There, of course, is a reason for everything/anything. Or so it would seem.

I contend some thing occur by chance.

For my whatever birthday my family all chipped in to buy a vacuum cleaner as a result of my wishing for one. For once I got what I wanted.

It was a fantastic piece of machinery. With an adjustable power regulator I could pretty much decide how hard this thing sucked. And I’m telling you this thing sucked.

Until I moved to live at FMV. I had just quit my job, given notice on my apartment and decided to live in my studio. Which was a concrete module building, filled with moisture, evil contaminated wharf-fumes from a time when, well, questions weren’t welcome. If the boss told you to dig a hole and fill it, you did.

This environment didn’t pass too well on my vacuum cleaner. Or on anything really. I had a cast-iron mortar black metal style which, by the time I moved out after eleven moths was all red with rust.

Thing is: With my gift of vacuum cleaner followed only one pack of wastebags or whatever so I ran out. Which meant I had to buy new. Which I did, but they didn’t fit so I tried to cut them to fit. They didn’t fit but I got the thing going. Full throttle for about five minutes, the machine went up a pitch. Then there was an immediate stench of burning rubber, a flash and everything went black. I haven’t dared tell my family.

Anyway, it’s a coincidence and it’s in no way romantic. Bags, as in wastebags, are called poser in norwegian. And vacuum cleaner is called støvsuger. suger is sucks. Støv is dust which in a way is stuff. And there is more. It’s in the open, you figure it.

Ergo vacuumcleanerbags = stuffsuckerposer

Sometimes stuff sucks. Some things are there to suck. Live with it.

It’s all good.

For instance a lengthy discussion with the studio owner whether the title Spend Some Words could pass as correct english. And as always the perfect pitch of Isabella, always on the money. Though I feel on this particular track the technicians seem a little too infatuated. Not much guitar here.

Still. Here it is, it is what it is and it’s live.

Trust me, good people are out there. They probably just don’t want to be on TV.

As for ourselves we were just starting to establish a following having recently released our first EP, Skrell, doing, I think, our first gig in Sarpsborg
Now, Kulås is kind of shaped as an amfi-theater but with a large, leveled bullring in front of the stage, and the stage is about 30 cm high. Long story short, you could see tumbleweed rolling over that empty space. Everyone was, of course, chillin’ in the grassy slope.

But I remember there were like ten-fifteen die-hard fans right in front of the stage, sitting I think, this was in the afternoon, and banging their heads. Good people, we had a lot of fun. Yelling in the afternoon, in public, it feels good. And that’s what all the shouting is about. Enjoy.

The scenery, as always legendary, the weather just as unpredictably threatening as it should be if you’re doing anything in Norway ( we loves our weather…), and the locals pretty unimpressed.

A pleasant scenery as it ought to be.

My man Jose , part of the festival crew along with Ole Jacob, second-in-command of the festival crewsters and the band’s instrumental chameleon, cruising the scene with a variety of youngsters, all beautiful and confused, but open as they should be for anything to happen.

A fantastic scenery for myself, irresponsible and stupid as I am despite my age. Or because of it, I don’t know. Hanging with Endre Tønnesen, substitute bassist for the occation, A brickmason by trade, this guy can handle a bass. Among other things, girls. He can handle a conversation.

Anyway.

Those two at work, me and Endre on vacation culminated in a very pleasant rhytmhical concert once our drummer Heine joined us on Saturday. The only pro on the team was here to lay down the law, and he did.

The setting couldn’t have been better, the weather god apparently on our side ( thx Thor), the audience softly sweetened first by Jan Eggum then by Torstein Sødal, and his performance again softly sweetened by Inger Lise Rypdal (sorry Torstein, I saw you didn’t enjoy it), the temperature adapting to the heat generated by the increasingly intoxicated audience, we couldn’t lose and didn’t.

A memorable space in time.

To be continued…

As for my appearance the next day, I’m gonna have to get back to you. It’s a different story.

But all hail to Warem for being there. You the man.