The End (of Norway) is Nigh
 
Tonight, we are in Porsgrunn; by a cruel twist of fate we are in a town basically right next to Bo, where we played the day before yesterday; tomorrow, we return to Oslo for a last-minute addition of a gig at Mir. We are, I am told, the 101st band to stay with our host and hostess Paal and Tove, respectively, here in Porsgrunn; the 101st band for whom they have organised shows and put up in their home. And, assuming they were treated similarly, these are 101 of the luckiest bands out there: We were given an amazing home-cooked meal -- a feast unlike any other in recent memory --  and soft beds to lie in. Hopefully the band isn’t getting too relaxed -- they’ve got a show still tonight -- but I certainly am.
On the Road With Subs
Friday, August 25, 2006
We’ll start this issue with the rumor of the day, which made its way to me via Arle, Good Time Charlie’s singer/harmonica player. A friend of his was surfing the net when he came across what he though was distressing news: Apparently, because they said some not-so-nice things at some point, somewhere over the past month and a half, Subs will not be allowed back into China. In short: We are not concerned about the “news”; the royal ‘we’ is less concerned, since even if it is true, I don’t know these people from Adam. What’s interesting is the earnestness with which people have reacted to the rumor: There is genuine concern that Subs may be stateless among those who we’ve told about it. Reminds me of the rumor that had Hang on the Box denied British visas by the Chinese government (where does one apply from British visas again?). The common thread is the ease with which information of this sort, when the Evil Empire is evoked (and for that, one needn’t say much more than “China” and “authorities” in close succession) -- even when it embodies the problem with the internet vis a vis wildfire -- becomes realistic in the minds of many.
 
On to reality, though. And the difference a day makes. Here, Wednesday, Halden:
And here, Thursday, Bo:
Too bad, really, cuz first off, Halden is supposed to be a rock town. Everyone, I’m told, is in a band. But alas, Wednesday night is not, as it turns out, alright for fighting. But opening act Want?, in their debut appearance, rocked the house anyway. So did Subs, but there were too few people on hand to see it. We’d spent ten hours getting there from Trondheim, and the band didn’t act as though they were less than a little stir crazy.
 
Bo, though (pronounced somewhere between “buh” and “b-woah”; picture the noise you’d make if you’d been punched in the gut), despite appearances, came out in full force. Driving down the barely-two-lane road into town -- where we passed cows, orchards and not much beyond scenery -- a part of me was saying ‘pull over at a gas station -- if there is one in the next hour -- and make sure you’re on the right road.’ We were on the right road: Bo is a town of 5000, including 1500 students at the local university. And Kroa i Bo is a place that everyone said will rock. And it did. It helped that it was frosh week in the middle of nowhere: Nothing like a Chinese rock act to pave the way for the first week of college’s binge-drinking and public face-sucking.
The closest thing to hazing we saw was the post-show party people getting down to “You’re The One That I Want” from the Grease soundtrack. And a bit of “Ra-Ra-Raspootine”.
This dude gave Kang Mao a pen knife. Not sure why, but since someone threw the feather boa to her a bit earlier, I guess he wanted in on the action.
When they weren’t screaming “niubi!” (or something somewhat resembling it), which Kang Mao taught them, I think they were screaming “FROSH WEEK!”
And kudos to the merch team, who made the purdiest merch stall Subs had ever seen. What I don’t have photographic evidence of is the two coeds who had Wu Hao sign their boobies. He assured us that there were no nipples involved, and that, as always, he was a perfect gentleman about it -- as perfect a gentleman one could be in that situation.
 
Next stop: Oslo; Blitz, to be precise, the squat/cafe/venue that has been punk/activist headquarters since the Occupation of the building in the early 80s. We returned to the radio station atop the house, RadiOrakel, for a pre-show interview. RadiOrakel is a station devoted to the female -- the Orakel in the name refers to the Oracle that we know of from mythology. I think it’s safe to call it a feminist radio station: They have hiring and on-air content policies dictating a focus on the feminine. Kang Mao did an interview (yours truly was on hand for linguistic support), which, apparently, went well.
 
Since seeing Blitz last year -- in particular the graffiti that read “My mom told me to fuck off so I came to Blitz” -- the band was in love, and so it was a highlight for them to be able to perform there (“Fugazi played at Blitz, too!” they repeated often). Yours truly must confess to not sharing the band’s excitement, but for me to get a first-hand view of a place I’d otherwise probably never come within miles of (and this is not the first time I have felt thusly, since my Subs stint) was, to be sure, an experience. (I heard an interview with a reporter who talked about ‘making sausage’; that all the crazy/uneventful/stupid things you witness are material for your future ‘sausage’ [memoirs, novel, essay, cocktail party anecdote]; my pork-less tendencies aside, I’m going to have the biggest sausage ever by the end of this Thing).
 
So excited was the band about the Blitz gig...
 
(How excited were they? I can hear you asking)
 
This excited:
And Zhu Lei, too, wanted in on the action, so at the end of the encore, he took a ride too. Having never bodysurfed myself, I don’t claim expertise, but it seems to me that he wasn’t exactly embodying the spirit of the surf while giggling like a schoolgirl and shrieking “OK!” every few seconds.
There was concern that with only a few weeks of lead time (we’d booked this gig late), there might not be a big crowd. But, in no small part thanks to the China-connection crew (big ups to the China-connection crew, even though they likely hold me responsible for the band not appearing at the site of the after-party -- even though the after-party’s location changed unbeknownst to us), the room was full. Actually, though there hadn’t been this many Chinese speakers in one Oslo room since... Umm... Well, insert your own simile here, but the point is that though there were many Mandarin speakers in the room, there were a whole lotta punk peeps too, many young, some not-so-young; in fact, these folks (the young’uns, that is) gave the Frosh Week folk a run for ‘most face-sucking’ title (don’t worry: I offer no photographic evidence).