Missives From The Mosh Pit Edge

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.