Something Slightly Different

So that’s all from Augustibuller. We came, they played, we skied, we headed to Goteborg.

That’s right, some me time. Subs gets all the press (“Chinese rock band” this and “Communist that”), and all the attention, even here, on my blog (this is, for all intents and purposes, mine, isn’t it?). So here’s me. Wakeboarding on the lake beside Augustibuller, a punk/alt music festival in Lindesberg. When going over the details of the festival with us backstage, our festival contact added that if we’d like, there was waterskiing available for the artists. Before asking anyone else, I volunteered us for duty. But first, the show, since, the skiing couldn’t have happened without the playing.

I guess people wonder what backstage is like. Granted, most places don’t have one, but if there is one, it’s where we spend an inordinate amount of time, so we hope it’s nice. The festival folks pulled out all the stops, even going so far as to throw down some rugs. It’s the little things that count, you know. Like the sandwiches that lasted us through the day and onto the next day’s lunch. And the beer.

Augustibuller, you may recall from an earlier update, was the reason that Sandviken’s show was less-than jamp-packed. The camping area opened on Wednesday night, and the festival began, with club shows in town, on Thursday night. Friday at noon, the first band took to the stage. There was no main stage, per se, but rather, two equal-sized stages and a third mini-stage in a tent -- gotta love the socialist ethic at work here. Subs was the second band on the Bermuda stage which wasn’t as tropical as its name suggested, but was great anyway. Unfortunately, it seemed that the bulk of the fans hadn’t yet arrived as Subs stepped up, at 1.30pm. Our Stockhommie, Anton, taught his crew enough Chinese to confess their love to the band (“Women ai nimen!” they shouted), which they then proceeded to show through screaming, jumping and clapping.

Fans came in all ages and schools (Mr. beardy-no-shirt, at lower left, came from the hippie school, evidenced, you’ll have to trust me, by his dancing), and sporting mohawks of all the colours in the rainbow, give or take.

Kang Mao also demonstrated that, just like all those people who asked believed, all Chinese people are kungfu masters.

But there was skiing to be done. And that we did. Well, everyone but Zhu Lei did.

First up: A Dong, with a valiant attempt at two skis.

Damn close, but, alas... The skis were not for him, and the others were scared off from trying. So, they turned to the tube:

Kang Mao, Wu Hao and A Dong’s rides all ended, thanks to our skillful driver, with a flip of the tube (which I enjoyed probably a bit too much), resulting in, well, this (in A Dong’s case):

And, of course, the fans. This dude just looooooooooved the band. And was dying to tell Wu Hao about it.

They start ‘em young in Lindesberg. Blue mohawk boy on scooter out-punked most of the “punks” at the fest.

But enough of them. More me:

And one last look at the ski posse (and our new super-sized friend who, through the course of standing around the dock, walked that fine line between freaky and funny):