Missives From The Mosh Pit Edge

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