Raahe Rocked

From left: Zhu Lei, Two Beats Off and Kimmo (organizer and problem-solva’ extraordinnaire). They were likely celebrating the fact that they had just shaken off the overweight and over-drunken woman who verbally assaulted them with no more than the word “VIPER!!” screamed repeatedly, seemingly signifying that they weren’t repeating it back to her correctly (hilarity and the near falling-down-of-Viper-woman ensues). Maybe it was the fact that it was actually getting dark that made the freaks come out (the freaks not being the guys in the picture [at least, not in a bad way], but rather, the ones that attacked them; but then again, it wasn’t that dark).

And now... It’s Saturday afternoon and we’ve just rolled into Vastavirta Club in Tampere after six hours on the road. Couldn’t tell you how many km’s though, since, as I’ve mentioned earlier, Xiao Bai gave up counting. We’ll get her fixed in Helsinki though. Though I will say that there’s a certain freedom in not knowing how fast we’re going. This way, I can find a comfortable point at which to cruise, secure in knowing I’m probably not speeding, and, at the very least, going slower than the folks that perpetually pass me. There’s something kinda, er, zen about it, which I will, if need be, explain to any policeman who thinks otherwise.

It’s great to come to a place that we remember, and Vastavirta is a good place to come back to. Not only did I kind of remember how to get here, but to make us feel a bit more comfortable, they’ve used last years posters to advertise the show.

Yup, life’s rough on the road.

(Actually, it is kind of; this is just a quick stop on the road from Raahe to Tampere; gas, cesuo, coffee, and a quick chill lakeside)

Raahe is not the biggest town in the country; the bar (Rytmi Kellar) was certainly the smallest room the band has played thus far. But a good time was still had by all, including a bar-packing crowd. Tonight was our last gig with Two Beats Off; since they began the Subs tour they’ve tripled their gig experience, and each gig got better (and drunker, but that’s not the most important thing). With only a collective 53 years between them (vs Subs’ 122), they’ve got plenty more shows in ‘em.

Again, people were surprised to find their hometown host to a group of Chinese rockers. But, finally, some perspective. “Is it any weirder,” said bartender Eric, “than a black American guy wearing a kilt and playing swamp football (soccer) for Team Scotland in Oulu, Finland?” No, we’d have to say, it is not (Eric being the kilt-wearer in question). Or, one might add, for the woman behind the bar to happen to know how to say ‘ice cream’ in Mandarin, and be able to throw it out there for Wu Hao (who understood and gave the thumbs-up); “Can I have orange juice?” he asked. “Yes,” she said. “But no bingjiling.”

But it was great to run into a native English speaker after a while amongst the Chinglish and Finnglish thus far. Finnish people can, in fact, speak great English, I’ll add here. But it’s a special kind of language. Coupled with the fact -- if you’ll permit a massive generalization, but one garnered from a week here this year and another last year, not to mention the testimonies of just about every Finn I’ve ever met (usually in the first few minutes of meeting them or on the occasion of observing their drunken countrymen/women in action, or, as the case may be, both) -- that Finns looooooove their booze, well, hilarity ensues. Like this conversation, overheard one night in Oulu:

(Finnglish) “So... there are very many like you guys punk bands in Beijing?”

(Chinglish) “...” (a slight shake of the head, probably meant to demonstrate the process of translation more than a negative response)

(Finnglish) “Oh. No punk bands”

(Chinglish) “Punker bandz.”

(Finnglish) “Like-a SUBS”

(Chinglish) “Ah” (nodding). “Many, many.”

(Finnglish) “Many Many is a good band?”

(Chinglish) “...”

(Finnglish) “They play hardcore?”

(Chinglish) “...” (turning to nearest bandmate, in Mandarin: “What is this dude talking about?”)

(Finnglish) “We drink now. You take a slice?”

And, more on the unbearable drunkenness of the Finns... Kang Mao, peeking over my shoulder at the crowd shot, above (taken in the moments before the band began), quoth: “Look at all those drunk people.” Thankfully, unlike our last tour, the band has realized that not everyone that wants to talk with them needs the help of their translator/manager/driver/road manager. Besides, he was busy enough fending off the town drunk, an old-timer with a smile as big as his habit, who wouldn’t stop trying to shake my hand and flash a series of ever-complex gesticulations in my general direction. “Like clockwork,” said Eric, and not in reference to the old man’s grace, but rather, the regularity with which he witnesses customers trying to evade the man’s gaze.