Stockholm - Dead Rhythm Fest

It was like the old days last night. Kev, Wee Lee and I sat around watching tv the evening before heading off to a gig. Kind of anyway. The three of us used to crash at my parents house in Corby the night before heading off on tour somewhere with Speedhorn. We used to watch the cheesy show UK’s Most Haunted as if part of some religious ritual that needed to be administered as part of the tour routine. Lee texted me before he got in asking if there was any chance they showed it on the box in Sweden. Would have been nice. Either way, it was still great to sit and drink tea on the sofa, in our sweatpants, with two of my best friends and just watch whatever was on whilst reminiscing. It must be three or four years since the three of us were together.

Lee has been in Sweden for a week with work, he’s a set designer or something at IKEA and being a lover of Sweden the job suits him perfectly. He was gleefully telling me about his week so I thought it callous to make any cracks about their tax scandals or the fact they’ve recently bought Lucas apartment block in Hagsätra as part of their occupation offensive. Something that has left Luc in the depths of despair. Of course I’m chuffed for Lee, he’s got a great job and as an employer they have a superb reputation, but, I thought to myself slyly, he probably doesn’t want to talk to loudly about it at Cyklopen tomorrow. The anarchist crowd wouldn’t be all that impressed.  Not that Lee would give a fuck...

Home shows as always, are strange. Had a bit of a mixed day today, starting with taking Polly to this kids dance group thing in Bagarmossen. She seems to enjoy it for the most part, but it’s one of those things where they want you as the parent to partake in the dancing too. Makes you feel like a right prick. But Polly enjoying herself is the main thing. After that we went to Love, her friend from nursery’s birthday party. They live just across the road from us and we were hanging outside eating hot dogs and drinking coffee whilst the kids ran around playing, doing their thing. Whilst we were doing this Kev and Lee went for a walk in the woods. Lee texted me asking how they should lock the door, I wrote back saying they didn’t need to. “Crazy Swedes!” he wrote back. I guess you don’t leave your door unlocked in Glasgow. Or anywhere in the UK for that matter. Kev choked in amazement yesterday when I left Polly’s pram unlocked outside the house. “Fuck me, you did that at home and some fucker would nick the wheels off it!” Horrible people, as Luc would say.

All the kid stuff done with, we take the bus to the practice room. Polly and Jen are coming by later to the show, will be the first time Poll has seen me play a gig. Looking forward to seeing her there in her big cute ear protectors. Whilst on the way Luc texts asking if anyone can bring headache tablets to practice, saying his head is banging. I ask him if he’s hungover, knowing that his uncle is in town visiting. He vehemently denies this is the case though. “No, not at all. It’s just I was up at fucking seven am this morning to meet my uncle at Skansen at nine. And I didn’t get home until midnight last night!” Jesus Christ… He’s the oldest young person I know. He has a strict sleep routine in the week, where he’s tucked in bed by ten thirty. He cherishes a bit of shut eye. What he’s telling us now is that last night’s lack of sleep, just shy of seven hours, has caused this headache. Love him.

Luc turns up and we hang outside for a while, catching up with Lee whilst we wait for Stix, who is late. The fucker was at the Madness gig at Gröna Lund last night, where incidentally we’d been with Kev and Polly, but left before all the numpties started turning up for the show. We had good fun pissing around on the cups and saucers and the fun house etc. Poll seems to have inherited her mother’s love of carousels and roller coasters. Kev wasn’t so in to it, we got him on the ladybug mini coaster and he sat there cursing at it as we zipped about, Polly laughing her head off. Anyway, Vik turns up hungover to piss, clutching a can of ready made Gin and Tonic, saying Madness were shit. Kev just shakes his head and tuts, “Fucking Madness...daft”.

Practice goes pretty well anyway, Kev singing the songs pretty tight and Vik raucously clearing his throat between each block of songs. We pack up and take the bus with all our gear over to Cyklopen. Last time we did this it was packed and the old bag driving the bus showed no mercy, made us all alight at the front and struggle down the aisle with all the big cases. Thankfully this time the bus was empty. We get to Cyklopen a little while before it opens and hang out doing not a lot of anything until doors open and people start filling the place up. Ronny has organised the show nicely though, he’s cordoned off the room on the third floor as a band bar and hang out room. Perfect, we sit up there munching on crisps whilst Luc, Lee and Kev head off to Luc’s to pick up a box of merch. Stix is straight on the free beer, although he’s brought a couple of his own, actually went and bought a fucking cooler bag to bring them in, he’s been moaning about the lack of quality brew that normally accompanies these gigs. Unbelievable.

By the time Luc and the guys get back, Polly and Jen are already here. The weather isn’t too bad, so we’re hung outside for the most part, although we take a bit of a peak at Utanförskapet. The sound is a bit muffled. Even though you’re allowed to use your own gear here now, they’ve finally done away with that nonsense in-house combos rule, the place just isn’t really made for punk rock gigs. It’s a great house, I really love it, but the sound is always a downside. It does sound better than last time I was here though, I have to say. Utanförskapet are pretty good. Never been a big fan but they get people going, especially when they burn off a Svart Parad cover. Whenever I see the old boy on vocals with the silly hat doing the hand moves though I think of Jon, the two of them get on pretty well. Me and Luc met them outside a gig here once, both of them fucked. Jon introduced us, but the old boy totally blanked us. Cracked us up.

Next up is Strul and fuck me do they blow me away. It’s a bit emotional too, since their drummer, Granath, passed away a few months ago. Really strong of them to go on with the gig. Andreas starts by dedicating the gig to him and after that they just don’t let up. Great energy the whole show. Polly loves it too, bouncing up and down by the merch table with Jen, those big ear protectors cupping her adorable round cheeks. Makes your heart melt. The place is packed watching them, and still early, you know it’s going to to be a good night. Last nights hangovers reset to square one for a lot of the punks here.

I have one beer before we play, being early and having had no grub I need to take it easy. I’m looking forward to playing a set of songs primarily from the new album, first time for most of them, so I want it to be good. There’s a bit of a delay with the punks coming back at the start of our set, but they gradually filter in, although there aren’t as many people as there were for Strul. I’m not really sure we fit in with the crust crowd to be honest. I don’t know where we fit it, maybe a bit in-between scenes, I seem to have a habit of playing in bands like that. Anyway, the set feels pretty good, and a showing of mates are down the front. The Axe Rash guys, as always are dancing away smiling as we play. I have the feeling the sound gets a bit better as the set goes on too. More than anything, it’s great fun watching Cornelia get up and sing Magick Hour with us. It’s been awhile since she’s been on stage and she gets a great reception. Think she had a great time too.

Pretty satisfied with the gig I head outside to find Jen and Poll. I noticed Jen taking her out near the start of our set. Guess Poll digged Strul more than us. Jen said as soon as we started playing Poll asked her, “What’s pappa doing with his head?” and then after the first song said she was hungry and they went out to get food. Brilliant. To be fair, the vegan food truck outside was serving a mean kebab! Something I ravished a while later. Once packed up I take my guitars to the car over in the parking lot by the skate park. There is some punk there who is loitering about and he tries to start a conversation with me, but Poll has other ideas, she wants to show me something up on the hill. I apologise and leave him with Jen whilst Poll points to the skaters flying around the park. When I get back the punk, who is wearing a Victims shirt, is still there, obviously waiting for me. I say bye to the girls and then walk back with him. He asks me what band I play in. I tell him as well as the band he has emblazoned across his chest that I play in Diagnosis? Bastard! He tells me he’s never heard DB and doesn’t like the new Victims album. Good talk. He then tells me In Blood is his favourite Victims record and he’s tried to book us in Göteborg a few times but it hasn’t worked out for some reason. It has the slightest undertone of something, but I can’t put my finger on it. God knows… I need a beer.

I get back just as Sikas band Swordwielder is starting up. The place is fucking packed now. They seem to have a good buzz going on around them, chuffed for Sikas. They sound great as well, playing a lot slower, kind of Bolt Thrower meets Amebix. The only thing for me is that it goes on a bit too long, but then anything over twenty minutes I deem too long, but in general I enjoy the gig. Good band to drink beer to.  And it's great to see Sikas play, he's owning it up there, totally in his element.  The crowd are into it big time too. Kev reckons it's daft though. I look at Lee and he’s well into it, keeps smiling and saying to me, “This is more my pace!” I crack up, I didn’t really take into account that this show isn’t really his thing as far as music goes, but Lee is never one for letting that get in the way of things. He just loves hanging out. Fuck sakes, he’s straight edge and toured with Speedhorn for years, says a lot about his social skills.

After they’re done we hang out upstairs for a while, sitting down at a long table with Sikas and a few others and drinking away. There is a box of red wine which everybody seems to be ignoring but me. I enjoy a couple of glasses. It’s a good crack, Sikas is in good form. Always, always with that cheeky grin on his face. At some point he gets up from around the back of the table, squeezing himself out of the tight space to grab another beer and when he gets back instead of going through the hassle of squeezing back around the table to his spot on the bench sofa he simply vaults himself over the table WWF style, no hands, barely spilling a drop.

We catch Kev on the way down, he’s been watching Ursut. Afterwards he tells the guys that he much prefers their album on 45 rpm, saying it’s way better than when played on the intended 33. Kev has no truth filter when he’s had a few. The guys seemed to take it well though. Kev has a knack of talking shit to people without offending them. Fuck knows how he does it. Kev repeats, with the slightests of slurs, this information to us a few times, “I told em, they were alright about it.” He’s obviously more sauced up than I realised.

Anyway, we’re on our way down to watch Meanwhile. I was really looking forward to seeing them again since the last time we played with them, and they really don’t play very often, was with Forward and the sound was awful. Well, the sound was miniscule combo amps. It was going to be great to see them playing on their own, full gear again, even if the decibel limit intruded somewhat on the fun. The place was of course packed out by the time they start the set. I took a higher vantage point on the tables behind the merch stand, along with the Strul guys. The atmosphere in the place was great, everyone chuffed to see one of Sweden’s most legendary punk bands in many people’s, including own, opinion. Just as they’re about to start I catch a glimpse of Viktor down in the crowd, motioning over to Sikas on the other side of the room who I guess is heading to the bar, to get a beer. Sikas throws an open can of beer across the heads in the crowd, the width of the fucking room, and amazingly Vik raises both hands and plucks it out of the air without spilling a drop! I then see Luc a few rows of bodies behind him looking at me, who has also seen this, and we both stand there in jaw gaping amazement as Vik is chugging away on the beer. Cheeky fucking bastard!

The Meanwhile set is absolutely brilliant. So much better than last time. You can see Kenko is really into it this time around too.  They just flatten the place. So much so that I can no longer stand hanging back here, and when I see Luc rolling about on top of the crowd for the second time I jump down and get stuck in. It’s not often I get into the old mosh pit these days, I am thirty-eight after all, but sometimes you just can’t help it. And the rest of the DB guys are there too, as well as a bunch of other friends who are probably a bit too old for this crack too. Good times. Afterwards, when the crowd is filtering away for fresh air, Kev mumbles in my ear, “If we had daft hair like their singer we’d be legends too”. Doubt it, buddy. Doubt it.

I head outside with Vik and Bea and tuck into one of those vegan kebabs, the three of us demolishing the fuckers and waxing lyrical about how good they are. They are fucking good. I catch up with my old friend Danne Söderberg, one of my oldest friends in Stockholm, one of those that due to life I rarely get the chance to see anymore. It’s a bummer but that’s the way it is. We’re constantly saying we should catch up over a coffee but then six months disappears in a whirlwind of kids, jobs, school, the rest... Until you’re back to messaging on social media about how we should catch up over a coffee. Funny thing is, we bumped into Danne, Jenina and their kids at Gröna Lund yesterday, totally random. He said he was coming tonight so it’s good to see he made it. Another funny thing is that Jenina mentioned to Kev how they’d been in a van together on tour way back when Kev was in Dead Inside. Jenina was friends with Symsey and Kay and worked in the same circles. Funny little punk rock world we live in.

Anyway, Danne is standing with Luc and Ragnar and some others and we get talking about various matters. I owe him a mix tape, me and Jen are doing a side each, and he’s asking where that is. I reassure him it’s on the way. Danne says he liked the gig, and then he makes my fucking day. He says he hears a lot of screamo in DB, which causes me to jump up and down with joy, since me and Kev are big screamo fans, proper screamo mind, and Luc and Vik hate it. Luc, rolling his eyes, jokes and says, “You obviously didn’t see the gig then?”, to which Danne replies, “You obviously haven’t heard screamo”. Fucking dancer!

The beers are flowing and for the most part we’re sat upstairs chirping like sparrows. I already know my head is going to hurt tomorrow but fuck it. The only other band I see are the headliners, Raw Power, the legendary Italian hardcore band from the 80’s. There is a split opinion about them, but I have a good time, and once again I’m down in the mosh pit, along with Christoffer DS13 who is a dedicated fan, as well as a bunch of others. Sure, the singer is a little stiff, but he’s old as fuck and credit to him for still attempting the odd hardcore jump now and again. More than anything, it’s just really good fun. There are so many friends here tonight who have travelled from all over, having a great time, that you just can’t help get carried away with the wave.

The place empties out pretty quickly after Raw Power, the curfew on Cyklopen is pretty tight due to sensitive neighbours and there is no chance of a late bar here. Ronny kindly directs everyone to the karaoke bar over in Högdalen and we all head there. The DB guys, Kev lagging behind pissed, Bea, Lee, Ragnar, Andreas from Strul, Andy Victims… Real good gang. The place is shady as fuck though. We turn up carrying cases of gear, merch etc. and the bouncers just look at us unimpressed, making sure they direct us upstairs to the bar with the karaoke, determined to keep us out of the lower floor where all the casual kids are hanging out. Fuck that. The upper floor has pretty much been invaded by punks from the gig. We grab some beers and find a booth, sit down and carry on gabbing. Andy and Bea are over by the bar, chatting to someone else, Luc is on the karaoke with this guy we met earlier who used to live in England and play drums in Beast As God, random. The two of them are singing Fight For Your Right by the Beasties, Luc headbanging between every line, waving his beer in the air. Right next to him, sat at the bar, is what must be the only non-punk in the place, some old guy looking bored as fuck. Luc is totally oblivious to him as he wafts his pint glass around. We crack up at the sight of it. Lee has seen it all a thousand times though, and being the routined straight-edger that he is, he’s up there filming it all for the sake of documentation.

I’m starting to get pretty pissed myself now, something that becomes quite apparent when I get up to go for a piss and when I come back Ragnar is holding my wallet in his hand. Bad deal. Thank fuck for Ragnar, I don’t need that anxiety in the morning, the hangover is going to be bad enough. We sit and have a bit more of the crack, the anxiety of nearly pissing my wallet away soon subsiding when I spot Kev sat sleeping in the booth next to ours. Lee whips his camera out again. The house lights come on at one am, and everyone shuffles out. There’s talk of more after party, our friend Julia is doing her best to round up the troops, but I know it’s time to go home.

We head over to the tube station from where Luc decides to take a cab home with the gear. Fuck knows what happens, but as he’s lugging his gear into the cab, a previously unseen quartet of local gangster youths are on our back, or more accurately, in our faces. It takes me a second to work out what the fuck is going on, especially as they are all talking English in ridiculous fake London accents. They must only be about sixteen. I say “only”, they would probably wipe the floor with us old farts. They seem upset, accusing Kev of having told them to “do one”. I guess they were in the way as Luc was trying to make his way to the cab or something. I’m obviously drunk because I get into it with them, taking the piss out of them, as Kev steadfastly inquires into where in London they’re from. They’ve apparently said they are, as a matter of fact, from London. Although they are quite obviously not. Kev is up close to one of them, asking over and over where they’re from, although he’s doing it in the friendliest voice he can muster, feigning interest, telling them he too lives in London. The kid is obviously wishing he hadn’t bothered, and is now sheepishly telling Kev to back up. This other kid, the apparent ringleader, keeps telling me to step back, get out of his face, but not actually threatening anything. I’m not threatening anything either, I’m not actually anywhere near his face. It’s all getting quite pathetic. Lee is with us, and he’s loving it. This is right up the Glaswegian’s street. He’s saying fuck all but out of the three of us, he’d be the first one into the swedge. I can sense he’s hoping it happens. There are two security guards stood around chatting right next to the whole scene, but they’re doing their best to ignore it. Luc is just getting on with sorting the cab out, pissed and uninterested.  I challenge Ringleader as to where I should back up to, taking a step back at a time and asking, “Is here okay? Is here okay?” The booze filling me with adrenaline and giving me a buzz.

Ringleader actually utters the line, “Do you kna where you are?”. I just look at him, genuinely confused, “Er, I thought I was in Högdalen..” The mouth on these lads though you could swear you were in Lewisham. They obviously think Högdalen should be treated with respect. Pathetic. Kev is still in the smaller kids face asking where he’s from. This is starting to get a little boring by this point. Ringleader chirps in, “My dad is from Hayes”. Kev quaffs, “Hayes?! Hayes?! That’s in Kent!” looking like he’s about to piss himself laughing. The heat rescinds to a tepid simmer just as Vik and a mob of mates are seen entering the tube station boisterously, totally oblivious to us, a few feet away. The kid defeatedly shakes Kev’s hand and Ringleader skulks off, probably muttering something about Högdalen and Hayes. Total cock.

Luc is long gone and we head down to the train. Me and Lee ask Kev what that was all about really, confused as to how it all started. They seemed really upset by the fact Kev had allegedly told them to do one, something I’m sure was a misunderstanding. “Nah, I did tell em to do one” Kev says, totally unfazed. Fuck sakes, can’t believe we nearly all got into a scrap because of that old pillock. How would I explain that one to Polly in the morning, big fucking black eye on the go, stinking of beer. Shame immediately overcomes me. What the fuck was I playing at? I’m not a fighter. My ass would have been handed to me by those kids. The danger filter had been destroyed by the booze but now it’s back and I’m quickly sinking into the depths of parental guilt. It’s gone by the time we get down to the platform and begin to recount the story to a bemused, amused Vik. I can see he’s wishing he’d been up there with us since he likes a bit of a chat when he’s had drink.

Lee, Kev and I end up walking the twenty minutes from Skärmarbrink station since the 17 train to Kärrtorp is half hour away and Kev is dying for a piss. I don’t mind the walk anyway, always take walking over waiting around. We walk across Nytorpsgärde, a big recreation field that separates Kärrtorp and Skärmarbrink. It’s two am and the field is covered in a low lying dark mist. We walk through it, our feet getting wet in the grass, shivering slightly in the haunting cold. I’m fucking knackered by now. It really is time for bed. Just after a cup of tea and a bit of tv.

Gdynia

Managed to get my ass out of bed and into town with Jen this morning. Felt pretty knackered when I woke up but it was worth it. Driving out to Skavsta airport in Nyköping today, or Stockholm if you’d be daft enough to believe Ryanair, so a couple of hours shaking of any potential hangover was probably required. We sat and had a really nice breakfast at this place Greasy Spoon, just down the road from Kafe 44 on Söder. Not often the two of us get to do this kind of thing with Polly running the show, I would have felt shit if I’d decided to stay in bed for an extra couple of hours.

Luc texts me in the morning to tell me that he and Kev ended up in some karaoke bar in Högdalen, pissed up with the Axe Rash guys, Kev getting all emotional, saying it was important for him to have other friends in Stockholm besides us lot. Can only imagine the scene… I meet Jon out at the practice space at midday. I find him sat outside on a bench, face red as Santa’s suit. “Late night last night?” I ask him. “Nah, not at all. We left around twelve”. Funny that, I left at one and they were still there then. Andy is already here so we pack the gear into the back of my car and get going. We’re leaving well early, our flight isn’t until five thirty but there has been a bit of chaos by Södertälje bridge, some numpty drive lorry driver ploughed straight into it, leaving the road closed for the summer, which has led to the traffic authorities warning that the journey to Skavsta could take four times as long as usual. Being Friday afternoon we’re taking no chances. As it happens, the journey is smooth. Only takes a couple of hours, Andy up front with me, Jon sleeping in the back, stinking of booze. Andy is laughing about last night, says he left a few songs into Forward because he couldn’t stand the piss sound anymore, says as he was heading home he found Marku the Finn cuddling the lamp post by the zebra crossing outside Cyklopen. Fuck knows how that journey up to Umeå is going to pan out for the guys today.

Johan is meeting us at the airport since he came out last night with the family for what will be the start of their holiday once we get back from Poland. Given that we’re well ahead of time, and given that we’ve already received a text from Wizz Air saying that the flight is delayed until seven pm, we drive into town to find an alternative to eating a shite lunch at the airport. As we’re walking through the small town centre of Nyköping, the birthplace of Victims itself, Andy remarks that he wouldn’t be surprised if we bumped into his dad. Literally two minutes later Andy points over to an old boy sat outside a Greek restaurant with a pint in his hand, “There he is!” We head over to say hello to him. Apparently this is his regular haunt. He’s retired now and does the odd job for the guys who run the place in exchange for the odd brew.

We head over to a kebab/pizza place called Campino’s. Well it’s called something else now, but as far as Nyköping legend goes it’s called Campino’s. This is where you hung out after closing hours back in the day, where the party continued, everyone bringing beer in with them. The pizza is good anyway, although I unintentionally commit blasphemy by not ordering the kebab sauce. A mistake Jon and Andy avoid, both being seasoned in the Nyköping scene.

By the time we get to the airport it’s just around four. Even though the flight is delayed we still have to check in at the regular time. It’s not until we’ve parked in the mid term parking lot that we remember that we have nine pieces of baggage and only three pairs of hands. We stuff the bass pedal into Jon’s big holdall along with the merch suitcase Uriah, and I crack up as he whips the thing onto his back and struggles along with it and a couple of other items. Thankfully some ignorant arse has left their luggage trolley in the car park and Jon is quickly relieved of his last. We meet up with Johan outside the airport entrance and he tells us that he’s already asked about check in and been told you have to do it online. Of course, we’re too late to now do that, being that the cutoff point for that is two hours before the scheduled departure. The guy working the desk if only too happy to tell us that it will cost five hundred fucking kronors per person. After some absolutely pointless arguing we head over to the service desk and pay the bill, although it actually comes to one thousand four, instead of two thousand. I guess that’s some sort of tactic to take the sting out of the price. The boy back at check in beaming again as we approach. I ask him if he knows why the flight is delayed, he jokes, “I’m not actually the pilot, how would I know?” Can’t work out if I like this guy or if I despise every last morsel of him.

Once sorted we head over to the bar for a much needed beer. As fucking cack as this tiny aiport is the patio outside looks inviting. “That they have the nerve to charge “real airport” prices at this place is a scandal!” grumbles Andy behind me as we’re stood in line for a pint. It is nice to sit down outside with a cold one and have a chat though. Still no message on the flight delay though, and longer and we’ll be cutting it a bit fine with set time, which is due for ten twenty. The flight in only short though, and the airport is supposedly a half hour from the venue so hopefully we’ll be fine. Have to say though, these last few trips with Victims haven’t exactly gone smoothly.

I’d almost forgotten how spine tinglingly rotten this airport is. At one time in my life I was through here as much as twice a month, when I’d first met Jen and still had Speedhorn in the UK. Then I had no other choice than Ryanair. I haven’t flown with that abomination of a company since Speedhorn finished, and this is the first time I’ve been back here in a passenger capacity since. Despite the fact that a few more airlines have started operating out of here and more and more departures with it, the building hasn’t grown any. It was always small but now it feels tiny and the place is fucking swarming. I don’t fancy the barman’s job much, fucking noise in here would be enough to drive you to a flamethrower. I therefore do nothing to stress the guy over the extremely long time it’s taking to pour my Guinness.

The flight leaves at seven and only takes forty five minutes. Filip is waiting for us on the other side of customs, a big old smile on his face. It’s been a while. Always good to see him. Filip is a real staple of the punk community in Europe. We tried to make this fest of his work last year but we just couldn’t work it out with our schedule. Glad to be here now anyway. Filip leads us out to his road worn punk van and as we throw our bags into the back Jon’s eyes light up at the stacks of beer crates inside. Warm or not Jon is no mood to haggle and he does the honours and pulls out four of the bastards. I abstain but Johan happily takes one, as does Andy who is sat up front.

We arrive at the festival which is at a venue the guys played with Rotten Sound back in 2008, the last proper tour before I joined. It’s a decent sized place with a high stage in a room that could probably hold around eight hundred with the narrow balcony open. There are a bunch of stalls out back in the parking lot selling merch, food and beer and plenty of punks hanging around. We dump our stuff in the backstage room as Misantropic from Umeå are onstage doing their thing. Sounds solid as fuck from the side of the stage and they seem to be having a great time playing to a room full of sweaty punks. One of the guys running the fest gives us an envelope of passes, beer and food tickets and then heads off again. Not really knowing where to set merch up Johan and I head off in search of somewhere to dump it once Misantropic have finished but can’t really find a decent location. The stalls outside are all distros and the couple of tables up on the balcony feel completely out of the way, where nobody will find them. We head back outside and see our fellow Swedes stood up against the wall, a t-shirt gaffa taped to said wall behind them, one of the guys selling shirts, the other holding them over their arm. We decide we’ll do the same after we’ve played, hopefully the rain that is just starting to drizzle down won’t get any heavier.

The guys from Torso are lying about backstage looking kind of bored. They’ve been out on the road in Europe for almost a month now and they’ve been hanging out here all day. We met them when they played with us in Oakland a couple of months ago and it’s really nice to see them again. Great people. The drummer Giacomo is very bubbly, full of energy, and seems to have a smile surgically implanted on his mug. He’s bouncing around behind the stage whilst the others lay about on the sofa in the backstage room. I’m really fucking hungry but it’s far too close to gig time to eat dinner now and not wanting to drink beer on an empty stomach I opt for coffee. Andy is good enough to head off into the crowd with an empty kettle in search of water. It would have been nice if we’d arrived on time and had time to eat before but what can you do. I do feel pretty weak from the lack of food though, thankfully Johan has some of his protein bars in his bag and he hands me one. It fucking saves me. Ten minutes later we’re up on stage setting up and I feel ready to kick the shit out of this gig. There is a good buzz in the room as we line check the gear and you just want to get going. Our old friend Milosz from Mourne appears just before we start and approaches us all separately wishing us a good show before we play. He looks a little tipsy, the smile and the cheeky eyes giving it away.

Sometimes the sound on stage is so good it’s like you’re miming to a record. It’s like the guitar just plays itself it’s so easy. What a difference from this time yesterday! The room is full and the crowd are going crazy. Jon acknowledges them and says, “It’s good to be back in Gdynia”. It truly is. The only thing holding me back tonight is the fact that we have promised an extra special forty minute set. Given the fact that we’re headlining we couldn’t really get away with twenty five minutes, considering they’re paying for flights, hotel and fee on top of that and given the fact that Doom are headlining tomorrow and playing for an hour. We buffed up the set with four songs making it an eighteen song setlist, must be some sort of record for us. To think that we regularly played an hour with Speedhorn back in the day. How the fuck did we not bore everyone including ourselves to sleep? Anyway, even holding back a little, I feel a crick in my fucking neck about five songs in and it gives me hassle the rest of the set. The lamps on stage are hot as fucking lava aswell and I swear I can feel my bonce burning. That aside, it’s a fucking great gig. Even at forty minutes I feel I could do another couple of songs but when we leave the stage the lights come on and people start to shuffle off. Apart from a couple down front who are pleading for Andy’s drumsticks. All in all, a nice way to finish off this run of shows we’ve been playing since April.

I cool down and then enjoy watching Torso from the side of the stage, just in front of the PA. They sound great and are tight as fuck. Giacomo is an extremely entertaining drummer, full of energy and bouncing all over the kit. The guitarist full of moves, doing the high kick thing made famous by the hardcore crowd. I can’t help but admire him with his moves whilst at the same time playing fast and tight as fuck. Being straight edge and not an unfit twat like myself must make playing that way a lot easier. I wonder if I’ll ever pack in drinking completely and get a bit healthier, it’s something I think about more the older I get. Saying that, it’s something I’ve thought about many times over the years, especially on the back of a hangover. Once when we were young kids in Corby we decided to quit drinking for a while. We actually lasted a few weeks but then when we gave in and started up again my mate Slaven reasoned whilst carressing his pint, “It’s who we are Gaz, there’s no point denying our heritage”, as he looked round the Ev’s at the crowd of old boys long since defeated by it.

After Torso I head outside and decide it’s time to cash in some tickets and get some grub, and a beer to wash it down. I find the other three guys stood outside shifting some merch and talking to a punters. There is still a drizzle in the night air but it’s far from cold. Milosz finds us, looking even more pissed by this point, the cheeky smile all but faded away and his usual hardened look back in place. Part of Milosz charm is undoubtedbly his bleak outlook on life. He fingers Jon’s t-shirt and snorts, “What’s this?” Before Jon can answer he continues, “I get it. Stoner rock”. Jon is actually wearing a Morbid Angel “Altars of Madness” t-shirt, leaving Jon all the more confused. He then turns his stare on me, “What are you going to write about me this time?” referring to when we last met on tour in the States. Milosz had recently cut his dreadlocks off, something that gave our driver and Milosz old friend Matt cause to berate him. It all got taken the wrong way, things were said and written. What I found the funniest was Matt’s reaction to Milosz new hair cut, which I personally found very dashing. Anyway, things have moved on since then and last time I saw Matt he was wearing a white t-shirt and blue jeans. I’d like to think we had a positive influence on him.

We miss the first chance of a ride back to Fillip’s place where we’re sleeping since he’s headed off to pick the Doom guys up from the airport. We’re all staying at the holiday resort he ownes and lives at. I could honestly have taken the ride but the other guys seem to be in the mood for anohter beer. Oscar from Ursut and some other Swedes come up and say heloo, he’s playing here with his other band tomorrow. He’s obviously had a few to drink and keeps bangning on about how good we were, but it’s really over the top. “I walked in when you were playing and you were so good I was embarrassed!” His girlfriend rightly points out that that makes no sense. It’s fun hanging out with them for a while though. This other punk girl who is with them introduces herself to me as Moa. She tells me she works with K-Town Hardcore Fest and would love to have us play. That makes two of us, I tell her. We chat for a while and say we’ll stay in touch. Who knows, I might be able to get both DB and Victims on. That would be a hoot to say the least.

Our ride is ready to take us to Fillip’s around one am. It’s about a half hour ride and there are warm beers to pass around in the dark. I abstain again, waiting for the cold stuff that Fillip has on tap at his place. When we arrive Fillip takes us to our challet and then we head back to his house where the Doom guys are already drinking. Last time we were here it was after our own gig iN Gdynia and Jen and Stachel were with us, we had a fantastic night chilling out in the bar, Jon playing bartender behind the pump. I’d hoped that’s where we would be hanging out tonight but I guess with all the people here it’s easier for Fillip to keep us at his house, away from the other guests. Apart from the Doom guys, baring Dennis, there are a bunch of other punks hanging aroud drinking beer that is regularly arriving on trays and tucking into the grub laid out on the dining table.

Johan, Jon and I are stood over in the kitchen area when some long haired guys wearing glasses approaches me and asks if I like hot food, he’s carrying a little bowl of sauce with him. Only too happy I tuck in. He tells me that he’s branching out into the hot sauce business and this is his own recipe. I soon come to realise that this friendly chap I’m talking too is the infamous Mike Champagne, a name I’ve heard many times about the scene and a friend of many of my own. It’s a pleasure to finally meet him. We spend the next hour or so chatting away, mainly about hot sauce and a little on other subjects, like Andy’s old band Suicide Blitz, it seems Mike is one of the few people who liked that band…

There is another guy here tonight, some English guy, who knows Andy from way back it seems. Andy tells me that they were talking about me a while before, the guy obviously curious as to the story with the English guy in Victims. Andy says when he told him I used to be in Speedhorn the guy looked absolutely shocked, or even horrified. Speedhorn isn’t always too good for my punk rock credentials, especially since the band was often ignorantly thrown in with the nu-metal crowd, which is our own fault in essence since we did indeed tour and play a bunch of shows with a bunch of horrible bands back in the day. Andy assured him that I was okay, though, says to me, “I told him you were the most hardcore of the lot of us”. Me and English barely say a word to each other though, I feel too embarrassed to approach him. Silly really.

Obviously having comfortable beds and a late afternoon flight home tomorrow we make the most of a good night’s sleep and head to bed around four thirty. As I said, time off from our kids is never spent catching up on sleep…

I sleep solidly through unttil eleven thirty, feeling pretty damn good when I wake up. I’m the first to rise too. I make the most of it and jump in the shower. When the rest awake we head back over to Fillip’s and sit down to breakfast with Scoot and Bry from Doom. They really are the nicest bunch of people you could meet. Just as we’re finishing up Dennis arrives, usual tired look on his face. He asks us when we’re playing and when Andy says we already played last night and we’re soon heading home Dennis moans, “Aaargh, you guys are the only reason to be here!” Sweet he is. We say our goodbyes to the guys and head back to the room to get our gear. We pass Stick on the way who is looking giddish, don’t know if he’s stoned or what. “Byeeee” he says, giving a clown like wave and giggling like a child up to no good.

This is the last trip for a while. We’ve been busier since April than we have for the last four years. It’s been good to be out playing with the guys again, and the gigs have been a lot of fun, even if getting to them, with all our gear, has been entirely free of hassle. Still, I’m looking forward to a bit of a break now. I’m enjoying working at the homeless shelter, more than I’ve enjoyed any job for a long time, and I’m looking forward to going down to Italy on holiday with the girls in a couple of weeks. Summer is already half way done and before I know it I’ll be starting university for the first time in my life. Twenty years after my mates in Corby took the plunge. I’m really looking forward to studying sociology at Stockholm University. As much as it will be a challenge it’s a challenge I’m looking forward to. I think I will be okay.

Next time we play with Victims will be at the end of August, just before I start uni, at Cyklopen. If our demands over using our own gear are met. Otherwise the next show will be in September, with DB, at Cyklopen. We’ll play whatever the deal, although it would be nice to play with a good sound, we’not going to cancel the gig if not. Unlike Victims, who will. I guess the difference is, Victims have been around almost twenty years and have done fuck knows how many gigs of that type. After that amount of time I think you’ve earned the right to have expectations from a show. We’ll see what happens with it. Like Johan said on the way home, “We’ll turn up at the venue with our gear. If they refuse to let us load it up on stage, we’ll leave”. Can’t get much clearer than that.