Missives From The Mosh Pit Edge

The Girl With Purple Hair, Veera, and her boyfriend, Tatu, front the queue to enter the showground. Beside them stand London Man, Nigel; his wife, Sarah and their friend, Kate. They’ve already been here for hours.

As I navigate between clusters of Diehards to meet these fellow PAINheads by the main gate I feel only a slight twinge of guilt. I pose no threat whatsoever to festival queue etiquette, you see. I have no delusions; I will neither run nor get anywhere near The Front Barrier. My own plan is to find a bench in the Priority Zone, while away the evening with a few cold beers and watch proceedings through a telescopic lens.

❤️ PAINheads from the UK & Finland ❤️

There is no warning, no starting whistle, no 3-2-1 ARE YOU READY FINLAAAND; just the sudden, piercing screech of steel being dragged across tarmac and a hundred Rockfest Olympians instantly bolt to life. With a triumphant cheer they sprint through the gate and disappear in a cloud of dust.

Ahead stand parallel lines of barriers leading to a series of turnstiles signposted General, Fanzone and Priority. Naturally, holding a Priority ticket I enter the Fanzone queue. I have not a care in the world as I wait patiently at the sideline for the correct wristband and watch jubilant Metallers streak past me towards aching legs, throbbing feet, sunstroke and certain death by dehydration on the frontline.

Unexpectedly, however, there is a further queue around the corner. Wristband Control. The last hurdle, over which is direct, uninterrupted access to the field of dreams. I spot Nigel in the crowd. He points into the distance and shouts,’ Priority Line is way over there.’ I turn my head and follow his line of sight to a blur on the horizon. My heart misses a beat. There appears to be no queue. My step quickens, I put my glasses on and suddenly everything becomes clear.

The Priority Zone covers the entire west side of the showground and is corralled by sturdy barricades. My eyes dart the length of the gun metal grey boundary which heads north to meet the far left edge of the stage. Something isn’t quite right. I scrunch my nose and peer closer. Oh my God. It falls short by a metre. It looks like the final turn in a maze leading to The Holy F***ing Grail. I lose focus on my surroundings, my breathing falters, I feel like I’m floating away. I cannot think beyond each step.

Underfoot is a carpet of shattered, sharp angled stones which threaten to sprain ankles and twist knees. My heart races as I stumble towards the gap. I glance back at the Fanzone queue. It is barely moving. I look ahead at, oh God, Front of Stage.

A handful of people is dotted around dead centre but centre left is bare. I expect to hear Security yell, ‘HALT!’ If they do, I shall pretend I’m deaf. Sorry, can’t hear ya. And short-sighted. Sorry, can’t see ya either. Nothing can stop me now! I’m through the gap. I’m stepping along the shallow aluminium platform which balances the ultimate barrier. I have seconds to stake my claim on the perfect spot. It’s here. I hesitate, overcome by the ecstasy of this extraordinary moment which will NEVER happen again. I place my hands on metal, curl my fingers gently around the top-rail and raise my eyes to the dark, ominous construction looming overhead, breathless, trembling, in shock. Front of Festival Stage. Oh, dear God.

The barrier feels smooth, cool, ethereal. I turn and stretch both arms out to keep places for my friends. The Fanzone ticket holders agonisingly gain entry to this Golden Circle ONE BY ONE! I watch these deliriously joyful people run awkwardly over the stones towards the stage. Here’s Tatu in mirrored sunglasses, hair flying, heading to dead centre. Veera, determined, focused, directly behind him. They make it! Two down, three to go.

Suddenly, a glint of red hair. Kate! She doesn’t see me. I yell. She swerves and crashes into metal. SLAM! More people reach the barrier as we hold our positions. A flash of blue hair. Sarah! SLAM! We are five. Come on Nigel! Here he is, pale pink Hello Shitty T Shirt ‘n’ tattoos. SLAM!

I look along the barrier in complete disbelief at the PAINheads, Finnish and UK Divisions. We made it. We ALL made it. YIPPEE KI YAY, MOTHERF**KERS.🤘😄

🤘🤘🤘ROCKFEST VANTAAAAA🤘🤘🤘

Behold a line up of salivating, hallucinogenic fantasy. Whisper it. Pain v Rammstein. Scream it. PAIN v Rammstein. Throw your head back and SCREAM IT LOUDER. PAINNN VERSUS RAMMSTEINNN. The left-hook of Sweden squares up to the might of Germany. Only the addition of a six-headed Finnish ankle-biting posse could mutate this rabid Fist-Pump Fest into Eurovision On Crack.

Turmion Kätilöt. TURMION KÄTILÖT? Have they breached Correctional Facility Parameter? Scaled the barbed wire fence, hijacked an ice cream van, tinkled their way to Vantaa and now skulk behind the portaloos, licking lemon lollies and flicking Raspberry Ripples at RZK? Yes. Oh yes. OH YESSSSSS!!!

After the initial mass frenzy to touch metal, everyone relaxes and begins to enjoy their day. Some sit down and get the picnic out ( that would be the Finns), others cling to the barrier like industrial strength magnets ( that would be us ). Amongst the crowd we recognise a contingent of Swedish and Norwegian PAINheads out on a recce. Hej, vänner, bra at se dig! Excitement, solidarity and conversation antidote the agony of a three hour wait till PAIN…

Can you hear it? It’s more of an instinct than a sound. Somewhere, the needle on a seismograph quivers to life, the portent of a shockwave that gains momentum and hits us moments later as Misters Wallin, Skaug, Andersson and Tägtgren roar onto the stage like a 9 point 5. They’re up against the big boys and they mean business.

While Mr Wallin, the muscle-bound, Blade-Running Replicant Punk behind the drums, executes the rhythm with ruthless precision, Mr Tägtgren, straightjacket sleeves writhing, whipcracking, ricochets over the boards like a screaming banshee, mane rippling in the breeze. Mr Skaug, the Norwegian dynamo with the Most Impressive Headbanging Technique In Metal🏆 headspins in a tornado of thrashing bass lines, the offspring of Roadrunner and a Tasmanian Devil. Mr Andersson, on guitar, inhabits the stage like a wild, untamed rapscallion, a vision sprung from the pages of a Brothers Grimm fairytale; the beard and unruly hair but wolfen brushstrokes veiling the mischievous charm beneath.

PAIN have no special effects, no rocket launchers, no incendiary devices. But they do have passion, charisma, vigour and an arsenal of weapons-grade songs which firestorm into a merciless force of Viking mettle which fears no man and brings opponents to their knees.

‘End of the Line’ is the initial snarl in your face, ‘Call Me” and ‘Dirty Woman’  provoke on the tip of a middle finger while ‘Shut Your Mouth’ is the climactic parting shot. In a set filled with excitement, energy, camaraderie, good vibes and epic tunes, PAIN hammer the stage and Vantaa gets nailed.

🤘Turmion Kätilöt. Earplugs out, my heart sinks and I hold my head in my hands. I can barely detect the muffled, manic thud pulsating from the far Eastern side of the showground as Finland’s finest spank out their set of Disco Metal Mayhem on a Second Stage. Devastated emoji face, horns up, love heart. Nähdään ensi kerralla…🤘

Neun, acht, sieben, sechs, fünf, vier, drei, zwei, eins, YAAAAARRRGGGHHH!!! Thirty thousand Finns scream the countdown in German. Alarms wail, blood red smoke missiles plume high into the air, rupturing the blue skies of a Scandinavian summer’s night. The funereal black curtain concealing the stage set plummets to the ground as Christoph Schneider bears down upon his drums; the spectral Ollie Riedel takes possession of his bass; Flake, resplendent in a fluorescent orange jump suit, whacks the keyboards from peaceful slumber and the legendary twosome of Paul Landers and Richard Z Kruspe make their entrance from the rigging strapped to a pair of gigantic chunks of Lego, jets of smoke and firecrackers assaulting the air as they descend amid the glorious clamour of the opening song, ‘Ramm 4’.

Explosions, bangs and flashes pave the way for the pirouetting, tap-dancing Master of Ceremonies himself, Till Lindemann, whose presence accelerates the Rammstein advance towards a fearsome onslaught of pyrotechnical alchemy and hard, hypnotic Industrial anthems.

The show is astounding, the impish spawn of a sinful marriage between a theatre of searing, apocalyptic hellfire and a circus of unrestrained creative genius. It’s a demented pantomime where thundering songs narrate the tale, character parts are played and storylines unfold with relentless Teutonic grit. The performance is brilliant, unique and leaves the audience in an awestruck, blinking stupor.

❤️Music, friendship and blue skies at midnight❤️

We slump on the barrier, stunned. The stage is empty. We say nothing. There is nothing to say. A few wow, wow, wows are exhaled into the air but mostly we look around in silence.

The crowd begins to disperse. I say a sad goodbye to Veera & Tatu. Until next time, my friends. 🤘

We four remain in our spot, not wishing this magical day to end. While we watch the crew dismantle the stage set, excitement fades and is replaced by a weary resignation to begin the long trek back to town. Standing in front of 30,000 headbangers to attend a show is a wondrous experience but it also means you are standing behind 30,000 headbangers in the queue to leave.

The eerie, shimmering light of a midnight sun illuminates our path to the train station and the bedraggled hordes held behind high barriers in a queue stretching as far as the eye can see. We keep walking and reach the tail of the gigapede. Someone says the last train has gone; there won’t be another for hours.

Nigel, Sarah and Kate decide to yomp 16.3 kilometres along a nearby motorway to reach Helsinki. I cannot even contemplate such a perilous escapade; I will dive head-first into a ditch within five minutes. Instead, borne of a sleep-deprived mind and a psyche driven by fertile imagination I concoct an equally spiffing plan of my own.

After heartfelt goodbyes I turn and stride against the flow of people heading my way as I retrace my steps back to the showground. I will join the after-festival marquee party hosted by a Metal DJ; find a safe, comfortable grassy knoll for a snooze; awake, refreshed, then zip-a-dee-doo-dah on a train back to the capital once the crowds have shimmied up a beanstalk. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. What could possibly go wrong?

Luckily for me, my phone beeps. Nigel. They have found a bus heading to Helsinki. Do I want to come? Hmmm, let me think?🤔🏃🏻‍♀️💨

We regroup amid absolute chaos. A man has punched a woman, she’s unconscious, on the ground. Kate first aids her. A tussle breaks out, drunken people jostle past and in the confusion Sarah’s pocket is picked. There is menace in the air as we board the bus and wave goodbye to Vantaa.

Aaah, Helsinki. We fellow PAINheads hug big hugs and go our separate ways. Friendship and memories made today will endure always and this first adventure together will not be our last.🤘

I walk back to my hotel in daylight. Bars, clubs, fast food outlets are open and the streets are busy. Finland, you are quite endearingly bonkers.

Nearby, a church bell strikes three times as I close the blackout curtains in my room. My body aches and I crave oblivion but my mind races and sleep evades me. YouTube whispers seductively. I can never resist. My fingertips tap the letters which create the words that open the link which reveals the full, mind-blowing, breathtaking glory of himlen på jorden. Himmel Auf Erden. Heaven on earth.

‘P A I N  R A M M S T E I N  V A N T A A  2 0 1 7’

📷 Nigel is an ACE photographer. Check out his Instagram for the best PAIN and Rammstein live shots @nigelconniford

7am. Clapham Junction Station. My pulse is racing as I stand on the busy platform. There are many tenuous links in today’s journey. At any point, even a small delay could break the chain and scupper my plans.

Most worryingly, I have a connecting flight. I may be a realist with optimistic tendencies but acknowledge I can barely navigate from A to B in a straight line. The likelihood of making a successful transfer from one plane to another is slim. The likelihood of making a successful transfer from one plane to another IN A DIFFERENT TERMINAL WITHIN ONE HOUR is, oh, let me think? Hmmm. Zero.

Clapham Junction to Feltham to Heathrow to Stockholm. So far, so good.

2.06pm. We land at Terminal 5, Arlanda Airport. Sitting in the back row of the aircraft, I’ll be first off when the doors open, my plan is foolproof. We disembark from the front, I’m last off the plane.

2.15pm. Passport Control. Signs are posted on pillars, ‘We apologise for the queues while we conduct essential maintenance.’ Oh My God. I’m last in the line, hyperventilating, agitated. A mist of sweat glistens on my brow. I’m very aware someone, somewhere is watching me on a screen. They’re looking out for people like me. I try not to look suspicious but I might as well have MULE tattooed on my forehead. I’ll never get through customs if I don’t calm the f**k down. Maybe it’s already too late. Did I just hear the slap of a rubber glove on an eager hand? This way, Madam, mwahahaha. Oh, God.

2.35pm. I smile sincerely at the Passport Official, retrieve my ID and start striding. I hold my breath as I await the arrival of The Scandinavian Special Services, Marigold Division but I hear no squeak of leather sole on marble, no cock of hammer on metal, no jingle of handcuff on uniformed thigh. I can’t believe it. I’m in. Åh, Sweden ❤️.

3pm. Terminal 4, SAS Boeing 737, destination Umeå. I sit in seat 29B in a state of euphoric disbelief. It takes every ounce of self control not to scream. I actually made it! The flight attendant is divine, he enquires after my health and about the purpose of my trip. I’mfinethanksI’mgoingtoTheHouseOfMetaltoseePAINandit’ssooexciting!!! Handing me a glass of water, he says kindly, ‘ I think you need this.’ Tack 😊.

A man sits beside me. He smells of creosote, timber and hard work. He’s Umeån, eats girders for breakfast and has been up all night shredding trees with his bare hands. He pulls a hoodie over his face and sleeps the entire flight. Normally, I would do the same but right now I’m buzzin’ like a demented bee. If I wasn’t already seatbelted in I’d be brands-hatching up and down the aisle.

Nearing Umeå, ice floes appear in the sparkling blue water hundreds of feet below. It feels like we’re approaching The North Pole. The vast, ice-bound seascape blends into the coastline and it’s hard to see where one ends and the other begins. As we start our descent, isolated houses pop up from the deep snow blanketing the frozen land and frosted trees dot the horizon. Oh, it is so heart-breakingly beautiful.

I bounce off the plane encased in my own little bubble of joy and hop on the shuttle bus into town. Earphones in, blasting ( whisper it ) Turmion Kätilöt, gazing lovingly at the snowdrifts, I pay no attention whatsoever to the bus route and a while later arrive back at the airport. Ommmm. Taxi to U&Me Hotel, check in, straight out.

🤘💀 The House of Metaaaaal 💀🤘

Oh my, oh my, oh my, I know this is going to be a good one. I feel it tingling in the cold late-afternoon air as I step over the threshold and into a warm, well organised venue staffed by an army of charming Swedes 😄.

The Umeå Folkets Hus, tonight remonikered The House Of Metal, is the city’s community centre. A huge, modern building, it contains cafés & bars as well as three separate stages which today play host to twelve Metal bands. Flashing past like an astral swoosh, I home in on my final destination, a rendezvous and an evening of promise.

IDUN stage is aquiver with nervous anticipation as she waits for PAIN to tread her boards. It is not dissimilar to how we feel right now, standing at the entrance to the auditorium, fronting the queue; The Girl With Purple Hair, her Boyfriend and me. What a pleasure to be reunited with my lovely Finnish Painhead friends! What a delight to share the experience of another PAINshow with them!

The calm before the storm, IDUN stage.

Once more, we find ourselves front row, arms on metal; counting down the seconds till the start of the show. The crowd is rowdy; the mosh pit is warming up and the first skirmishes have begun. Moshers nose-dive into the dirt as lunacy takes hold and common sense gets trampled underfoot. The band aren’t even onstage yet! There is reason to question our level of sanity as we remain in this spot. However, I’m staying put, my feet are nailed to the ground 😜.

The lights dim to deep blue, the crowd surges forward and OMG OMG WHAT IS THIS?! I can barely comprehend the shock & awe of this moment as the band rush onstage and before an audience of erupting Painheads, launch straight into End Of The Line, one of their best songs and one of my favourites live. It usually nestles innocently midway through the set, tasked to carry the momentum, but tonight has been elevated to opener, ripping the air like a cocky little particle beam in a Hadron Collider.

Mr Tägtgren has clearly been knocking back the ICBM Eardrum Busters and decided upon the hoary old ‘Sledgehammer To Crack Walnut’ tactic to blow every other band off the stage. As he and his bandmates gather forces to pummel the shell to smithereens, the Metalheads mosh together in a frenzied dance of demonic abandon, swaying, crushing. The Girl With Purple Hair, her Boyfriend and I are suffocated in the mass of heaving bodies and get Heimliched repeatedly over the barrier. OMG. I LOVE IT!!!

Each one of the thirteen blistering songs is a knee-trembling, body-slamming slug of precision Industrial Metal whizzed in a NutriBullet with half a ton of dynamite and a crate of Absinthe. Yeah, swallow THAT, Mother****ers!

 On the right, Mr David Wallin.

Behind the drums this evening we see percussion powerhouse Mr David Wallin, returning to duty after a short sabbatical. While Sebastian Tägtgren, master of the thrashing drum salvo, is much missed, Mr Wallin, in the spirit of Metal, is welcomed back with a sea of horned fists in the air 🤘.

This evening’s show surpasses every hope & expectation; worth every kilometre travelled, every cracked rib sustained. Scoring an almost perfect 10 on The Aalborg Scale ( this scale is inclusive of the entire day’s experience; journey & gig – Aalborg was an exquisite, stuff of dreams 10 ), half a point must be deducted for a small but heart-stopping detail noticed purely by chance at the end of the show.

As my two Finnish friends and I retire to the bar ( where, later, we will meet our Swedish Painhead friend 🙃😄 ) for a most necessary cold beer & glass of water, a sheet of paper floats to the ground. Written upon it is tonight’s proposed set list but one which was not entirely fulfilled. There, in black & white, are those three little words we ALL long to hear.

Black. Knight. Satellite. 😕

On The Umeå Scale Of Metal Festivals, however, The House Of Metal ( being the inaugural yardstick ) scores an absolute, stratospheric, big hug, horns-up, Champagne clink ‘Tack Så Mycket’ 10 out of 10 💥🤘💥.

Interrupting the silence of this Scandinavian winter’s night, my boots crunch through a crust of sparkling frost and sink into the pristine snow lying underneath. The air is clear, fresh, glacial; it stings my nose as I breathe in, turns to a cloud of crystals as I breathe out.

The crowds have gone home, the streets are empty and I now stand alone, entranced by this moment of wonder and solitude, eyes raised to the stars piercing the dark heavens above. I smile, sigh and feel profoundly thankful for this most magical day.

Åh, Umeå ❤️.

🎸 Youtube : End of The Line – Pain – House Of Metal – Umeå 2017 – 03 – 03

Drizzle is gently falling as I arrive in Seinäjoki. Hood up, I walk past piles of grey, melting snow dumped on street corners. The local shopping mall is drab, depressing; smells from fast food outlets permeate the air and shop windows scream the obscenity of Black Friday.

Amid the fading light of this bleak Saturday afternoon I reach my hotel, check in and sit in the warmth of my room. A dark cloud of melancholy hangs over my head. I’ve been dreading this night since buying my ticket more than half a year ago. Location of my first ever PAIN show, Seinäjoki is now scene of my last.

I arrive at the venue to find The Girl With Purple Hair and her friends already fronting the queue, swathed in blankets against the blood-chilling cold. The temperature plummets further and our breath freezes in the harsh night air. There is a forced jollity to our conversation; our Great Adventure is almost over and no one is in the mood for laughter.

😇🌗💀Rytmikorjaamo💀🌓😇

At first glance she looks like a 1970’s earnest organic lentil of a building; a perfect haven for Yoga Classes, Meditation Workshops and Vegan Lifestyle Seminars. Inside, however, she is one big, bad mother****er of a venue; well worn, lived-in; too much self-indulgence, not enough restraint. Attitude seeps from her shadows and threatens to whip your ass if you step out of line.

The stage is wide and high with a two metre gap before the barrier which is where we now stand, arms on metal, for the last time. I claim dead centre, the most coveted spot; fraught with potential danger; crowd surges, surfers, mosh pit. A position I would normally avoid, on this night it’s one I cannot resist. Should I heed my instincts and stand elsewhere? We shall see…

I look around with a short-sighted squint. I left my glasses in The Dream Hotel, Tampere. One consequence of this act of supreme carelessness is my perception of tonight’s show will be severely diminished; PAIN will merely be a blur of dervishing spectres ghosting over the boards. Unless a band member braves a small rectangular extension attached to front centre stage, I will have no respite from the frustration of watching tonight’s shenanigans through a veil of fog 😳.

A local support band, Ember Falls, is playing on a smaller platform at the back of the hall so most of the crowd already here is already there. Set finished, the Metalheads stampede our way.

Within these hallowed walls of the legendary Rytmikorjaamo, rolling clouds of smoke obscure the main stage and PAIN, to the welcoming roar of an ecstatic crowd, one by one emerge from darkness into light.

As if by way of a cosmic gift, Mr Andersson, with the agility of a Ninja mountain goat, immediately jumps over a monitor and lands deftly on the stage extension. Striking a pose, head down, he thrashes out the first notes of the first song of the last show of PAIN & Turmion Kätilöt’s Epic Har Du Horat Runt På Campingen Finnish Tour 2016. It is an unexpected, mood-elevating moment. Tack, galen Svensk man 🙌.

There is much jostling amongst the audience as the band proceed to demolish their set. A man crashes violently into the front row, trying to squeeze in to my right. There is no room! My neighbour and I elbow him off before he tries again on my left. His second attempt is thwarted by the defensive actions of another Painhead. The man is drunk, pissed off, strong, persistent and now standing directly behind me. He slaps one hand on metal, the other over my head, pushes me forwards into the barrier and presses himself forcefully against me. I can’t move. Am I imagining this? Have I spent the last few weeks taking every precaution to stay safe and here, as the band play, am I being perved in the crowd? I lever my hands on the barrier and push him backwards. This throws him off balance but instantly he’s back on me, pushing, grinding. Again and again I push him away until eventually, eventually, he stops. He leaves. I don’t know where he goes. I don’t care. He’s gone.

Dead Centre Front Of Stage. It is an extraordinary spot. There is no one in your line of sight but the musicians themselves and on this particular evening, seen through a most flattering myopic filter, Mr Tägtgren need not worry about grey hair and wrinkles.

As individuals, Misters Tägtgren, Tägtgren, Skaug & Andersson are talented, entertaining performers. As a band, they form the most sublime Rock n Roll cocktail; a splash of humour, a touch of menace, a generous squeeze of excitement followed by an enthusiastic shake of mayhem & mischief. One ICBM Eardrum Buster please, great Cockney Bartender. With a Chuck Berry on the top? Oh, yeah, two 🍒😉, thanks!

I take out my earplugs to appreciate the full devastating impact of my four favourite set list songs; End of the Line, It’s Only Them, Call Me & Dirty Woman. This cataclysmic union of heaven & hell slams over the barrier and knocks me off my feet. I rebound into the eye of the storm. Surrounded by a rushing tornado of energy and sound, it’s exhilarating, breathtaking. I relish every note of each great song, every thundering rhythm, every pounding beat. It’s hypnotic, surreal. There’s nothing quite like it.

And then, suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the storm abates and echoes into the distance. Calm returns to the stage. It’s over.

My fellow Painheads retreat from the front row and are replaced by a new influx of Turmion Kätilöt fans, one of whom is very drunk, sprawled on the barrier, staring at me, gibbering. I inadvertently glance his way then look to the stage, hoping he didn’t notice and will lose interest. But he did notice. He moves closer and his voice gets louder. I ignore him as he becomes more and more agitated. I don’t understand what he’s saying but I know he’s insulting me; he continually looks me up and down and begins to vomit a torrent of abuse. I broke Rule Number 1, you see. I briefly made eye contact with him. I sent an invitation to a confrontation, gave the opening line of my last conversation. I should have known better.

However, I will not back down from this man. I will neither cower nor leave. But I have to stop this unwarranted verbal attack. I try to stare at him blankly, pleasantly, but cannot suppress a sneer; my lip curls instinctively by itself and he’s now yelling in my face.

As I feel his spit on my cheeks I rapidly break Rule Number 2. I yell back. I’m barely aware of what emerges from my mouth, words are meaningless as he goes completely insane. I can hardly breathe. He’s going to hit me. I don’t necessarily fear his punch; he is so drunk and unsteady he will have the power & velocity of a limp noodle dangling in the breeze but I do fear the rush of adrenaline flashing through my veins because I want to slam my fist into his f***ing face. I have never struck anyone before but if he touches me I will defend myself. I have no friends here, only the hope that strangers will assist a lone woman confronted by a raving lunatic.

He, on the other hand, does have friends and it is at this point that one of them realises he is on the brink of physical contact and pushes her way between us, holding him back. He begins that stupid arm flailing typical of cowards when they are restrained; they’re SO tough and REALLY WERE going to smack you on the head. Would he have hit me? I don’t know. Would I have hit him? I don’t know. I don’t care. He too is gone and I do believe, on this very strange evening, that makes it 2 – 0 to me.

Turmion Kätilöt’s set of Industrial Disco Metal Mayhem is as bonkers and delightful as ever. The crowd around me is now a merry writhe of joyful Kätilötters, chanting and singing along with their six barmy countrymen. Oh, to be Finnish for just one night! Oh, how I hope to see this band again! They are undeniably, wondrously as mad as March hares and I have completely loved their shows.

Mr Tägtgren joins them for a raucous ‘ Grand Ball ‘, their majestic English Lyric blunderbuss. It is surprising to see him onstage without guitar, straightjacket and fellow bandmates. It is even more surprising to see pink underwear, a penchant exposed when he drops his trousers to reveal some rather fetchingly colourful foundation garments.

                Yes, he levitates.

🤘Mr Tuomas Rytkönen, Turmion Kätilöt 🤘

Misters Turunen ( Turmion Kätilöt ), Tägtgren and Närhi ( Turmion Kätilöt )

Misters Toiviainen (guitar tech extraordinaire), Voutilainen( TK ), Tägtgren & Skaug.

The ultimate song of the evening is a truly awe inspiring rendition of the 1980’s Samantha Fox classic ditty, ‘ Touch Me ‘. Yes, I know! Cringe no more, sing along and appreciate the genius of this final tune, roughed up, tattooed, pierced, clad in a ripped T shirt and skinny black jeans, snarling, growling, tongue out, middle finger in the air.

Mr Tägtgren returns once more to the stage with his guitar, accompanied by some trusty crew members plus Mr Skaug. I presume Sebastian is assisting behind the drums but I really cannot see. I also cannot see Mr Andersson.

Misters Tägtgren, Närhi and, hmmm, who could this possibly be? 🤔

Through a myopic haze I detect a figure lurking with intent in the shadows. Dressed in a long black leather coat, wearing cowboy boots and a saucer-eyed Painhead mask, he faces the Turmion keyboard player, Mr Tolsa, and holds his coat open like a flasher on day release outside a girls’ school. I get the impression there is nothing underneath but a spritz of Eau de Chanel and he won’t be prowling in the background much longer.

He turns and approaches the crowd. Oh my God, it’s Mr Andersson and his intent is becoming clearer by the second. Depending on one’s point of view, this is either a most pleasing development or an ethically-challenged moral dilemma. In both cases, it’s certainly not in the least bit surprising.

There is a considerable build up to the reveal. He taunts his fellow band members, teases the crowd, is there even a drum roll? I hardly notice as I have an extremely urgent and pressing discussion going on inside my head. To look or not to look, that is the question.

As I watch Mr Andersson step down onto the platform in front of the stage, IN FRONT OF MY FACE, I’m rapidly coming to the conclusion that because he is putting SO much heart & soul into this extra curricular performance it would be very rude indeed NOT to acknowledge his spectacular efforts and steal a quick glance. Don’t you think? How unappreciative of his endeavours would it be not to have a discreet peep? Yes, I totally agree!

Shoulders back, chest out, he breathes in, flexes the abs and wrenches open his coat. My eyes, of course, see nothing through my fingers but a soft-focused blur. He could, actually, be wearing a pair of Hello Kitty pink knickers. But somehow, I doubt it 😄.

Mr Andersson’s gloriously mischievous behaviour brings the show to a riotous, gleeful conclusion. Sebastian and Mr Seppänen ( TK ) emerge from behind the drums to take their place amongst their bandmates & crew onstage for a final bow.

Carried on a swirling, chaotic twister of smoke, roars and wailing guitars, the entire world revolves around our heads as we partake in the madness of the last moments of this extraordinary, uniquely wonderful tour.

I stand at the barrier, arms on metal, the stage is empty. The audience drifts away. Colours have faded, replaced by grey and I feel a creeping darkness slowly grip my soul. The memory of the two unfortunate events I experienced in the crowd and the absolute high of the show wrestle inside my head, numbing my senses and scrambling my brain. I force a smile on my face to say goodbyes but my conversation is dull; the flame has burned out and there’s nothing left but a wisp of smoke curling upwards, dissipating into the cold night air.

On the chilly evening flight to London the next day I wrap up, cover my face with a blanket and enter a twilight world of confused half sleep and fantasy where moments of the past weeks drift in and out of focus; the shows, the travels, the fun, the mayhem, the people. It all seems so unreal, did it actually happen? Do I wake up now and think, Oh God, was it just a dream?

But it was real, it did happen and there will be more shows, more exciting travels, more great times, more madness, more fine people, more aching legs, more dehydration, more insomnia, more disorientation, more cheese & pesto rye rolls. It’s only a matter of time…. OMG, I cannot wait!!! 🤘❤️👊

🎸 Youtube : Pain – live at Rytmikorjaamo Seinäjoki 2016 – Clip 1

🎸 Youtube : Turmion Kätilöt feat Julma Jii and Peter Tägtgren ( Pain ) – touch me – Samantha Fox cover live 2016

Snaking silently north from Helsinki to Kemijärven, the railway track that runs parallel to The Gulf of Bothnia coastline is known as Line 7. It passes through Tampere, Seinäjoki, Oulu and Rovaniemi on its way to the far reaches of Lapland.

Like Route 66, it holds legendary status; it’s the vein that supplies life blood to venues such as Klubi, Rytmikorjaamo and Hevimesta. I’m sitting aboard IC 177; carriage 4, seat 19 of this real Rock n Roll Train, ready to depart Helsinki Central; destination Tampere.

Flying distance London to Helsinki is 1820km and takes three hours.

Railtrack distance Helsinki Central to Tampere is 170km and takes one and a half hours.

Walking distance Tampere Station to Dream Hotel is 320 metres and takes one hour and twenty minutes 😳.

Huh? What? I offer no rational explanation; I am merely blessed with a catastrophic lack of navigational skills buoyed by a wildly disproportionate level of optimism which consistently, literally, ultimately leads me down the wrong path every time my feet hit cement.

Check into hotel, chuck bag on bed, charge back out 😡.

Turmion Kätilöt’s offensive is already underway as I reach Klubi. Stress and exasperation are instantly vapourised by the onslaught of sound catapulted into the crowd by the six Finnish Berserkers onstage. A glorious train wreck of TechnoDisco mangled with Industrial, Metal and a pneumatic drill, there is a certain perverse tranquility to be found amidst the bedlam now tearing frenetically round the room.

I await the coming of one song in particular, and here it is! Tirehtööri. I’m SO ready! While the band hit full throttle and railroad through this great tune, my fellow travellers and I join in, ‘turpa kii, turpa kii, hui hai, hui hai, turpa kii’ ( ‘shut up, shut up, whatever, whatever, shut up ‘). Joy 😍.

Oh, and by the way, did I mention that ‘vittu’, the word I learned in Helsinki last week courtesy of Mr Tägtgren’s chant from the stage as Mr Andersson teetered on a balcony handrail, 5 metres above, ready to jump, does not mean ‘hurry up’? Hmm, nope, it doesn’t. It really, really doesn’t 😱. I have now stopped muttering it under my breath every time I stand in a queue in Finland 😱😱. I’m very sorry, in particular, customers in Focus supermarket, Helsinki and Christmas shop, Helsinki Airport 😱😱😱.

While demonstrating my proficiency in the Finnish language, I’m simultaneously planning an offensive of my own; the conquest of Front of Stage.

Instead of initially being a stroke of luck finding myself touching the barrier at the wonderful Aalborg Metal Festival, I now regard attaining pole position as one of the main objectives of my day, along with not getting murdered en route to my Hotel post-gig and resisting Croissants & Nutella for breakfast.

The fabulous Klubi is bursting at the seams and as Turmion finish their set I’m caught and jostled by the scramble of retreating Metallers heading to the bar. I catch a tantalising glimpse of the stage itself. OH MY GOD! THERE IS NO BARRIER! VITTUUU!!

Now, with no goal other than to get my arms on that stage, I pinball forwards through the mass of sweaty bodies rocking towards me and minutes later, incredibly, I’m there; phone, lippy AND handbag ( how Metal is THAT?! ) joining elbows on the boards by a monitor. I look around with breathless delight and notice the more experienced Elbows-on-Stagers have glasses of beer teasingly lined up in front of them. I’m sooo envious!🍺😛. I also notice a familiar face; The Girl With Purple Hair is here too!

Waiting for the show to start is an exquisite agony; senses awaken and spark to life; everything is heightened, clear, vibrant; fireflies frenzy in your belly; fluttering wings ignite the pleasure of being alive, here, now. All around I see happy, smiling Painheads anticipating the arrival of their band and we’re all beginning to feel the urgency; excitement has been usurped by impatience and we can no longer wait; now, PAIN, NOW! NOOOOWWW!!!

The lights extinguish and for a brief moment we are plunged into complete darkness before PAIN illuminate the stage and create an overwhelming deluge of sound which cascades over the hungry crowd, encircling, submerging. ‘I was born to raise Hell. Not in God’s favour, I will burn for my sins’, sings Mr Tägtgren, halo clattering to the floor.

While Sebastian relentlessly pounds the drums with a ferocity and confidence belying his years, his father and fellow bandmates pound the stage with an intensity and enthusiasm belying theirs. This perfect storm of experience, fire and passion inundates the audience and we welcome the fury with an ocean of swaying arms.

Of course, such a performance would ring hollow without great songs to support the antics onstage. No amount of follicly-centric gymnastics, rock n roll posturing and airborne freestyling could disguise a weak tune.

Mr Tägtgren’s musical and lyrical imagination acknowledges neither boundary nor limit. Fearlessly detonating a cache of artistic stun grenades, the songs played are but one small reflection of his prolific, schizophrenically creative mindset.

From the confrontational opening number, ‘Designed To Piss You Off’, through the thundering ‘End Of The Line’ and the irresistible Young/Young/Scott inspired AC/DC Fan catnip, ‘Dirty Woman’, to the instantly catchy final tune, ‘Shut Your Mouth’, the songs are like a deliciously naughty birthday treat to the ears, in turn seducing then walloping the senses with a salvo of brutal, unrelenting rhythms & melody. The songs entice and thrill, making you headbang with reckless abandon and sing out loud.

And that is precisely what I’m doing now. Singing out loud. ‘Shut Your Mouth’. Into the microphone held in front of my face. OH MY GOD!!! Just as I no longer worry about being in the front row, I also no longer hide during the last song when Mr Tägtgren is in the immediate vicinity, fishing for victims, wielding a rod.

This fine evening, I happily warble with a smile, haha, ignoring the Little Red Devil sitting on my left shoulder. He has a middle finger up to the Angel on my right and is whispering suggestions in my ear about what I should actually sing; something very different from the official lyric. While I do agree it’s a great idea and would make me laugh like a loon, I absolutely do not dare utter one word deviating from what is expected for fear of Mr Tägtgren not finding it quite so funny 😄👿😳.

The band, another gig over, another audience left stunned, bid us goodnight and I retreat to the bar for water and a beer. As I flick through, edit and delete gig photos on my phone I notice The Girl With Purple Hair and her Boyfriend close by. I’ve seen them so many times now in passing, I must say hello tonight.

As we introduce ourselves, we happen upon a Swedish Painhead, also a regular to front of stage. I recognise his face and for the first time, ever, with anyone, ever, have a proper conversation about PAIN, the music, the shows, and it is absolutely wonderful.

Before the night is over, I will share a few more drinks with this little band of Scandinavian nomads; they are charming and lovely.

It is late when I get back to the Dream Hotel. I lie awake for a long time then sit at the window to watch snow fall onto the deserted street below. All is calm, bright, peaceful, quiet, there is no one around. Only my thoughts and me.

My journey is almost at an end. How the hell do I go back to real life after this?

🎸 Youtube  Pain- Shut Your Mouth @ Tampere 24.11.2016

In an old, cavernous cargo warehouse down by the docks in Helsinki can be found tonight’s venue, Nosturi, ‘The Crane’.

After a three hour VRail bus replacement service smirking from Oulu to Kokkola, a four hour train journey from Kokkola to Helsinki, a seventy-five minute hike from Helsinki Station to my hotel ( Do Not Even Ask ) and a sixty second taxi ride from hotel to venue, I stand, breathless, looking up at the giant Meccano puzzle towering overhead, incredulous that I made it here in one piece, itching to get inside. The muffled, rhythmic beats of Turmion Kätilöt pulse skywards from the building and scatter the dark clouds menacing above.

Numbering almost one thousand Metalheads, the audience is high-spirited, enthusiastic; voices sing in unison and I’m envious of the Finns chorusing with their band. A solitary English-lyric song in Turmion’s set, the fabulous ‘Grand Ball’, allows me to join in briefly but I shall endeavour to learn some Finnish lyrics so I can truly partake in the madness next week. ‘Tirehtööri’ fits the bill and will be my first foray into their intriguing, indecipherable language. Let’s hope it’s a rude one.

My eyes flit between stage and crowd. There’s a flash of metal, far left side. Not ideal but it’s a starting point. Earplugs nuzzling brain, I lean on the barrier and concentrate on improving this evening’s position. My intent mirrors that of my fellow Painheads standing in the shadow of a wall of speakers blasting out noise to a level rivalling that of a military jet take-off. Nudge and smile as we creep slowly to the right.

We clear the Rupture Zone as PAIN hit the stage and slam straight into ‘Designed To Piss You Off’. ‘Time’s ticking, getting older’, sings Mr Tägtgren. Oh, no, cheer up! ‘Save all your fears, I have no plans to slow down.’ Ah, that’s better, Positive Metal Attitude. I definitely sing to that tune.

Revved up by Turmion Kätilöt, now primed for PAIN, the crowd is a twisted mass of bodies rippling with excitement, welcoming each tremendous song with howls of recognition and fist punches into the sultry air. The band, as ever, sound great, look great, put on a rip-roaring show and deliver the goods; horns up to Painheads, middle fingers up to conformity.

In spite of a sore throat lending him a ( rather pleasing, actually ) husky bent on the high notes, Mr Tägtgren stomps the stage like a man on a mission, throwing discomfort to the wind as he and his band pulverise the crowd with an incessant bombardment of mind-blowing, megawatt, metallic mayhem😄. I imagine, however, he greets the end of the show with some relief. Hot lemon, honey & ginger tea and an early night beckon. But not quite yet.

Something thrilling this way comes. Mr Skaug has climbed onto the bank of speakers front of stage; the very ones featured earlier in the mass along-the-barrier shuffle. He looms three metres above. Oh my God, he’s going to stage-dive! This is SO exciting, I’ve never seen this before and have no idea what’s going on! How does he assess the splat risk? What if people decide, while he’s mid-flight, not to catch him? What if he hits the deck like a flipped strawberry pancake on a marble floor? Disregarding the possibility of embarrassment, what about the certainty of grievous bodily injury? How would one play one’s bass with three fractured fingers, two cracked ribs and a broken arm?

Well, fellow nose-scrunching head-scratchers, here’s what happens. He energetically motions the cheering audience to cluster themselves tightly together into one spot just below his eyrie. Hundreds of Metallers earnestly comply until they form a large target area of concertina’d bodies; arms waving, hands awaiting impact. To roars of delight, Mr Skaug launches himself elegantly into the air, like Buzz Lightyear, falling with style.

Upon touchdown, he is engulfed by the crowd of joyous Painheads before being tossed upwards and rapidly manhandled over our heads. His right foot approaches, inches from my nose. I support his natty trainer, calf, leg as he is propelled stagewards on a conveyor-belt of deft, eager hands. It feels impolite to grab him but I’m delighted to participate in such a hair-raising, death-defying feat of Metal mettle. Such fun, Mr Skaug, you are quite mad!

And what else do you have in your PAIN arsenal this evening, Mr Tägtgren? How can you top THAT? Åh, how about a lunatic jumping off a balcony? WHAAAT?! As the realisation wildfires through the audience, one by one we turn, in shock, to see Mr Andersson standing on a barrier five metres up. OMG! Man U are crazy!

While the rest of the band play random notes and Mr Tägtgren leads a chant of ‘vittu, vittu’ ( probably means ‘ hurry up’ – I happily join in, ‘ vittu, vittu’, haha 😄 ), Mr Andersson clutches a ceiling pipe, purposefully waving one arm, herding, X-marking the spot, prepping the Whoopee Cushion of upturned hands, creating a spine-tingling buzz which boomerangs around Nosturi, returns with a mischievous wink, smacks him on the ass and elbows him towards the edge; with a deep breath and a Wilhelm Scream, he releases his grip on the pipe and takes a giant leap of faith into the sea of PAINheads far below. Landing on his back, he momentarily disappears into the boiling froth of bodies before surfacing and being held aloft by triumphant hands. He is aquaplaned forwards at a rate of knots by the force of a hundred arms and deposited back over the barrier with an undignified thud. WOOOW!!

Oh my God, what a wonderful evening!

As Misters Skaug & Andersson jig across the dressing-room ceiling like a pair of helium balloons possessed by a swarm of psychotic bees and Sebastian flicks the kettle on for his father, we PAINheads tigger out of Nosturi and vanish into the night.

🎸 Youtube ‘Pain – Shut Your Mouth – Klubsen, Hamburg 09.11.2016’. At the end you’ll see the Scandinavian Daredevils perform their party trick.

🎸 Youtube ‘Turmion Kätilöt – Grand Ball Live @ Nosturi, Helsinki 19/11/2016’.

🎸 Youtube ‘ Wilhelm Scream Compilation’ 😉.

The 07.52 train heads North from Kuopio to Oulu.

The last stop on the line is Rovaniemi. It’s a name from my childhood dreams and one I have thought of many times since. Rovaniemi. The town on the Arctic Circle. It calls me. I have never been so close. I have to go.

The journey between Kuopio and Rovaniemi lasts seven hours. I doze most of the way, enclosed in a warm, dreamlike bubble. The sounds around me are muted; the gentle rhythmic swaying of the carriage offers peace, serenity. My head rests against the cold window and as darkness turns to light, light to darkness, I see, through half open eyes, snowbound Christmas card landscapes; frozen lakes streaked white and grey by winter’s hoary paintbrush; trees and farmhouses encased in thick, frosted icing. We stop at isolated stations where no one leaves nor boards the train. Like much of my journey so far, it feels surreal and quite unbelievable I’m here.

But I am. I stand on the slushy platform and stare at the railway sign, eyes blurred by tears. ROVANIEMI. I can’t dither, no time to waste.

Finding a taxi outside the station, I head immediately to Santa Village. Certainly, there are more dramatic and adventurous ways of crossing the Polar Line; snowmobiles & Sean Bean is but one delightful fantasy combination 😄. However, in reality and on this occasion, a muddy cab and Santa will have to do. My lucky day.

The Santa Village is as expected; twinkly, Christmassy, jolly. The actual Arctic Line is denoted by an inlaid stone mosaic on the ground revealing the mythical co ordinates 66°34’N 023°51’E. A string of blue lights traces the line from above. The magic of this moment is abruptly halted as the stylus is accidentally flicked across Powerage and I discover the mosaic is hiding beneath a layer of trampled snow. Huh? 😳

I clump to the information desk whereupon I find a very cheerful man perched upon a stool, patiently awaiting my question. ‘Oh, hello, is there anyone who clears the snow from the Line?’ ‘No’, he replies, ‘if there’s snow, you can’t see the Line.’ Ah. ‘But the whole point in coming is to see the Line.’ A faint hum and subtle glow radiate from an awakened arrow above my head. Oh no. Smile. ‘Do you have a spade and brush?’ He looks at me, not quite knowing if I’m serious or not. I am. My sleeves are rolled up and I’m good to go. He shakes his head, ‘no, sorry.’ He is apologetic but adamant, no garden implements on site. The arrow droops and fades away; it recognises defeat and so do I.

Back outside, I find a drift unspoiled by footprints and take a photo of my boot in the Arctic snow. Despite the surrounding commercialism, piped Christmas tunes polluting the tranquility and lack of available digging tools, it’s really rather exciting and I look around before laughing into the night. OMG, hahahaaaah!!!

The train departs Rovaniemi at 5.30pm, destination Oulu. I’m bug eyed tired and sit bolt upright, head bobbing like a Nodding Dog in the back window of a Ford Capri. Rational thoughts morph into crazy, disjointed dreams as sleep’s warm, velvety, seductive fingers wrap themselves around my consciousness and pull it towards a deep, heavenly slumber. NO! NO! NO!  DO NOT FALL ASLEEP! YOU WILL END UP BACK IN KUOPIO! For three long hours I fight the irresistible urge to surrender to sleep’s relentless advances.

There’s a snowstorm blowing in Oulu when I step down from the train and onto the platform. The freezing air slaps me in the face and jolts me back to life. It’s 8.45pm.

The doors to tonight’s venue, Hevimesta, open in fifteen minutes’ time. Turmion Kätilöt are on at 11pm, PAIN at half past midnight. Delighted by this stroke of luck, I’m also aware I will get nowhere near the front of stage and thus feel no pressure to rush.

Through the snow and wind I stagger the short distance to the Best Western Hotel. Not directly, naturally, but with a few unforeseen diversions🙄. I check in looking like a wild woman; windswept, bedraggled, sleep deprived.

Determined to find some Instagram opportunities, I’m back outside within minutes. However, as I tremble in the sub zero Arctic wind chill, sleet now smacking my cheeks red, common sense, for once, slays enthusiasm and I return to the hotel.

By the time I have regained use of my fingers it’s past 11pm. Time to nip across the road to the venue and check out the total disaster that is my position for the evening.

Hevimesta is so packed I can barely get through the door. Turmion Kätilöt are ripping through their set, the crowd is heaving. I manage to ease into a spot by the bar but am jostled at every turn. With no room to move, I’m trapped as far away from the stage as can be, squished like a bug against the back wall.

The fabulous, deafening beats of the Finnish Metallers are but a distraction as I focus on the crowd, the layout of the club and how daring I am actually prepared to be. I hatch an audacious plan. It relies upon making a series of calculated moves and executing said moves without hesitation. He who hesitates is lost. She who hesitates gets to watch PAIN from the bar.

I learned a valuable lesson from my grinning friend who penetrated front of stage formation in Stockholm. One must combine elements of speed and surprise with a sunny smile at precisely the right moment to disarm opponents, overcome obstacles and succeed in the mission. And that moment is here. Oh God, I have to do this. Go. Go. Go. The lights are low and I can barely see. I know there are steps but I have to keep advancing. Sorry. Smile. Excuse me. Sorry. Smile. Excuse me. Gentle touches to shoulders. Within sixty seconds I’m halfway there, down the steps and onto the dancefloor. Sixty seconds more and I’m one row from the front, centre left.

Another stroke of luck in a day filled with good fortune pops up when a man in front of me suddenly, inexplicably turns around and leaves the barrier. I instantly slam hand on metal and pull myself in. Oh. My. God. I stand, grinning like a lunatic, unaware of my physical being, only aware of joy, mirth and disbelief leaping Gangnam Style inside my spinning mind. I want to throw my head back and laugh out loud but contain my excitement and merely look around peacefully as if butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth. Who? Me?

The stage is small with a substantial pillar in front of the drum kit which will surely curtail freedom of movement this evening. It may be holding the ceiling up but it’s not really in the most convenient place. Hmmm. If I was Sebastian, I’d be slightly miffed at being hidden behind an Artexed monstrosity while the rest of the band have a fab time in the spotlight. I wonder if it’s going to irritate everyone all night, in fact,🤐. This is the crap bombarding my brain as I stand at the epicentre of the entire f***ing Universe, overcome with exhaustion and happiness; cognitive capacity of a drunken jellyfish. There’s a young man to my right, so inebriated he can barely stand up. Slumped over the barrier, head wobbling, he’s taking alternate glugs from a beer cup and a silver hip flask. He beams at me, I beam at him. Happy Days, mate.

The pillar.

Our Scandinavian Firecrackers bound onto the stage amid puffs of smoke, blue flares and cheers from the joyous crowd, excitement fizzing like sparklers on Bonfire Night. Mr Tägtgren wields the flame that ignites the fuse that sends a rocket howling over our heads. The Painheads are sent reeling by a pulsating shockwave of sound as the band lob smokin’ tunes and attitude into the throng.

Sebastian Tägtgren, behind the drums behind the pillar, is head spinning while whacking out thundering beats. It’s a marvellous sight to behold; youthful exuberance coupled with natural born talent. This wonderful opportunity, gripped by both hands, to sit in the driving seat of his father’s band is not wasted; his performance is awe inspiring 🤘👊.

The sleeves of his father’s straightjacket snake and writhe across the stage. Brave Painheads, dicing with death, reach out to feel the fabric glide across their open palms. While Mr Tägtgren seems to refrain from much direct individual eye contact, he scans the crowd continuously and leans over the barrier to intimidate those at the front. I find myself having to clutch the barrier and lean backwards to avoid his chest colliding with my face. I know, Front Row Problems, meh 😄.

Mr Skaug is poised in front of the smoke machine, his magnificent, swirling headbanging creating a twisting vortex of green haze which envelops him as he clobbers his bass, demolishing every unprotected eardrum in his path.

Then, something extraordinary. Mr Andersson is facing me, feet apart, guitar slung low, head down, necking the rhythm. Hair flying, he flicks his head back and looks at me. He grins. I don’t think it’s a random Colgate flash into the audience, it is aimed precisely in my direction. To allay any doubt, he then offers a clenched fist to bump. Blimey! Of course, I grin back, raise my fist and make contact. It certainly makes a change from a handshake and a how d’you do. I’m delighted to see he doesn’t look worried. His lovely gesture appears genuine and not like he lost a bet with his bandmates before the show.

Prior to Mr Andersson’s Metal Salute I had been concerned about being thought of as a curiosity. However, due to a brief moment of solidarity between one side of the barrier and the other, my fears are now but whispers. Tack så mycket 🤘.

Soon, another fantastic show is over and I embark on a second mission, certainly easier than the first, but no less daring for a woman on her own. Back to the bar. One beer, please, great-bar-tender. It tastes good and eases the evening towards a mellow finish rather than the usual abrupt end. The bar gets busy, there’s a lot of alcohol-fuelled verbals flying around. Time to leave.

Each summer, Oulu hosts the Air Guitar World Championships. Headbangers congregate from all over the globe to partake in the competition, wondrous in its madness. As I sit in my room, window open, contemplating today’s incredible events, I hear faint strains of Bohemian Rhapsody dancing through the night and I know Wayne & Garth are playing their imaginary guitars like no one’s watching, singing like no one’s listening. And I can’t help but think how very, very fortunate we all are to have this magical music in our lives.

Helsinki tomorrow. Excellent 😜🤘.

🎸 Youtube ‘pain same old song’, scroll down to clip posted by Milla Heikkilä in Oulu.

🎸 Youtube ‘PAIN – A Wannabe, Live’, scroll down to Ms Supercherie’s clip from Oulu.

PAIN have completed the first leg of their Coming Home Tour 2016 and now embark on a six date, co-headlining jaunt throughout Finland with native Industrial Metallers, Turmion Kätilöt. Both bands appear under the banner, ‘Har du horat runt på campingen?’

Are you whoring round the trailer park? 😳

From Helsinki Central I catch a train for the five hour journey North East to Kuopio. Last night I barely slept due to excitement, a hot, stuffy hotel room and a bar of chocolate at 2am. The train is also hot and stuffy; the air is dry, making my throat rasp and my skin parch. I board as a freshly picked plum, get off as a dried up ol’ prune. Yeah, I’m feeling good.

Reaching Kuopio, it is already dark and a great relief to be outside in the fresh mid-afternoon air. Ignoring the line of waiting taxis, I wade through slushy puddles, guided by my hand drawn map to The Finlandia Hotel. I know where I’m going, it takes twenty minutes. Forty minutes later I discover the hotel is no longer there and, in fact, the entire street has disappeared. Oh my God, here we go, same old song. Am I even in Kuopio? I look around in a state of disbelief and resort, as ever, to accosting a passer-by who points behind me, ‘ That way, you idiot.’ Kiitos!

Check in, drop bag, straight out on a recce.

Henry’s Pub, tonight’s venue, is in the basement of a larger establishment which has a welcoming, amber glow like a vintage British boozer, most inviting on this bitter November night. Walking past, I recognise a young woman with purple hair and a young man from the show in Stockholm huddled in the doorway, sheltering from the freezing wind. Hours till opening time, they wait to meet the bands and claim front of stage positions. Horns up and much respect, fellow Painheads, you are far hardier than me.

🤘Poster in Henry’s Pub window🤘

With the Tour Budget depleting rapidly, I have been forced to make a few essential amendments in order to keep the show on the road, so to speak. Increasing travel allowance marginally whilst slashing catering expenditure means I will take taxis instead of wasting time wandering around like a fool but will no longer indulge in trips to delicatessens or sleep through breakfast.

The former agreement was, of course, reneged the moment I stepped off the train and figured I knew the way to The Finlandia. Compliance with the latter, however, is confirmed by the purchase of rye rolls, sliced Gouda and a jar of pesto from a supermarket close to Henry’s.

I also pledge to be less Mumsy 👍 and more Metal 👊 which will begin as soon as I’ve had complimentary early evening tea and biscuits back at the hotel.

So, here we are; Earl Grey, Jammy Dodgers, iPad, Henry’s Facebook page, tonight’s itinerary in Finnish; hit translate, PAIN onstage at 9pm, followed by Turmion Kätilöt. There is no way I will get anywhere near the front tonight, it’s a sell out show, it will be packed. No chance of touching metal, no hope of seeing the pimple on Mr Tägtgren’s chin.

Arriving at the venue just before 8pm, I find only a handful of people waiting by the entrance instead of the crowd I had anticipated. Facebook got it wrong; doors open at 9, PAIN onstage at 10. Oh God, I now have no choice. I’m here. I can almost smell the Clearasil. I’m not leaving.

Ignoring my protesting knees, I join the Diehards; gloves on, hood up, bracing myself against the harsh wind sweeping in from the Siberian Tundra. It instantly snatches away any remaining warmth held inside a fleecy jumper and heavy jacket. We are silent; it’s too cold for conversation. It’s snowing and I’m chilled to the bone, shivering. Metal-up, woman! 👊 Time passes agonisingly slowly by; my face numbs, fingers curl into claws, fallen snowflakes cling to my jacket. Tick, tick, tick, I feel each second fly wildly into the night upon every freezing gust howling down the alley.

At last, to great sighs of relief, the door is hauled open. There’s a flutter of tickets as they emerge from pockets and bags, and downstairs we creak into reception. Jackets off, tickets checked. Quickly! The hand-inking man indicates the way to the bar. Oh, no thank you, kiitos, I’m wasting not one nanosecond as I home in on FRONT OF STAGE!! OMG!! OH MY GOD!! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!

The stage is twenty centimetres high, in a corner and has a wobbly barrier stuck on the front. There’s a one metre gap at each side of the stage where the barrier falls short and it is in the left gap, natch ( P&C Kerrang circa 1980s), that I find myself standing, eyes wide, mouth agape, in shock. I place my right arm on metal as a balance and gaze longingly at a leather bench running along a wall by the drum kit. It distracts me from the deafening rush inside my head. How did this happen? Oh my God. OH MY GOD! I exchange a few words with a Finnish man standing next to me; he is tattooed, pierced, shaven-headed, quietly spoken and very nice.

Then resumes the long, nail-biting, joint-aching wait.

I suddenly feel nervous about the show; the fourth consecutive gig standing under their noses. Technically, I’m right at the front but actually, I’m one short step from being on the stage itself, one bunny hop from Wonderland, one tiny skip from being rugby tackled by a crew member and ejected from the building by scruff of neck. I couldn’t be closer if I perched myself on the drum riser and cracked open a bottle of champagne.

Logic dictates that if, from brief glances through the crowd at previous gigs I recognise people around me, the band will do the same from ninety minutes upon a stage every night watching us watching them. I think of Pär Sundström in Würzburg, Leipzig and Stockholm; London Man in Stockholm, The Girl With Purple Hair & Friend in Sweden then Finland, and others I saw in Aalborg then Gothenburg. Logic.

I’m not surrounded by the usual mayhem and have neither the security nor cover of a close-knit crowd. Recognition is absolutely not what I sought but I cannot and will not resist the lure of the front row; there’s nothing like it, it’s a rare privilege, a source of great happiness and one I am not giving up. They probably think I’m weird. Oh God, am I? I can no longer tell. Should I remain in such a prominent spot?

Hell yeah! FFS, they’re in a Metal Band, they can handle it 👊. Good evening, Mr Idol, here we f***ing go again!

Oh my God, this is madness! It’s like watching PAIN rehearse in their garage! I stand in awe of the spectacle presenting itself directly, immediately, in front of me; it is gob-smackingly, jaw-droppingly incredible. Almost embarrassed, I hardly know where to look. When Mr Skaug performs his Mopping The Floor headbanging tour de force I feel the breeze wafting from his mane; when Misters Tägtgren and Andersson stand before me, their guitars inches from my face, I watch, close up, with absolute joy, the fingers that play the instruments that make the sound that gives us hope and makes us glad to be alive.

I do wonder, however, with more than a little concern, if the band are also a bit rattled by the close proximity to the audience. So, in order to ease their worries, I decide to avoid prolonged staring at faces, bums, and pimples on chin.

Playing a set shortened to accommodate two co-headliners, the PAINshow cruises at warp speed; the thumping, hypnotic, cacophony overpowering the captive audience. Volume cranked through the red, phasers set tae Malky, the Painheads are stunned into blissful submission.

A magical, extraordinary evening, it will remain in the hearts and memories of all fortunate to have been there, especially those at the front who now stand drained and emotionally whiplashed by the four Scandinavian Masters of Metal ( there, I said it 😜 ).

Now, two choices. Either I leave immediately, return to The Finlandia; cup of tea, Instagram, YouTube, early night, wake at 6am feeling rested and ready to face the long day ahead or stay, get a drink from the bar for the first time ever at a gig on my own, rejoin the crowd at the back of the venue, get blasted by Turmion Kätilöt, return late to The Finlandia, bed at 4am, up at 6 feeling like a total zombie and sleepwalk through the next twenty four hours. Hmmmm. Let me think. That’ll be a tall Diet Coke, please. With ice? Lovely 👊.

Turmion are totally mad and absolutely brilliant. I love them instantly. They look seriously deranged and sound like the Saturday night disco in a residential correctional facility for the criminally insane. I’m not sure what they sing about but I get the impression it isn’t strawberry cupcakes and fluffy bunny wabbits.

I watch the show from a safe, Mumsy distance. It’s great to see the audience participate, hear them sing the rousing choruses, feel the love; but in my heart I think, hmmm, given a choice, I’d rather be down the front. Feel the wind when someone does a head spin, duck when a guitar swings your way, sing when a microphone is thrust in your face, embrace the madness, embed the memory in your brain, take photos, clips, make this last forever.

This time, I don’t stay till the end. I slowly finish my drink, have another then head back to the hotel. My mind buzzes with thoughts of the evening’s events and the discovery that, amongst the mayhem, I felt safe in a pub on my own. Should there be another late bar tomorrow night I shall have a beer after the show 👊😄.

Of course I’m still wide awake at 4am then too scared to sleep incase I don’t hear the alarm go off two hours later.

My train leaves before 8am, destination Oulu, with a small but wonderful diversion on the way. Ho, Ho, Ho. 🎅

Pulling open the heavy curtains of my room at The Onyxen, I see green hills in the near distance. It’s 9am and I feel like a truck’s run over my head. I barely slept, now have to face the day and get myself to Gothenburg Central. I decline the offer of a taxi, preferring to walk. It’s not far, twenty minutes. I have a map. Oh God, delusion conquers common sense yet again. I arrive at the station two hours later and board the train to Stockholm with only minutes to spare. FFS. Current mood 🐰🔫.

Sweden’s great capital is at the end of the line so I plan to sleep the entire journey, confident in the fact I won’t wake up in, er, Belgium? I drift off in the comfort and warmth of the gently swaying carriage and to the soporific clicketty click of the wheels tapping over the tracks below.

I awake some time later, dopily look out of the window and sit up instantly with a start. OMG! Snow!! SNOW!!! SNOOOOOW!!!! Not only that, the bright orange sun is setting on one side of the train while the moon, tinted with reflected light, is rising on the other. It is pale orange and hangs just above the snow covered horizon.

I can barely contain my excitement. Phone out, click to the left, click to the right, click to the left again. Dizzy with this new headbanging technique ( The Wimbledon ), I cannot believe I’m the only person in the carriage overjoyed by the wondrous sight unfolding before our very eyes.

🤘Pic taken through dirty window of train travelling at 125mph🤘

Soon the sun is gone and night time reigns. While I gaze at the moon now dazzling the dark sky I eat the remains of yesterday’s dinner, press my nose against the cold window to marvel at the wintry view outside and count the minutes till Stockholm.

When I booked The Mälardrottningen seven months ago I was blissfully unaware of my latent terror of ships and water. Otherwise I would not have reserved a room on a boat. Or, more precisely, a cabin on a yacht. Yes, I know. The Mälardrottningen, built in 1924 in New York, is berthed by Riddarholmen Island on Lake Mälaren, Stockholm. With a startling lack of self awareness, I had thought it would be fun, a bit of a thrill to stay here but that was before my catastrophic nautical meltdown on The Danica and I now contemplate a night of wide eyed cow’rin in my bunk 😳😱.

With the lights of the city twinkling across the lake, drifts of snow on the adjacent bank and black, choppy waters underneath, both The Mälardrottningen and her setting are unquestionably beautiful and serene. Standing before her on the icy path, freezing air penetrating my gloves, fingertips beginning to chill, I wonder just what the hell I’m doing as I take a deep breath and walk quickly along the gangplank, over the dark, menacing water and into reception.

My cabin is charming, comfortable but too hot. I open the porthole ( 😳 ), inhale the fresh air, listen to the water splashing against the bank, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Breathe with me. Keep calm. Get ready. Head out to the venue.

Debaser Medis. I love the name. Debaser Medis. Better than Underworld, Hellraiser, Nosturi, Hevimesta, even Rytmikorjaamo. I’ve been looking forward to tonight’s gig and dreading it in equal measure; it’s the last show of the Coming Home Tour 2016.

The anticipation of this second night in PAIN’s homeland is slightly nudged by a small, almost insignificant, niggle. PAIN recorded a live DVD, ‘You Only Live Twice’, at Debaser in 2012. A super show, the front section of the audience is comprised mainly of young people looking fabulous. My worry is the Stockholm audience will be very cool ( Capital City Meh Syndrome ) and I will, in comparison and in the unlikely event of attaining front barrier position, at best, look like a Maiden Aunt; at worst, the Gruffalo’s Mother 😱.

So, here I stand in darkness, amid piles of snow and ice outside Debaser, exhaling frost with a deep sigh, a bit worried. Ah, I don’t care. I’m going in.

Jacket deposited, I walk quickly to the hall and make my way through the crowd. I stop at centre left, close to a man taking selfies with The Vision Bleak onstage behind him. He seems rather more interested in posing for pics than watching the band. This is a very good sign.

At the same time, I look around and see there are no übercool mehtropolitans in the front rows. I’m relieved that, in real life, the audience here is as varied and inclusive as elsewhere; a whole smörgåsbord of music fans gathered happily together to embrace an evening of electrifying, unfettered rock and roll.

Back to Selfie Man who appears to be alone and quite contented in his endeavours. I suspect he won’t stay long. I now skulk behind him, watch his every move through the corner of my eye, and wait.

As The Vision Bleak play on I’m aware of someone else, to my right. He too is watching Selfie Man. He too is waiting for him to leave. He too knows it’s only a matter of time. We check each other out with sideways glances. Who will win the most wanted position? Selfie Man turns towards us, looks beyond our heads and out into the crowd. He moves away. As the man to my right hesitates, I step up to the vacated spot. I’m really sorry. After a lifetime of accepting second best, tonight, contrary to good manners and social conditioning, I grab the opportunity to take what I want.

So, here I am, at the front, centre left. THERE IS NO BARRIER. Oh, did I just scream? Permit me to do it again. THERE IS NO BARRIER! I AM LEANING ON THE STAGE! OH MY GOD! This has gone straight into the Top Ten Rock n Roll Moments of this tour! I can hardly breathe such is the level of shock and disbelief. There’s a monitor in front of me with just enough space before the edge of the stage to fit my phone, lippy and fingers. I look around at my fellow front of stagers and recognise a man from the London show. Assuming he’s a Brit, I catch his eye, say hello and exchange a few words. I would love to have a conversation about PAIN, the music & live show but it’s neither the time nor place; leaning on the stage five minutes before the band decimate reality and carry us forth to Swedish Metal Heaven. OH MY GOD! 😄🤘😄🤘😄

Painheads are rapidly filling the hall, they’re getting louder, impatient; the atmosphere is buzzing; excitement levels are rising and it’s wonderful to be in the midst of another great home crowd. Shouts and chants in their beautiful language sail upwards from the sea of happy faces, waves of bodies push to and fro; the Bolly is hurtling towards the bow, we’re ready to launch, come on, PAIN, LET’S F***ING GO!

Watch out Selfie Man, you’re about to be annihilated by a cataclysmic tsunami of passion and noise. Be thankful you exited pole position early for it is total mayhem from the instant the band hit the stage.

It’s a constant struggle to keep my place as people try to squeeze in between those standing at the front. A man pushes through forcefully and successfully to my left, he looks at me and gurns a tipsy grin. I find myself standing sideways to the stage, sardined and squished. WTF? How did he manage that? The Painheads around me are momentarily blinded as an arrow above my head flashes into life. The Number Two. The Middle Aged Woman Not Taking Any More Crap. The neon strips have been replaced by laser beams and one of them is pointed directly between his eyes. Even Misters Tägtgren, Skaug and Andersson have hastily retreated to the other side of the stage like Three Wise Men knowing once the red button has been pressed, hell is unleashed.

😱 Fear not, Mr Andersson, you’re perfectly safe up there 😱

My attention is diverted away from the band as I concentrate fully on the task at hand. The rather jolly man also has an arrow pointed at him from above. It says, VERY DRUNK, IT WON’T TAKE LONG. I’m not subtle, I apply as much pressure to his body as I can, look at him and smile. I keep pushing, my God, he is strong. I will never be able to shove him away. Persistence is the key to winning this battle. I briefly consider tickling him in the armpit, that would probably do the trick but really, do I want to go there? Our skirmish continues for a whole song until, with my elbow in his ear and my knee hovering dangerously nether, he realises I’m not giving up. He beams a final smile of defeat in my direction and pings back into the crowd.

🤘 YOU smile at her, Greger, I’ll just pretend I’m not here. Those spotlights need a dust 🤘

No time to relax, a leather clad arm appears in the same spot, trying to wriggle in. I think not. My eyes follow the arm to the body to the face. OMG! It’s Pär Sundström from Sabaton, Würzburg und Leipzig Division, on secondment to Stockholm. OMG! Very nice to see you but no, don’t even try, the resistance here is too strong.

To my right, a whisper of a girl emerges from the crowd and indicates she wants to stand at the front. There’s room for her; I move up, she moves in, places both hands on the boards, leaps up over the monitors and joins the band onstage for a three second headbang before being dragged off by a crew member. Good for you, girl! My God, there is NO peace tonight. The audience, I fear, may be more entertaining than the band! Haha. No. Of course they’re not 🙄.

Between taking photos and short clips of PAIN, I tuck my hands along the underside of the monitor. Mr Tägtgren, while playing guitar, often rests his foot on top and rocks it back and forth. He may think the look of wide eyed surprise on my face is the result of witnessing his superior widdling skills at such close range but actually it’s because he’s crushing my fingers repeatedly into the dirt 😳.

The PAIN Coming Home Tour is nearly over but in five days they start another; a six gig, co-headlining tour of Finland. The set will be shorter and they will cull one of my favourites. Tonight they play the wonderful Black Knight Satellite for the last time. ‘Sitting on the top of the world, silently watching you, watching me…’, the Painheads sing along while they’re bodyslammed by the relentless, earth trembling strikes from Sebastian Tägtgren driving this great song forwards into Metal Hyperspace. The chaotic, other worldly music is a perfect soundscape to the pandemonium unfolding onstage as PAIN thunder forth like the resident band on Nostromo.

Another favourite, Shut Your Mouth, however, will remain. Traditionally, this is the ultimate song of the show, and it’s during this number that Mr Tägtgren stalks the stage, brandishing a microphone, thrusting it into the faces of both willing and unsuspecting fans alike, expecting them to sing.

Normally, I keep an eye on him as he creeps around, making sure I appear very occupied watching Mr Skaug and Mr Andersson, adjusting my earplugs, checking my emails in order to avoid his line of sight and ever present danger of having to sing.

Tonight, though, I don’t quite know what happens. Humming along, I daringly steal a quick photo of him standing above me during the first line of the song. I look right to capture another band member while he moves left. I’m not concentrating, I think I’m safe.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, he swerves back, like a Velociraptor loose in your kitchen, hunting prey and catching a whiff of fresh meat. He’s there, looming over me and in a split second I realise with horror I have monumentally, fatally mucked up. I freeze, phone poised in the air.

The little red dot appears on my chest. The timer clicks to zero. The mushroom cloud rips the sky. The prehistoric, dribbling jaws bear down to reveal razor sharp teeth and putrid breath. OH MY GOD. Peter Tägtgren is wielding a microphone IN MY FACE. F****K!!!

I have no choice. God knows how hideous it sounds or even if it can be heard at all but I sing the line, ‘I gotta have it all…’ and OH MY GOD, I am instantly struck by a lightning bolt of divine revelation, the celestial choir of angels is on its feet, arms aloft, harmonising the heavens; the arrows above my head flash like headlights on a police outrider and I stand in complete amazement and wonder at this moment because I’M SINGING WITH PAIN and it’s just absolutely, totally, bloody MARVELLOUS! Straight into the Top Five Rock n Roll Moments of my ENTIRE LIFE!!!

🤘That’s not my hand, by the way 🤘

🤘All eyes on Sebastian Tägtgren bashing out an epic drum solo🤘

Various crew and support band members join PAIN onstage to sing the end of the song. There is much jollity, hugging, saluting the crowd, taking selfies, enjoying the last moments of a wonderful tour. Of course, there is the obligatory handsome naked man hiding his modesty behind a guitar and the spraying of large amounts of beer over the audience. It’s such a happy, joyful ending and I feel privileged to be right at the front to see it happen.

When silence returns to the stage I retrieve my jacket from the cloakroom and step out into the cold, cold night. The T Bahn is close by and I’m back on the shore of Lake Mälaren within twenty minutes.

Illuminated by the light of the silvery moon, I slip and slide the short distance to The Mälardrottningen. In the background, city lights dance across the lake; moonbeams skip the surface of the black water and land with a puff on the deep snow blanketing each side of the icy path. I stand in awe of such breathtaking beauty. I want to forever remember this moment, this night, this tour.

Cold’s icy fingers grip my body and I begin to shiver. Time to return to the boat, over the gangplank once more and into the warmth of my cabin. I lie awake for a very long time, the memories of tonight’s show refusing to allow me sleep. I listen to the water hitting the bank. It sounds just like a dishwasher stuck on a rinse cycle. If I wasn’t so horrified I’d actually laugh. Instead, I zone in on the mantra chanting in my head.

Five days till Finland. Five days till Finland. Five days till Finland. Oh God, I can’t wait. I can’t bloody wait.

🎸 Youtube ‘PAIN – Shut your mouth ( Live at Debaser Medis 2016)’. At the start of the song, I’m the second person in the crowd to sing 😱😄😜🎤🤘🙉😂.

🎸 Youtube ‘Pain “Black Knight Satellite ” 14.10.2016 Posthalle Würzburg’. This is so amazing, especially 1.49 – 2.21, 32 seconds of stunning, absolute perfection.

After a 15 minute brisk walk through the fresh late morning air to Aalborg train station, I catch the 12.15 commuter to Frederikshavn Central. After a sixty minute yomp in the wrong direction in an attempt to reach the Port ( twenty minutes said the map, ha, I don’t bloody well think so ), I trudge back to the station, somewhat irked, and get a taxi to the Stena Line ferry terminal. Destination Gothenburg.

The body of water between Denmark and Sweden is called The Kattegat or The Kattegatt, depending on which side you happen to be safely standing. According to Wikki, it is ‘a relatively shallow sea ( huh? can one paddle across? ) which can be VERY DIFFICULT AND DANGEROUS to navigate due to the many shifting sandy reefs and tricky currents. Some ships experience insurmountable difficulties, especially those carrying passengers to PAIN gigs, and are never heard of again.’ 😱

I board The Danica in a heightened state of apprehension and dread. I am neither hugely keen on boats nor vast expanses of water. In fact, I am, with horror, about to discover a hitherto dormant phobia.

I find a quiet spot with wifi, dive into YouTube and try to ignore the reality of being in a metal bucket ( marginally bigger than the one on my head in Würzburg ) about to set sail across The Abyss.

The gentle vibration and hum of the engines certainly adds an illusion of security to the journey but nothing quells the panic when I force myself on deck for the absolutely obligatory Instagram pic. Legs like jelly, I wobble towards the stern, gulping the biting wind, breathless, keeping a hand on the cabin wall to steady myself incase I slip and fall over the shoulder high barrier three metres away and plunge into the sea to be left behind in a freezing wake of froth and diesel. Alone, this is not funny. With friends, it would be idiots rolling around on the deck hilarious. But right now? Nope, I can’t even crack a smile. This is one barrier I do not touch but get as close to as I can bear without wailing; body stretched, arm extended, phone out, click.

I sit on a bench facing the faraway Denmark coastline and watch the glorious, fluorescent pink sun disappear over the horizon in a blazing pool of orange light. It is stark and peaceful, this solitary moment punctuated by waves of nausea and fright.

I’m at the front of the queue to disembark and the first landlubber in a taxi heading into town. Long past sundown, Gothenburg shimmers like gold dust against the black sky and I’m SO happy to be here! Sweden ❤️

Tonight’s hotel, The Onyxen, is a five minute walk from tonight’s venue, Brewhouse, so it should be easy to find. However, my growing mistrust of maps and pathological inability to follow them leads me, after check in, to wrap up, head out and make sure it’s actually there.

As I walk along, I happen to glance to my right and spot, in the distance, a huge, red, glowing Ferris Wheel. WTF is THAT? Brewhouse is forgotten as I home in on Liseberg,  a glinting amusement park & arts venue, like a moth to a burning flame.

Christmas lanterns are ablaze, trees wink with flashing lights. Crowds of people congregate to attend a show. Dressed up in Scandinavian knits and faux fur for an evening out, they smile, laugh. Hearts are warm and love is in the air on this bracing winter’s night. Looming high above this festive scene are the three Gothia Towers, spotlights beaming to the heavens. They are shrouded in a veil of mist which descends with an icy slap onto the revellers far below.

The temperature dropping rapidly, I retrace my steps back to the hotel with only a visit to a supermarket as a diversion. I nonchalantly pass a building with a sign on the front yelling BREWHOUSE in giant letters. Not even a seasoned, shortsighted dimwit like me could miss it.

A couple of hours before showtime I have the supermarket deli dinner; chilli veggies & chicken, fruit salad and a chokladbol, Sweden’s version of confectionary non-prescription medication. Acknowledging the persuasive powers of this ball of dopamine dynamite I buy only one. OK, two. OK, six.

Since arriving in Göteborg I have been aware of a huge building opposite The Onyxen. I can see it from my bedroom window. Now, in the darkness of this late November evening, I stand in front of it, looking up. The Scandinavium Arena. I’ve been here before, a very long time ago. 15th February, 1986. Oh my God, 30 years. The memories of that occasion are vague but I do remember how happy I was. On this night, I feel a profound longing and sadness that someone else who was there on that night, young, vibrant, gifted, unique, is now lost. Three decades on, another band whose music I also love will play in this beautiful city. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.

In the quiet foyer of Brewhouse I notice Mr Skaug speaking to friends. It’s strange to see him in civvies, sans guitar, signature headbanging and mad leaps into the audience. That will come later, but for now it’s time to tackle the crowd myself, switch on the radar and get as close to the front as possible.

Walking into the hall I look between bodies and detect a space by the barrier. Two tall, smartly coiffed, bearded men are standing just in front of it, drinks in hand, chatting. The space is too small for them both but just right for me. Oh, God. Do it. Ask. Crushing the shrinking violet underfoot, I approach the men. ‘Hello’, I smile, ‘do you speak English?’ They smile,’Yes.’ ‘Would you mind if I stood’, I point to Centre of Universe and look up, hopefully, ‘here?’ ‘Of course’, they stand aside. Oh My God! Thank you!! May your beards grow long and luscious and beautiful women fall at your feet! OMG. OMG. OMG. Two nights in a row with my arms on metal? I dared not even dream of this.

PAIN are on home turf tonight, the venue is full of fellow Swedes and they’re gearing up for a great show. Even before the band hit the stage the crowd is hyped and ready to blow the roof off. It is SO exciting! Cue Billy, let’s go!

I will never tire of this, it is magical, epic, life affirming. The energy from the stage washes over the audience in waves of controlled mayhem, the sound roaring like an earthquake ripping up the Richter scale. Surrounded by chaos and turmoil, this melodious onslaught of noise and rhythm penetrates our very cores, makes our souls dance and our hearts sing. I love it.

I also love the onstage banter in Swedish. This is natural to them, it swings, they trill and almost sing the sentences, it’s charming and I understand not one word. My grasp of their language is confined to yes, no, please, thank you and a whole shitload of profanities courtesy of YouTube. I have used the former with delight many times but the latter is reserved only for the voice in my head constantly amusing itself with rudeness and sauce.

Another wild crowd this evening, there is much singing along and exchanging of verbals with those onstage. Those at the barrier are squashed, pummelled and sprinkled with beer flying from behind. My head and shoulders are used to steady numerous phones while all around people smile, laugh, lose themselves in the mêlée. It is a fantastic crowd, and even after the show ends, as we wait in the queue to leave, the Painheads of Gothenburg are still buoyant and happy, overwhelmed by the peaceful vibes blasted into their hearts this wonderful evening by their three triumphant countrymen and one demented Norsk.

Three Swedes….

…one Norsk.

Beside The Scandinavium & The Onyxen is a 24 hour McDonalds. Always thirsty after a show I do not resist a rarely indulged treat; one large Fanta with ice, snälla du. Tack! It compliments extremely well a chokladbol or two back at the hotel. Hmmm, how very wise, just before bed. Still awake at 4am. I’m so Metal.

Stockholm tomorrow, headbangers! Jävla kan inte vänta! Woo!

🎸 Youtube ‘PAIN -coming home-Brewhouse 11-11-2016’.

🎸 Youtube ‘PAIN -end of the line-Brewhouse 11-11-2016’.