping cart on the bike lane. I went on the right side of the bike lane to pass him. Suddenly I find myself on the ground. I had managed to get my own bike caught in a bike locked to a bike rack next to the bike lane. While my bike stopped in the bike rack with the other bikes I kept going, without my bike, until the ground embraced me with open arms. The guy walking with the shopping cart was shocked and asked if I was ok. 'Yeah, I said.' You sure, he replied. I wasn't, but I said 'yes, that was crazy'. Then I took my bike, which equally miraculously didn't break either, except for one of my break lines being a bit messed up, and went home. It is strange crashing without even noticing what happened and then have no scars, no pain, no nothing. Just a quiet bike ride through an empty Amsterdam.
Airportline is going to see what is one of the most talked about bands (apart from The XX of course) in indie circles tonight here in Amsterdam. Pitchfork gave their album, which is called 'album', a glowing review and shed some light on their remarkable background: Girls frontman Christopher Owens grew up in the Children of God cult. His older brother died as a baby because the cult didn't believe in medical attention. His dad left. He and his mother lived around the world, and the cult sometimes forced his mother to prostitute herself. As a teenager, Owens fled and lived as a Texas gutter-punk for a while. Then a local millionaire took Owens under his wing, and Owens moved to San Francisco. There, he and Chet "JR" White formed Girls, and recorded Album, their debut album, under the influence of just about every kind of pill they could find.
Sometimes you sit at Dublin Airport, drinking your over priced African fair trade Starbucks coffee while reading a book review about the financial crisis. A friend sends you a text and tells you that he has an extra ticket to West Side Story the same evening in Amsterdam. When this happens you can either consult your red moleskin agenda which is filled with so called 'things to take care off' or you can say, fuck it, I never go to musicals, so why not. Needless to say, on this occasion Airportline choose alternative number 2.
And then he forced us to go the the Anne Franke house but we were all stoned. The Irish are famous for being story tellers and I will not debate that fact after hearing this inside the campus of Trinity College a few hours ago. Stories are shed all over the place, often in company with a creamy Guiness, just as expected. In celebration of the storyteller tradition I bought the collected plays of Samuel Beckett for too much money for a someone who has no money. Tomorrow Airportline returns to Amsterdam again where the coming days look packed with more or less difficult tasks. Its the first day of fall today so I guess I can now finally say that summer is over and not retract on that statement. Oh happy days.
Rain is once again following us on the streets of Amsterdam. In the darkness of last night we cruised through the empty streets below the bright yellow street lights. Fall is here and Amsterdam is settling into it with the same ease as always. The facades of the old buildings look oddly well placed in the misty rain, as if they were waiting for it all summer and now can function again. With smaller tourist crowds and the stormy weather Amsterdam is back. For better and for worse this is what this city is about and even tonights football game between Hungary and Sweden won't impact that in any way.
Amsterdam is many things. This is what I have always said. It is not the truth, but it is what I say. Bill O'Reilly says his own thing, has his own idea.
And then we have another view, a somewhat more positive:
What is the truth, you ask? Well, the only truth is yours. So go and get one.
Summer is over and it is here. Warm and sunny, blowing past the canals in Amsterdam. I am back again, I've been back many times now. I leave and I come back, and that is how I live, have been living. Am living. I'm eating Skolekridt, licorice candy that I bought at Copenhagen Airport for my last Danish money. I eat them without stopping, a constant flow of candy entering my mouth, like a chain smoker who makes love with a cigarette. I make love to licorice candy that look like small chalk board pens. I was gonna offer some to my friends that are helping me move today. But there is one hour left and only five pens. They're southerners anyway, what do they know about licorice?
There was a gay parade in Copenhagen yesterday. Gay in that is was happy, but it was about Pride. A parade for Pride. A parade with gay, and some not that gay, people. I was one that was not that gay, but I walked there, next to a male Canadian water polo team with tiny swimming trunks and weird hats on their heads. I wore shorts and a t-shirt. Possibly the least pimped out person around. There we walked, side by side, waving rainbow colored flags given to us by some store eager to make money. Someone is always making money. Proud people can also spend. This was my third Pride parade in three years. I go places and they appear, with drugged up dancers, proud corporations, on boats, by foot or on pimped out trucks. Proud people, both in and outside the parade. 2007 in San Francisco, 2008 in Amsterdam, 2009 in Copenhagen, each time I surprise myself by how moved I get by these parades. Surprised that pride can be so beautiful, no matter where it is.
Summer came to Amsterdam again. But I missed it. Sitting inside with my coffee and my thesis. Looking out. Listening to You're So Pretty. By Field Music. Try not to discard the song due to the poor video. This song deserves more.
When I get home I think about you and your demeanor; You've got grace.
I won't shut up, I know that I should, I'd rather stay in the time when I saw a smile on your face.
You're so pretty I could talk to you all night I could sit here, I could talk to you all night
