Epiphany on a Sunday.

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..