Hellsongs Rock By:Larm In Oslo

Various venues

Oslo, Norway

on Feb 19 2009

Aaron Brophy (CHARTattack)

02/20/2009 8:43am

What happens when you take quite possibly the cheapest person on earth and throw him into a music festival in one of the most expensive cities in the world? I don't know either, but we're gonna find out over the next three-day thrill ride because I'm at the By:Larm music festival in Oslo, Norway, checking out 400 bands worth of emerging Scandanavian talent.

The flight across the Atlantic and then from Amsterdam up to Oslo was relatively uneventful, though I did accidentally delete my in-flight viewing of Indiana Jones And The Crystal Skull halfway through and couldn't be bothered to rewatch the first hour. I'm a pretty noob jetset traveller, so I was suspicious that it could be symbolic of foibles to come.

After arriving and getting my room, the first bit of official business was to check out the "International VIP Bar" at the Royal Christiannia, which was basically an hour-long hang for the foreigners.

I collected my first beer and then asked the bartender the very, very gauche question of whether it's appropriate to tip in Norway. I suspected it was "yes," but being a cheap prick, hoped it was "no." It's "yes," so I left him a krone for the beer.

From there I shook down a fellow named Jonas Vebner for band tips. He's the head of Music Export Norway's U.K. Office, and someone depressingly young to be an elite level art bureaucrat. I gave him the parameters to "suggest bands that people in North America" might eventually hear of. He came back with Harrys Gym, Simon Says No! and The New Wine. The opportunistic yogic tentacles of Nettwerk Records have also apparently reached a band named The Alexandria Quartet, which means they should be getting songs placed in The Hills right about now.

I've seen virtually no old people so far and I know it's a bit of a tainted survey sample, what with hanging around a music festival and all, but I'm a little bit suspicious there's some solient green action going on.

Nonetheless, armed with a handful of picks of my own along with the extra recommendations, I bounded out of the hotel ready to make Oslo eat it. I was heading to a place called Fruktobakk to see a band called Phaedra. I figured anybody who names themselves after the character from "Some Velvet Morning," one of the best songs ever, has got to be awesome.

And then I got lost.

This was a special kind of lost because the club was only four blocks away, but I was completely disoriented (apparently urban planning in Norway doesn't involve streets that run straight, or north-south/east-west, or street signs). I didn't find the club, but I did find the words "AHA" graffitied on a wall.

When researching all the bands at the fest, it was fascinating to see how much pull the cartoon-video '80s rockers had over this generation of Nordic bands. It would be like if every band on Queen Street decided Men Without Hats were their gods. I took a photo, figuring this was my Indy moment and my crystal skull. I then found my hotel and retreated back to my room in defeat.

I watched 20 minutes of a Simpsons episode, finished off a chocolate toffee-flavoured Bio Protein bar I brought (2.5/5) and promptly fell asleep for an hour.

Bolting awake from the fear that I'm wasting my trip, I resolved to properly orienteer myself and headed out the door once again.

I found a club. I don't know which club (it turns out it was a place called Mono), and it wasn't the club I was aiming for (Oslo Kongressenter), but having come all this way, I sure wasn't going to miss the opportunity to catch the first real band I could, which turned out to be the very fey My Little Pony (3/5).

They're alright in a Belle And Sebastian sort of way, and the room was packed with appreciative sweater vesters. The cute gal who looked like Susanna Hoffs sang a song about nuclear winter as a metaphor for love or something — which immediately convinced me that at some point this weekend, I will hear a song that will become a hit specifically because of its engrish wordplay — but sadly, a hit this wasn't. Now that I had figured out where I was, it was time to jet.

I got to the Oslo Kongressenter just in time to catch Frida Hyvonen's (3.5/5) last few songs. The Kongressenter's a massive art-friendly events centre along the lines of Toronto's Harbourfront Centre, and Hyvonen had substantially filled the main ballroom, the Auditoriet. Her work intersects the twiddling piano of Emm Gryner and the more manic world of Amanda Palmer. That was showcased very well on her closing song, which seems to be a send-up of blonde, female Scandanavian singers.

It was now on to the Kongressenter Mesaninen to see the band I was probably most anticipating, the "lounge metal" act, Hellsongs (5/5). I don't know what it says about me that I was unnaturally excited to fly 7,000 km to see loungey covers of metal songs, but the band turned out to be absolutely, jaw-droppingly amazing.

Sure, there's lots of cheek, but it's clear these are serious musicians and they've spent a substantial amount of time reimagining this set of metal classics to get them right. In fact, if you took Hellsongs, put them in front of a bunch of coal miners at a union meeting and then had them play their version of Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It," you'd have solidarity forever.

The highlight, though, was undoubtedly the deadly earnest take on Iron Maiden's "Run To The Hills." It was turned into a mournful pub ballad, and sparked a room-wide a cappella singalong. You've got to figure the lines, "Run to the hills/Run for you life” would resonate with 300 descendants of Vikings, and it did.

The next act in the Kongressenter Auditoriet were Seven Doors Hotel, a Wilco-lite act fronted by a chubby bearded fellow accompanied by a band wearing variations of checkered plaid. They looked the part to be playing Americana, but their particular Norwegian-to-Engrish lyrics were too big a miss to entertain me, so I was ghost.

After that, I figured out the Kongressenter had a third room (!!) that also featured bands. An act named Zanussi Five were about to play, and all I had to do was find the room. I checked my program to find out what I was in for and was told it'd be "an extrovert and slightly surreal mix of groove, energetic freejazz and beautiful melodies." I decided to stand in the hallway for 10 minutes instead and pretend to look at my program while I waited for Rockettothesky, the next band in the Mesaninen.

Rockettothesky (4.5/5) were incredible. The band bio says they began as "a dialogue" between singer Jenny Hval and her dead dog, and I don't doubt it one bit. Hval's voice intersects Bjork and a more conventional Cocteau Twins and her subject matter feels plucked straight out of a more lysergic Ingmar Bergman film. Put together with her band's deft musical accompaniment, you've got what could be the next great goth songstress, all wrapped up in a Patricia Arquette-in-librarian-glasses package.

Two wins in just over an hour were shockingly good odds, so I resolved to stick it out in the Kongressenter for one more act. Martin Hagfors (2.5/5) was playing in the Auditoriet and apparently everyone in Norway covers him and thinks he's the shit in a Ron Sexsmith kind of way.

What I saw was a bloated 10+ member band playing blah, blah, blah. It was great when the string section got a chance to rock out, but otherwise it felt like I had just stepped into some musician's masturbatory fantasyland. It was time for a new venue.

Next up: Annie (3/5) at Sentrum Scene. The dance darling is probably the biggest name at the festival to North Americans and the theatre venue was appropriately big. There were probably 15 photographers jostling around the front of the stage for shots of the statuesque blonde at the start of her set, but her photogenic qualities couldn't make up for the ultimately antiseptic nature of her music. Her guitarist's Judah Friedlander-as-Frank Rossitano look kept me amused for a bit, but when I almost fell asleep twice in my chair, I knew it was time for a change.

Oslo's attitude towards cleaning snow off of sidewalks is frighteningly cavalier, but I did managed to make it to Rockefeller without falling and rupturing anything. I made it just in time to see The New Wine (3/5).

I can't quite figure out where to place this band. At first, I thought they were on The New Deal tip, except with vocals; then Phoenix; then that dance rock band I hate with the cowbell... is that Hot Chip? I can't remember. Anyway, that was enough to send me away.

A short walk away, I was at the John Dee Live Club to check out the very, very, VERY angry screaming of Haust (4/5). The lead singer looked like a shrunken Andre The Giant (say, about 230 pounds or so) and he moped, stomped and trashed around with abandon. I only got to see about 10 minutes of it, but it was the perfect dose of genuineness in the face of Annie and The New Wine.

It was back to Rockefeller Annex for a band I was quite excited to see, Jaqueline (3.5/5). The wall of riffs that hit me when I got there were promising, but prolonged exposure to their sub-Monster Magnet, sub-Clutch hard rock got a little bit boring.

It was time to end night one. I bought a bag of Frito Lay's Oriental Fresh & Spicy Sensations Premium Potato Chips (4/5) for what I think was equal to $6 and headed back to my room.