I found myself looking longingly at a pint of Norrlands Guld on a perfect summers day, somehow in Malmö bloody Sweden. The condensation ran down the outside of the glass as if it was an advert on the tele, and for a brief moment, in a room full of people, I blocked out the noise, and asked myself “how the fuck did I find myself here?!”.
I took a sip of victory juice in one of the most unusual venues or bars I’ve ever seen, let alone played in. It can only be described as Tony Hawks wet dream, (the cool one, not the author). There’s a giant Pistonhead skull, and a half pipe. Lampshades that in a former life were missiles. Pentagrams made out of rebar. A headless mannequin in my dressing room, and for the first time on this world tour, shortbreads in the green room. I’m a simple man, I don’t ask for much on the road but a cuppa tea and a few shortbreads are the simplest of pleasures. This pint felt like a little bit of a personal celebration for me, because as of 2:38pm on a Friday, I crossed into Sweden and thus completed my journey to every Scandinavian country. A little goal of mine checked off my bucket list. Next up; Africa. I guess? After our gig, and I suppose all gigs, the venue doubles as a nightclub filled with music that I don’t quite understand, people, and chlamydia.
Before I confess my love for Sweden, its chocolate, and its venues with half pipes and pentagrams. I want to talk about how wonderful Copenhagen is. What a lovely town. It strikes me as the sort of place the Queen (theirs not Britains) holds an annual seminar on how to use your cutlery. It’s beyond pretty. I’d love to live here, and best of all, I already have a business plan in mind. I’d open a mobile bicycle repair company, and will make infinity krona’s. Which will be helpful because it costs roughly 4 million Canadian dollars to buy breakfast, and 9 million to do your laundry. Weirdly though, this is something I don’t actually mind, and I’ll tell you why. The streets are clean. The people are well mannered, they dress nicely, and are generally happy as pigs in shit. There’s a shoe shop, and a cheese shop. University and healthcare is actually free. And unless the government rounds every drug addict and all the homeless people up on a nightly basis, and sets fire to them, they seemingly don’t have the same dire issues we face in Toronto. Yes, you pay an eye-watering amounts of tax, but it seems to work. I will say there’s no real need to see the little mermaid by the water, it’s about the size of a Fisher Price My First Puzzle Block Set, but the war museum and canals that surround it would do your Instagram feed wonders.
Much can be said for Sweden, granted I saw one tiny pocket of Malmö, but I get the feeling you could leave a skid of gold plated dunnies in the market square over night and they’d still be there for you in the morning. We crossed the mighty 16km Øresund Bridge/Tunnel meal deal combo, which is frankly a marvel of engineering and rolled into downtown, bee-lining it for the closest cafe immediately. I found some little joint near the water and ate a sandwich on some bread that was as bumpy as a teenagers face, and filled with bits of gravel that looked healthy. The bread looked as though it was made by someone who got out of bed before the sun, presumably ran 5kms, ate an avocado, and then uploaded it all to Instagram. What that is to say is it was fresh. Granted it cost as much as a trip to Tiffany’s, but what is a man to do. I do wish we could see more of where we go when we tour, usually we just see the motorway, the hotel, and then the venue. If you haven’t ever listened to The Load-Out by Jackson Browne, please do. You’ll get an understanding of what this circus is like.
For now though, I’m jumping into a tour van that seems to be falling apart more and more by the kilometre and heading to Berlin. A city where the Donor Kebab went to high school. Created by the Ottoman’s, but perfected by ze Germans. Check ya’s!
6/6.
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