Missives From The Mosh Pit Edge

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’.