Erlend Oye is a god. And I am not just saying that because his music rocks. You know all those positive energy and laws of attraction theories, the vibrating molecules that draw in positivity, harmonic auras or unexplained magnetic pulls, well when Erlend’s around they all suddenly make complete sense. Perhaps it is his calm composure and completely understated cool; quite tall, he appears permanently dazed and floating in blissful thoughts, or the oversized geek glasses* and stripes, which radiate a happy healthy glow that make him instantly likeable. Here is the complete antithesis of the pierced, studded tattoo freak and all round junkie rock star type, which your parents have nightmares about. This guy actually looks like he would be equally happy taking care of an old people’s home as he is performing. I want to give him a hug already and we haven’t even talked about his music.
His latest project, The Whitest Boy Alive, like pretty much most of his work, is not just another band that make great music and tour to promote their new stuff following the usual formula: come on stage- play to fans from elevated stage (or fenced off in extreme celebrity status cases)- let fans go wild by themselves- get off stage – go to private party. Oye and the boys actually get involved. They want to party with you. Clapping, dancing, singing, and rotating positions like in a volleyball match, they might stop to make a comment, or jump for a dance into the crowd. All loony as one another, these boys from the small town of Bergen in Norway don’t take themselves too seriously. Playing around like children in their bubble, it makes you wonder whether they’re actually having more fun than the crowd. The best part is that the bubble spreads.
When they came on stage, every little puzzle seemed to fit into place. And that’s not only because of Erlend’s voice. Yes, it is incredible. and the songs, and words flow extremely well making every bone in your body tingle. But this tingle is caused by so much more than that. It is the product of that highest level of harmony achieved when everything is in such a state of equilibrium that you don’t need drugs. When endorphins rush around your body just like that, through sound. It’s a simple formula – its pure and it works. Close to nirvana? Perhaps. But all I know is that finally I understand why people go to see gigs. Sure I went to plenty before but always left with a feeling of slight disappointment. Something along the lines of “I could have listened to them at home and not been crushed by thousands of people and spent loads of money.” I must have seen the light. Happiness is contagious.
* You could spot the dedicated fans easily in the appropriate oversized spectacles attire – a trend that has taken London by storm. Whether they are prescription pieces is highly doubtful, yet I wonder if Oye is the unassuming icon who started it all..
Thursday, 23 April 2009
The Whitest Boy Alive @ Digital.
The support band. Fellow Bergenians, The New Wine
They must have grown up together or are extreme fans of WBA, because they sounded pretty much the same minus Erlend.
They were cute too.
la la la la
The crowd leads the way
Getting mischievous...
Lets play!
Presents for everyone
Brighton Shores.
This would not be possible in London.
You can never have too much sauce.
Red shoes hanging out on the beach.
The ex- pier. Now a piece of contemporary sculpture.
Monday, 20 April 2009
Assistance Needed.
Waitrose finally hit Islington and positioned itself right in between two other big boys of the food chain game; Marks & Spencers and Sainsbury’s. (Approx. length from the start of M&S block to end of S.’s with W. in the middle – 100 metres.) A bit of supermarket O.T.T? That’s what I thought. It is quite a tight fit and a hint of competition is definitely present in the air. But lets not jump to conclusions just yet. In its slick campaigns, Waitrose promises difference. Quality. Exeptional Customer service. It is the luxury supermarket after all and as Wickipedia informs “has a Royal Warrant to supply groceries, wine and spirits to, her Majesty, the Queen.” Promising stuff.
From the outside I wanted to give the ex-Woolworths space the benefit of the doubt, starting with the location. Perhaps it is all part of the new order in urban planning, a breakthrough means in fascilitating the food hunt with customer in mind of course, inspired by the system from within, and titled something along the lines of “Supermarket within the Supermarket Scheme” in the Islington Council books. Three supermarkets lined up one after another – exactly like having all those different types of tropical juices in one aisle, which definitely makes it an easy find. Whether the selection process is just as easy is another question however... So now you know if you want food in Angel, you’ll find a wide selection between no.5 and no.31 Liverpool Road, catering for all kinds – from basics to the finest options. Plus, the newcomer promises to help solve the acute cattle crowding at rush hour, which was actually becoming quite serious. The madness would start just after 5:00 with the anxious post-work-to-tv-and-couch mob and go on for a good few hours. Not the best setting if you want to spend some quality time choosing the perfect carton of juice.
But no need to worry now, with Waitrose you can shop in peace and get some real quality stuff. Or so their advertising department says. Not particularly a diehard supporter of the supermarket system, I do use it of course, not too much realistically cost effective alternatives around. So I decided to swap my usual Sainsbury’s route a few weeks ago and pop into the new neighbour (rival?) for a peak and some quality food. And..
You will not believe it, but within 5 minutes I was out of there, seeking refuge in Sainsbury’s next door with a warmth in my heart and a newfound admiration for this store which has been faithful to me for quite some time now. It was not that satisfaction of being back in the comfort zone, on familiar terrains or anything like that. I find novelty extremely appealing. Here the problem lay not in what the store was, but what it wasn’t and it definitely wasn’t what the adverts promised!
It was dirty, chaotic and completely random, with maze like aisles too thin to fit two way basket carrying traffic (forget trolleys), no where near enough food selection to justify calling itself a supermarket (I mean real food, like carrots, potatoes – not the ready made pre-packed box dinners with fancy names which they have plenty of in fact) and undersupplied shelves. I mean I know that we are living through dark times with the recession and all, but when Waitrose staff cannot refill the shelves in time or clean the floors yet have the cheek to charge extortionate prices for ‘quality and customer service’, we know we have a problem. Like the winning hero, Sainsbury’s orange seemed to glow more orange in comparison.
Today, feeling good, I decided to give the newcomer another chance. I walked around, and round and round again to familiarise myself with the contents and felt the definite bias for quick cook, ready made box meals instantly. I did contemplate leaving my basket and running off to Sainsbury’s again, but considering the time – 7:00pm – prime time food shopper frenzy, I thought best get it over and done with quickly, and actually have the satisfaction of dealing with a real person at the cashier.
Yet, even then I was badly let down. After spending quite a long time trying to scan in my loose watermelon (one of those rare unpackaged food types, a.k.a without a bar code, a.k.a not in system, a.k.a should be weighed at counter but built in scales, now seem like defunct technology), the cashier dude eventually managed to type in a code. After his supervisor made a phone call. When payment time eventually came, I decided to use actual cash -- a rare action in transactions these days. The damage was £21.98. I handed over the exact in a variety of notes and coins and waited the polite few seconds for the cashier to approve my math skills. After a considerably longer time than normal of counting and recounting the case was still not closed. Instead, the cashier looked up at me blankly and said, “How much is this then?” Unbelievable. Perhaps those self-service checkout tills next door, periodically shrieking “assistance needed” are not so bad and three is a crowd after all.
From the outside I wanted to give the ex-Woolworths space the benefit of the doubt, starting with the location. Perhaps it is all part of the new order in urban planning, a breakthrough means in fascilitating the food hunt with customer in mind of course, inspired by the system from within, and titled something along the lines of “Supermarket within the Supermarket Scheme” in the Islington Council books. Three supermarkets lined up one after another – exactly like having all those different types of tropical juices in one aisle, which definitely makes it an easy find. Whether the selection process is just as easy is another question however... So now you know if you want food in Angel, you’ll find a wide selection between no.5 and no.31 Liverpool Road, catering for all kinds – from basics to the finest options. Plus, the newcomer promises to help solve the acute cattle crowding at rush hour, which was actually becoming quite serious. The madness would start just after 5:00 with the anxious post-work-to-tv-and-couch mob and go on for a good few hours. Not the best setting if you want to spend some quality time choosing the perfect carton of juice.
But no need to worry now, with Waitrose you can shop in peace and get some real quality stuff. Or so their advertising department says. Not particularly a diehard supporter of the supermarket system, I do use it of course, not too much realistically cost effective alternatives around. So I decided to swap my usual Sainsbury’s route a few weeks ago and pop into the new neighbour (rival?) for a peak and some quality food. And..
You will not believe it, but within 5 minutes I was out of there, seeking refuge in Sainsbury’s next door with a warmth in my heart and a newfound admiration for this store which has been faithful to me for quite some time now. It was not that satisfaction of being back in the comfort zone, on familiar terrains or anything like that. I find novelty extremely appealing. Here the problem lay not in what the store was, but what it wasn’t and it definitely wasn’t what the adverts promised!
It was dirty, chaotic and completely random, with maze like aisles too thin to fit two way basket carrying traffic (forget trolleys), no where near enough food selection to justify calling itself a supermarket (I mean real food, like carrots, potatoes – not the ready made pre-packed box dinners with fancy names which they have plenty of in fact) and undersupplied shelves. I mean I know that we are living through dark times with the recession and all, but when Waitrose staff cannot refill the shelves in time or clean the floors yet have the cheek to charge extortionate prices for ‘quality and customer service’, we know we have a problem. Like the winning hero, Sainsbury’s orange seemed to glow more orange in comparison.
Today, feeling good, I decided to give the newcomer another chance. I walked around, and round and round again to familiarise myself with the contents and felt the definite bias for quick cook, ready made box meals instantly. I did contemplate leaving my basket and running off to Sainsbury’s again, but considering the time – 7:00pm – prime time food shopper frenzy, I thought best get it over and done with quickly, and actually have the satisfaction of dealing with a real person at the cashier.
Yet, even then I was badly let down. After spending quite a long time trying to scan in my loose watermelon (one of those rare unpackaged food types, a.k.a without a bar code, a.k.a not in system, a.k.a should be weighed at counter but built in scales, now seem like defunct technology), the cashier dude eventually managed to type in a code. After his supervisor made a phone call. When payment time eventually came, I decided to use actual cash -- a rare action in transactions these days. The damage was £21.98. I handed over the exact in a variety of notes and coins and waited the polite few seconds for the cashier to approve my math skills. After a considerably longer time than normal of counting and recounting the case was still not closed. Instead, the cashier looked up at me blankly and said, “How much is this then?” Unbelievable. Perhaps those self-service checkout tills next door, periodically shrieking “assistance needed” are not so bad and three is a crowd after all.
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