The Bar

Sunday is always the slowest day of the week. It used to be that Monday was the quiet night in the bar, but since Pet Sounds, the bar down the road, started putting live bands on, Sunday has become the lazy shift. I like it.

I have a two week schedule at work. Sunday and Monday nights alternate with each other. The only thing that really bothers me about working Sunday is that I miss the football on tv, but otherwise it's ok. It's usually just some of the regulars combined with the odd dinner guest now and then, although some nights there are no dinner guests at all, and when the regulars leave around eleven pm, I'm completely alone in the bar. I quite like that too, even though it can be a strange feeling, sitting there on your own, money in the till, nobody around to help out if some psycho with a baseball bat comes walking through the door. Thankfully, that never happens.

When it's quiet like that, I just make myself a cup of coffee and pull out a magazine to read. We have loads of records and music magazines in the bar, so it can be pretty cosy, sitting there on your own, having a cup of coffee in peace. Most of the records on the shelves in the bar aren't records that I have on my own shelves at home, but again, I don't mind that either. I'd rather not listen to my own records all day at work. It's nice to have a break from them. It's the same when I go on tour, I don't take any records to listen to in the van. I take my Ipod, but I barely listen to it. I like to miss my collection, so by the time I get home, I'm happy to see it again.

Besides, it's fun to listen through other people's record collections. The owners of the bar are huge on new wave punk and latter-day indie. Through working at Snotty I've learned to appreciate some of that music, since I didn't have much of a check on it previously. I've especially gotten into stuff like Television and Gang of Four, and have since bought records by those bands. Don't get me wrong though, sometimes I ache just to put on a Black Flag record, or Jerry's Kids, or Eyehategod, but it isn't that kind of place.

So tonight was a typical Sunday night at work. A couple of the regulars were in, sat at the bar, and there were a few other guests sat over by the tables, the odd familiar face dotted amongst them. Eleven hours can seem like a long time when there isn't much to do. I usually do the week's inventory and ordering on these slow days, as well as a general clean of the bar, but that doesn't exactly keep me busy for the whole eleven hours of the shift. So it helps that there are some regulars in, and some kind of a conversation can be struck up. Even though some people just talk about the same thing, every single day, constantly repeating themselves whilst I reciprocate in kind, acting as if each time is actually the first time, the regulars help nights like tonight pass by that little bit quicker.

The main trouble with not having anything to do at work, is that if out of the blue, a large crowd of people turn up, it can fuck you up completely. You have no tempo at all. Through hours of standing around chatting idly, the body sets in to that mode for the night and it's hard to break out of it if, all of a sudden you're faced with a group of people, all ordering at once. Sometimes there will be a crowd of six or seven people that turn up outside the door and peer through the window, inspecting the bar and apparently debating whether to come inside, and I'll stand there staring at them, willing them to just continue on down the road. Often when a group of that size turn up on a quiet night, they walk in like they own the place, and that really gets on my fucking tits.

Tonight there been no such large groups. Things were rolling along smoothly and I was in a pretty good mood. But then, the other kind of trouble walks in through the door. Not the large group of assholes thinking they own the place, but the lone drunk who is in dire need of contact with somebody. Anybody...

He walks in with a ruck-sack slung across his back. As soon as I see him I know this is going to be a nightmare. He looks haggard, dirty and troubled. He looks about mid sixties, but I wouldn't be surprised if he's actually a lot younger than that. It's obvious that life has certainly had a good pop at this poor bastard.

People like these are the most difficult to deal with. If you don't handle the situation correctly it can get very awkward. If he's drunk already then it's easy, but if not, then it's way harder to deal with. He certainly looks like an alcoholic, and I can smell him well before he gets to the bar. But, I can't not serve him because he's homeless and we don't want their kind in the bar. Of course not. I'd happily give him some food and a cup of coffee on the house, if that is what he's after. But it's not food and coffee he's looking for. It never is. He wants booze. And what makes it a shitty situation, is if you have the luck of being their first port of call... I don't want to be a part of somebody's drinking problem, but how do you tell a sober person you're not serving them because you believe they look like an alcoholic. Maybe they're not, maybe the guy is just a manky looking cunt and I've just insulted him. Although, it's not exactly any easier telling somebody they're not welcome because they stink.

The guy plonks his bag on the floor and his arse on a bar-stool, and then quite steadily, orders a beer. In English. I ask him how he is tonight and he tells me he's fine, thanks. He looks a state but he seems sober enough. I do the cowardly thing and pour him a glass of lesser strength beer, hoping he'll be satisfied with that and leave afterwards. As soon as I put the glass in his hand and take his money though, I regret it.

Almost immediately the fucker starts mumbling to himself and picking his nose. There are a couple of young girls sat adjacent to him, who obviously feel uncomfortable. I go over to him again, giving him a concerned look whilst placing my hand on his forearm, and again ask him if he's ok. He looks confused now, like why am I asking him again? Well, because you're sat at the bar talking to yourself and eating your own bogies, fucko! Shit, I've fucked up here and I need to start working on getting him out.

I engage him in quiet, friendly conversation, in an attempt to keep him calm and keep the other guests from being disturbed. He asks me if it's ok to speak English, to which I reply that it's fine. I tell him I'm an Englishman and that I'd welcome the chance to converse in the Queen's with a fellow speaker. I'm hoping this is going to work in my favour. It does, but only for the briefest of time.

He tells me that he's Finish and has been living in Thailand for thirty years, although recently he's been staying in Copenhagen. I feign interest and ask him about what he did when he lived in Thailand. He tells me he was living there for a while, just bumming around, and then he was in prison. I don't ask him why, I just reply that that must have sucked ass. He says it was ok. He tells me he likes Denmark but he doesn't like Sweden. It is of his opinion that Swedish society is far too busy involving themselves in every individuals lives, that the laws on the serving of alcohol here are nothing but shit. I kind of agree with him as it happens, but I refrain from telling him that.

The conversation is now taking a turn for the worse. He seems to be working himself up, all on his own, angry that the Swedish government tell him he can't drink exactly as he wants to. He sees it that if he wants to drink and get fucked up, then that's nobody business but his own. By this point I have to ask him how much he's had to drink tonight, since it's by now become obvious that he isn't sober. Wrong question... He just gets angrier. What the fuck is happening to my lazy Sunday night?

“What the fuck business is it of yours how much I've had to drink?” he hisses at me. I tell him that it is my business if he's in my bar. I quietly tell him to calm down. He does. I tell him that it's probably not a good idea for him to drink anything else tonight, to which he just waves me off, irritatedly grunting a simple “Yeah, yeah”...

I keep an eye on him as he sits there and grumbles. I'm urging him to empty that fucking glass. The trouble is the cunt seems to be taking his time. Is he fucking with me?

For a minute I turn my attention to some of the other customers in the bar, but he's soon calling me back over. “You're not fucking English! If you were English then you would serve me as much beer as I fucking wanted, as long as I was paying!” I tell him that's bollocks. He's right of course.. In my dad's local pub, The Rock, I've literally seen some of the old boys passed out asleep on the carpeted floor, the landlord not even giving them a second glance. In fact, I've seen on more than one occasion, the landlord, completely off his tits, stood behind the bar serving people. I love that place. But this is Sweden and this isn't my bar. I just manage the place.

Not having time to reminisce about the Rock, my thoughts come back to this idiot in front of me. I tell him that I'm going to take his beer away and give him his money back. I take it, but by this point he doesn't even seem to care about that. “If you're English then tell me what the film I and Withnail is about! If you're English then you would know that.” I almost break into laughter at this point, but the irony is lost on the cunt.

I can't believe it but I fucking bite. “The film, “Withnail and I...”...

What the fuck am I doing? I'm stood in a bar with this radge, alcoholic tramp, who I want the fuck out of the bar, and I'm telling him what the film Withnail and I is about! I hear myself and I feel like a right turd! I cut myself off when I realise what I'm doing and I take his beer away, whilst taking his money out of the till and returning it to him. This doesn't appease him though. Now he wants to make a scene.

He angrily grapples first with his jacket and then with his bag, the whole while informing me that I wouldn't last ten minutes in a Thai jail, that I think I'm the big man stood behind the bar and that I wouldn't dare come out and face him. Now I'm not a fighter but I'm pretty sure I could wipe the floor with this drip of piss, but not being a fighter, I stand there and just offer him hushed, patronising tones. It's taking everything I have not to retaliate. “Ok now, thanks for tonight. Take care of yourself..”

He's now stood there, amongst the tables, miming the act of sucking cock and he's letting me know, just to confirm it, that I'm a cock sucking poofter. I tell him I understand what he's getting at. And then comes the classic...”One phone call and I'll have the Hell's Angels down here, and they'll burn the place down!” I can't help it by now, I shout back at him, “Fuck off, you stupid old cunt!”. Just as I'm opening my mouth the music dies down into some gentle part of whatever song is on and now the whole place is looking at me. Fucking typical! Again I feel like a right turd...

At least now, he's finally leaving. The atmosphere has turned somewhat icy though. I stand there, making sure he leaves, my heart thumping in the cage of my chest. So much for handling the situation correctly... I'm stood there staring at him leave, everyone else in the bar staring at me, staring at him. As he walks out the door he makes a feeble attempt at slamming it behind him, only for his ruck-sack to get caught on the handle. He stands there struggling with his bag and the door for a good ten seconds, threatening the door with his fist like Basil Fawlty in a scene from Fawlty Towers. This lightens the tone somewhat and a few people start to chuckle at his expense. And then I just feel sorry for him. What happened to my lazy Sunday night?

The rest of the night goes by without incident, but I have him in the back of my mind, wondering if he's going to turn up with a knife when I'm on my own, closing at the end of the night, or if indeed the Hell's Angels are going to show up with some Molotov Cocktails and torch the place... Thankfully, they don't.

I get the feeling I'll never see that poor sod ever again...

Walking The Dog

I love walking my dog. I love walking, full-stop. So having a dog that needs walking every day works out pretty well for me.

Today was the perfect dog walk. It's Tuesday, which is always my day off during the week, since Tuesday is Victims practice night. A lot of the time during the week I have to squeeze in an hour's walk with Bonzo before I hurry off to work. It's boring having to walk to a time-schedule, mainly since I have to stick to a planned route that I know will take around an hour to complete. This isn't much fun, either for me or for Bonzo I imagine. My favourite kind of walking is when you can just aimlessly walk in no particular direction, just taking each turn as it comes, with no worry about when you have to start turning back towards home.

Today was one of those days. It's not that cold out at the moment, around three degrees. In fact, compared to how it's been recently, that feels pretty warm. It's grey out though, and the streets are covered with slush, which makes the going hard at times. But with a whole afternoon without any plans ahead of me, that was no hindrance.

With my Ipod set to shuffle, the two of us set off, side by side, and returned over two hours later. When I say this walk was the perfect dog walk, I mean that in that it involved three of my favourite things. Walking. Music. Coffee.

The walk took us past Bromma airport and around the Solvalla horse-racing track, through the area of Rissne and across the fields towards Sundbybergs cemetery, around the lake Lötsjon, through Sundbyberg centrum and then back home. I picked up a pretty great cup of coffee along the way from Gröna Stugan, and enjoyed it whilst me and Bonzo stood and watched the Canadian Geese flapping around in the lake.

You might conclude that I'm easily amused. I am. I don't think I'll have any problem with being a pensioner later on in life. In fact, I look forward to it.

What made this walk today particularly great, was the soundtrack to it that my Ipod randomly picked out. It was the perfect soundtrack to the perfect walk.  I thought I'd share it with you.

Fortyonesixtyonefortythree – Canvas

His n' Hers – Some Girls

The Noise – From Ashes Rise

Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space – Spiritualized

Here For You – Neil Young

Uneventful Days – Slight Slappers

Come Inside – The Horror The Horror

Vampire – Sebadoh

Coffee Jingle – Garrison Keller & Jearlyn Steele

Sewn Mouth Secrets – Soilent Green

I Can't Stop - Victims

Flat Velocity Curve – Prolapse

Highly Enlightened – Yaphet Kotto

Regenerate – Eyelid

Dagar Utan Ljus – Victims

Raiford (The Felon Wind) – Earth

Justified And Ancient Seems A Long Time Ago – The KLF

We All, Us Three, Will Ride – Palace Music

Fourth Song – Crude

Suffering The Tyrants – Satyricon

Eclipse – Pink Floyd

Pigs (Three Different Ones) – Pink Floyd

Karpis – The Jesus Lizard

Delete The Elite – Meanwhile

Elephant Man – Mastodon

Nothing To Anything – Reality Crisis

Oh Bury Me Not – Johnny Cash

Army Of God – Behind Enemy Lines

People Get Ready – Little Jimmy Scott

Line 1 – Swing Kids

Bolden Boke Boy – Will Oldham

Facistionesta – Shut The Fuck Up

Wild Dogs Of The Thunderbolt – Set Fire To Flames

Today has been a really pleasant day off from work.  Last night, some girl who I refused service to at the bar, on the grounds of her being a drunken twat, shouted at me upon leaving in a huff that I was the worst bartender ever, and that I suck camel's cock!  I guess you can't be on-side with everyone haha. The nice thing about having a dog is that no matter what shite you have to deal with at work, or wherever else, your dog is always there, happy to be by your side.  Who ever said that dog is man's best friend, was spot on! 

I'm really looking forward to practising with Victims tonight....

Observations of an Innocent By-Stander

I had the pleasure of walking in on a cracking conversation between a real pair of idiots tonight. I love it when I'm in the right place, at the right time.

Jen and I went to the cinema to watch the film about the life of the famous Swedish/Dutch troubador, Cornelis Vreeswijk, made by Amir Chamdin. It's a bit of a big deal here in Sweden and we've been meaning to get around to watching it for a while.  Hank, the singer from Turbonegro, plays the part of Cornelis, so I thought it would be interesting to see how that worked out, if nothing else.

As usual, before going into the screen room, I went to the toilet to avoid any later discomfort during the film. I walk in to find a rather simple looking chap stood by the wash basins, having a conversation with his mate, who is in the cubicle, apparently having a shit. As I stood there taking a piss, they ramble on, completely oblivious to my presence. I was entertained by the following:

Retard Guy – Are you telling me that Texas Longhorn is going to cause us to miss the film?

Cubicle Guy – Nah, it's ok, I'm nearly there. My guts are fucking killing me though.

RG – Haha. You're lucky you didn't have the bean chilli! What did you have anyway?

CG – Er, I had a steak. Ronny had the lamb, I had the beef.

RG – Ah. What size did you have?

CG – 200 gram I think.

RG – That's a pretty poncey steak. The “Ladies” I think they call it.

CG – (plop). Yeah, yeah.

RG – I ate the “Sitting Bull” once.

CG – No way! Fuck off! Did you manage it all?

RG – Yeah, fucking almost killed me though. But I can eat like a bastard though, so I was ok after a while.

CG – Fuck that!

RG – Woah, that fucking stinks! Are you done yet?

I finish up, wash my hands and walk out chuffed, as their conversation continues...

I enjoyed the film for what it was.  Good music.  I thought old Hank did ok too.  Jen had her doubts though...

A New Year...

I haven't written in a while since it's been Christmas and I've been too fat and lazy to write anything. Besides, I'm not writing on any sort of schedule.

I've had a cold since the start of December, about the time we went into the studio with Victims, that refuses to go away. I guess neither the bitterly cold winter we're having, or the fact that I work eleven hour nights in the bar, are hardly helping matters. Having a head that constantly feels like it's on the verge of imploding hardly puts me in the mood to write. Now, some six weeks later, it finally feels like the cold bug is starting to disperse, and I find myself back at the kitchen table with my laptop in front of me.

I was back in England over the Christmas period, where I spent a few days with my family and friends in Corby. I was working full on in the bar right up until I left, so it was nice getting away. Over New Year's, Jen and I spent a couple of days in the woods with the rest of the “Dog Mafia”, as Erik from Battle of Santiago calls us. Namely, Olle and Patrik from the band, their girlfriends Gabriella and Hanna, and their dogs Betsy and Bobby. A very cosy gang. We'd hired a house out in the countryside, where we spent the days doing very little except walking the dogs, taking saunas and eating the unbelievably good food that Olle cooked up for us. And of course, we had some drinks. I also passed the final initiation test in becoming a Swede, which entails leaving the sauna naked and rolling around in the snow. Quite and experience I can promise you...

So, it's the year 2011 all of a sudden. If my good friend Jon is right in his belief that the Mayan Doomsday Prophecy is right, then the planets downfall is little less than a couple of years away. So I guess this particular New Year's resolutions should be worthwhile.

Well things this year have started pretty well anyway. Kenny Dalglish is back as the manager of Liverpool Football Club. I was honestly close to tears this Sunday, whilst watching his first pre-game interview. The last couple of years as a fanatical Liverpool supporter have not been easy, as anyone interested in football will tell you. Now that King Kenny is back, there is a feeling of hope again. When he left his job the last time, I was thirteen years old, and my heart was broken. So seeing him back where he belongs fills me with overwhelming joy. It's too bad then that his first match as manager this time around was against the Scum in their own back yard, with a bent referee determined to see them through to the next round of the F.A. Cup. But that's life. I was in a stinking mood all evening at work on Sunday though.

The Scum, by the way, are Manchester United. As anyone interested in football will tell you...

Other than King Kenny's return, another thing I've been extremely happy about, is the Christmas present my sister bought me. It's literally one of the best things that has ever happened to me. It's called a Wake Cup. It's an alarm clock that makes you a cup of tea, or coffee, in the morning. My wife is loving the fact, that at least for now, I'm almost dancing up out of bed in the morning to the sound of my alarm clock. I'm not usually a “morning person”. I don't normally rejoice in getting out of bed, but this little thing of beauty has changed that for the time being. If things carry on in this form, 2011 is going to be a good year.

So, what are my resolutions this year?

I'm not normally one for “resolutions”, or at least, not normally one for seeing them through anyway. But this year, I feel determined to put my goals into action. For a start, I really want to go back to studying this year. Apart from the period when I learnt Swedish, I haven't studied since I left school in Corby at eighteen years old. Since we came back from holiday in California in September, around the time darkness started descending over Sweden, my brain has felt like it's smothered in cotton wool. “Seg” the Swedes call it. My friend Johan Risberg assures me that this is a quite normal state of mind during the winter-time in Sweden. Nonetheless, it's not a state of mind I enjoy. It has inspired me into getting my brain back in to gear though. So a major thing for me this year is to get back into the classroom and start using my brain again. It's never too late to study, and I'm grateful to live in a country where education is still free. Thank fuck I don't live in the UK any more!

Another resolution this year, which is something that simply must happen, is that I have to pass my driving test. Me learning to drive has by now, become an absolute joke! I took my first driving lesson at the age of nineteen, in Corby, with a very nice man called Jim Scales. My sister was taking lessons with him at the same time, and she has been driving now for almost eleven years. Due to a string of reasons, I never got around to taking my test. Touring constantly seemed to get in the way. The problem is now though, that whereas educating yourself in maths, or history or whatever other academic subject, is still free in this land, educating yourself to drive most certainly is not. In fact, it must be, I imagine, the most expensive country in the world to learn to drive in. An hour driving lesson here costs around £80. That's a monolithic amount of money! It's not easy, but somehow, this year, I'm going to pass my fucking driving test! Me and the wife are planning a road trip to England this summer, and Jen isn't planning to do all the driving herself, so I'm going to have to get my shit together. I had a driving lesson this morning, and although the price of it pained me to the point of feeling nauseous, I still felt positive afterwards. A couple more this week and next, a then a little bit of driving Jenny's car with Olle, and I'm applying for my test.

Apart from education in one form or another, this year is also going to be musically productive. This isn't a resolution, this is just what's happening this year.

The new Victims album, which is titled, “A Dissident” will finally be mixed by the end of this week. This has been a long process, interrupted by the holiday period and the fact that everyone works full time jobs, but this week it will be completed and hopefully by the end of next week it will be mastered. I'm going to Johan's tonight to meet up with the guys and listen through what should be the final mix. We have to have everything completed by the end of January since we've set a release date with the various labels involved, at April 12th. My friend Richey should be sending me a mock up of the cover artwork tonight. Exciting to see how that is coming along too.

Speaking of Richey, Battle of Santiago will be releasing a split 7” with his band, A Thousand Arrows, through the label Seven Inch Records. I'm really looking forward to getting my hands on this. We should be flying over to the UK to play some shows with them at some point in March, around the time the record comes out. One of my best friends ever, Gordon, who played drums in Raging Speedhorn, also plays in ATA, so those shows are going to be a blast.

Battle of Santiago will also be releasing an EP with the poet and dramatist, Stig Larsson. That record is done and ready to go, and should be coming out as a collaboration with our friends label Svedjebruk and the wonderful antique book publishers, Rönells. We played a show with Stig at Rönells book store in Stockholm in November, which was an amazing night, and Rönells were so happy with it, they want to release the EP on vinyl. We're talking with Stig about playing some more shows together as we release this record.

I'm also in the long, slow process of recording an album with my friend Stuart Ness. We have a project together called Justadels, which is primarily studio based. And when I say studio, I mean Stuart's bedroom... We're very pleased with how it is coming along though and we're hoping to release it at some point this year. It's a million miles away from anything I've ever recorded before and I'm very excited about it.

Other than all of that, I'll be keeping on, keeping on with the blog. I'm thinking about starting a series called The Bar, which will be based on the long nights at work and some of the, quite frankly, mental people I have to put up with from time to time. I'm also going to be doing some more Archive stuff as well as the tour diaries when I'm out on the road of course, which was really the main idea behind the blog in the first place. At some point in time I intend to start interviewing friends and associates that are involved in the hardcore and D.I.Y. music scene and share some of their stories from the road and beyond. The amount of tales I've heard from other musicians over the years are vast, and a lot of them need to be shared.

So, as January rolls on, and the earth nears it's final judgement day, I humbly bid you a Happy New Year!

Gareth x

Observations of an Innocent By-Stander

Whilst walking Bonzo around Sundbyberg today, I saw a guy pull up beside me in a military green HMV.  The "car" itself looked like it was ready to rape someone, whilst the guy behind the wheel just looked very chuffed.  The personalised registration plate simply read, "DÄRFÖR", which in English translates to, "BECAUSE", or "THAT'S WHY".

I can only imagine what an utter arse the man is...

Studio Update: Johan Loves His Iphone

I went by Nico's studio the other day to check in on how everything was going with the vocal tracks. Johan has been putting in the hours when he's been able to find them, juggling work with the studio. It's not easy and it means that the record is taking longer than hoped for, but it's coming along nonetheless...

Nico wasn't joking when he said that his studio is compact. I meet him at the cafeteria in Fryshuset, where we share a coffee and have a chat. Johan and Jon turn up a short while later and we descend into the labyrinth of corridors that is Fryshuset. I haven't been here for ages. We played here a few times with Speedhorn back in the day. Right now, Helloween are sound-checking in the big hall beside the café. Didn't even know those guys were still around. Jon assures me that everything since Pink Bubbles Go Ape has sucked...

Like I said, Nico wasn't joking about the size of his studio. It's not much bigger than a broom cupboard, with a small vocal booth inside. Nico said there would be no point in the rest of us being there when Johan is putting vocals down. I now see what he means. Before we get to listening, Andy turns up. The four of us cram in around Nico and his desk and we listen through what Johan has laid down so far.

It's a little hard to gain a true impression, since the music is set way in the background. I'm sure though, that when the vocals are bedded in in the mix, it's going to sound really great. Johan is a very solid, very controlled vocalist. He really doesn't need us to be there with him through the recording process, only for us to be able to come by and listen in now and again, and give some ideas, which I guess is what today is about.

I've already worked through the lyrics with Johan, since I'm the so called "English expert" in the band. He seems to be comfortably rolling along now. He's put down six songs. Hopefully he'll be done and the record will be mixed before Christmas. Is it really that time of year again? 

We're talking with the labels about a release in early April, so we need everything finished by the end of January to have a realistic chance of making that happen.  I don't think that's going to be a problem though.

Otherwise, Johan has been playing with his Iphone and has been sending me some pictures documenting his perspective from the vocal booth.

Anyway, we hang out for about an hour in the studio, after which time I'm completely hot and bothered and feel the need to leave. It's very claustrophobic in there with five people. We leave Nico and Johan to their work.

I take the tram home with Andy and Jon. As we're sat on the train, somebody else, in another part of town is blowing themselves up with a backpack bomb.

Thankfully, he only manages to kill himself...

Day Eleven

Well, for the most part, my work in the studio is done.  Now it's back to work for a while.  The process continues to roll onwards though.  Johan and Jon are working with Nico in his small studio over in Fryshuset, putting vocals down whilst Nico mixes in between.

I'm looking forward to hearing some mixes of the album towards the end of the week.  Everything seems to be on track right now.  We've sorted things out with the record company side of things, my good friend Richey Beckett from the band Shaped By Fate, is working on the album artwork.  He's an amazing artist who has been working for a lot of bands this last couple of years, so I'm sure he's going to produce something we're going to be very happy with.  It's a bit early to plan too far ahead yet, but we're planning for the album to come out in April next year, and to be on tour shortly after that.

I worked eleven hours in the bar today.  I slept a full twelve hours and still felt knackered this morning when I woke up.  I'm not shaking any more, but I feel far from one hundred percent.  Being that today was Monday, work was pretty easy going, so with the help of a few hot cups of ginger, lemon and honey, I got through the day. 

Johan and I messaged each other back and forth during the evening and it seems like things are going well.  He's got two songs done.  So that's thirteen to go.  I got home at three in the morning to find this film that he'd mailed me...



Pretty funny, he looks kind of wild in this clip. He also looks like he's singing in a phone booth.  I haven't seen Nico's studio, but I guess it really is very small...

I don't know why, but the picture seems to have sped up somewhere between transfering it from my computer to this blog.  It's pretty funny anyway.  Like I said, computers aren't really my thing...

This is a song called Broken Bones, it's the first song I wrote for Victims.  Well, I wrote the verse riff, Jon and I concocted the chorus riff  together during one of the Balcony Sessions.

Day Ten

I felt like fucking shit when I woke up this morning. How could I feel this bad?  Am I really getting that old? Maybe those days of being able to stay out until four in the morning, drinking beer and being able to shake it off enough the next day to function half way feasibly, are truly behind me.

I didn't even feel that drunk last night. A hangover like this normally comes after a night where I've been so drunk that I have lost large chunks of memory from the night before. Last night was nowhere near that. This truly fucking sucks.

I'd woken briefly this morning, on the couch, with an episode of Family Guy running on the tv. It was eight-thirty. I went straight to bed. Jen didn't even notice. When I woke up five hours later, I felt like dog shit. I've said it a hundred times before, but I'm really starting to wonder if worth drinking any more? Maybe not, if the hangover far outweighs the piss up.

We're meeting at the studio at one pm. I get up, shower, throw a cup of tea down my neck, get dressed and get out. One good thing about being in the studio, or at least having a booked schedule is that you're forced out of the door. That is why hangovers are always at the worst when you're home with nothing to do. It's too easy to lie on the couch and do fuck all all day except feel sorry for yourself.

I call Jon on the way down to Sundbyberg station. He's in the same boat as me. He tells me the works party got out of hand last night. Shocking. We arrange to meet on the train in.  It's freezing out, which actually helps a little bit.

When we get to the studio, Johan is already there. He's looking pretty tired too. We listen through some of the bass tracks from yesterday and Nico has discovered that Johan's bass is quite badly intonated. His bottom string, the big one, is way out apparently. Nico quips, “It's ok, I guess there aren't that many songs where you use that sting so much...” and winks at me as he's tuning Johan's bass up.

I wish Nico had been here with us in the studio, more day to day, throughout this week. He's really into it, and he creates a good atmosphere with his constant piss taking. I guess the way we've been doing it though has saved a lot of time in the long run.

With Johan's bass newly intonated, we listen through the fifteen songs we've recorded for the album. I think Johan picks out five that he wants to re-do. I spend the afternoon watching Johan do just that, from my view on the sofa, where I lie feeling sick. Andy comes by for a while too. It's the first time we've all been together in the studio since the first few days. When Andy was done with his drums, he got the fuck out. Typical drummer haha. Seriously though, he's got a daughter and a day job so it's hard for him to be away too much. He needs to save that free time for when we go on tour. We all do I guess...

Johan gets done with the bass for good, after dubbing some tracks with an Octave Divider pedal, which gives the bass sound a huge, fat tone, kinda like Jared's from Big Business. Again, this pleases me. When we're done, Johan, Jon, Linus and I go to Verona for one last pizza. Tomorrow, we're moving things over to Nico's studio in Fryshuset. Johan and Nico feel it will be more suited to recording the vocals there, and that is where Nico wants to mix the record. We've left Linus a bit short, since we had booked fourteen days with him and his studio. Johan had told Linus about the situation yesterday and Linus was fine with it, and they said we'd work out a fair price for his time. I feel really awkward as we sit around, eating pizza, discussing how much we're going to pay Linus. It's hard for me since Linus is a good friend of mine, and also I know that the guys haven't been totally satisfied with how the sessions have gone. There has been a lot of technical difficulties along the way. Although nothing that one could class as major.

Johan, as usual, steps up to the plate for the band, and barters a price with Linus. I really respect Johan and the way he leads this band. He's definitely the pappa in the band, much like I felt with Speedhorn a lot of the time. He has no problem talking straight and laying things out in a fair way with people. I find that hard when I'm dealing with friends. In the end though, everyone is satisfied. The recording we've laid down sounds great after all, even if the road along the way hasn't always been the smoothest, we've still managed to get where we are now right on schedule. I'm glad Linus is happy with what we can pay him and I'm glad that everyone is friends. Linus is one of the nicest guys around and I wouldn't want him to feel bad in any way about working with us. Gladly, he doesn't and everyone is pleased with the outcome.

We go back to the studio for a listen to the leads I put down yesterday. I was sure the food was going to help, but I'm feeling worse by the minute. When everything is checked off, we decide we're going to get Linus to put up a real rough mix and listen through all of the songs. I can't hold on though. I'm feeling worse and worse and I have to go home. I hug everyone goodbye and leave. I need to get home to my flat and my wife.

I get home after a train journey that feels like forever, get into cosy clothes and get under a blanket on the couch. Within thirty minutes I have to go to bed. It's eight-thirty pm. By the time I get into bed, I'm shaking with a fever. As I lie there under the covers, shaking, despite the fact that I've got a bathrobe and slippers on, I realise that this has to be more than a hangover.

Of course, the hangover hasn't helped, but it's most likely a cocktail of an intense week, sleep deprivation, work, too much coffee, not enough exercise, too much beer, not enough fresh air and too much shit food. I've been categorically weakening my own body during the course of the previous ten days.

The hardest part is over for me now though. Nico's studio is way too small for the whole band to hang out in anyway, so there's no point in us all trying to hang out there. I'm working forty five hours this week anyway. Johan and Jon have vocals to do, and then Andy and I will pop by from time to time to check on how the mixing is going. Johan has sung on five Victims lp's in the past, I'm sure he doesn't need me there the whole time, checking on him. I'll pop by when I get the chance though.

Quote of the day:  Nico - on discussing the drummer from Korn being paid nine thousand dollars a week to play in the band before he was officially a member:

" If I got nine thousand dollars a week to play in Entombed, I would look like Elvis within a minute!"

Day Nine

Finally got something close to a normal amount of sleep last night. I felt so much better for it this morning. I had no rush to get to the studio today since Johan was going to be there early, setting up his bass sound with Nico and Linus. So before I headed into town, I went out for a long walk with the dog and had time with a coffee and a sandwich with Jen in Sundbyberg. It felt good to do something normal.

I met up with Jon on the train on the way in and we turned up around one pm. Johan had already laid down a few tracks and it seemed like all was going well. His bass is sounding amazing. He's hooked it up through the Orange guitar rig, Lemmy style. Although it sounds closer to Bob Weston from Shellac's sound. This pleases me.

We spend the afternoon hanging on the sofa watching Johan put his tracks down. It's great to watch him at work. He's a really solid bass player. He gets the job done without making any fuss.

A couple of hours later and Johan has put bass down ten tracks. When he goes to pick up some lunch, I take over and set up my guitar for the last time on this album. All my rhythm tracks are done, all I have left is over-dubs and solos. The dreaded fucking solos. I hate this part. I'm not a guitar solo kind of guy. Sure, I can sit there with the guitar on my lap and widdle away for hours whilst the man at the desk is setting up sounds, but as soon at the “record button” is hit, it's a whole other story. Suddenly my fingers feel like blocks of lead.

Jon has left for the night. He has a Christmas party with work, which means bowling and then getting pissed at Ali's Bar. Ali's has to be one of the city's dingiest fucking bars and it happens to be situated right across the street from Jon's work. They're normally there for a pint after work, at which time the place isn't so bad. But at night time, it's a whole other story. Once I was there with some friends from work on the piss. I don't know why the fuck we ended up there really, but we did. We're standing at the bar trying to order another round of drinks when this skinhead cunt barges into my friend Sofia. She looks at him and asks him what his problem is. He just looks at her and then pushes her in the chest and she almost goes to ground. What the fuck? So before I know it I'm face to face with this guy and I'm asking him what the fuck is going on, realising that I'm seconds away from a kick-in. The bouncers see what's happening and intervene. Thank fuck! But then amazingly, they ask us to leave. On the way out the bouncer explains to me that even though they hate that guy, he's a friend of the owner and there is nothing they can do about it. I haven't been back there in the evening since then, since obviously the scene there is fucked.

Anyway, to get back to the studio...

Linus and I set up a guitar sound and Johan sits and eats his lunch whilst we go through each song and check out what needs to be done. I end up laying three solos and a bunch of melody parts and then I'm done. It takes a while and my fingers shake a little through the whole solo process, but Linus and Johan offer kind support and after an hour or so I'm finished. I'm very happy to be done with my parts.

Johan gets back to business and lays down the rest of his tracks. Linus has to leave around seven pm. so for the last hour, I sit at the desk whilst Johan plays bass. Now...if I'm no solo guitar guy, I'm most certainly not “Desk Engineer has a fucking clue about Pro-Tools Guy”. Linus shows me the ropes, but I'll be fucked if I can understand what he's going on about. Johan has to guide me through every step whilst he's tracking his bass. Hit Apple Z. Press 3 to punch me in. He'd be better off sitting here himself and doing it, since I just sit there like a dummy. Computers just aren't my thing. My one year at college studying “computer science” will attest to that. I spent the entire year writing up set-lists and drawing up logo's for my band at the time. Besides that, by the time Linus leaves the studio I've drunk a couple of beers and I feel a little bit tipsy.

Johan gets done around eight pm. He's not entirely convinced everything is good but he's done for today and will check it out with fresher ears tomorrow. Jen comes by just as we're finishing up and we invite Johan back to our place for dinner. Johan and I decide we're going to a gig at our friends squat club in Solna, which is not far from where I live. Local Oafs and Makarbert Fynd are playing. I want to check out the club and the show. It feels like a nice way to end an intense week of work in the studio.

We get back to our place, Jen makes a fantastic dinner and I treat Johan to some samples from my Single Malt collection. We sit around chatting and watching our favourite tv show, “På Spåret” before heading to the show around midnight.

The club is great. It's in Solna tube station. You go out of the ticket barriers, turn left up the tunnel and knock on a black door. The door opens and you go inside, giving your name and date of birth. Everybody here has to be officially a member, even though it doesn't cost anything more than contacting them in advance with your details. It's just a technicality needed to get around an eventual cop invasion. If everyone has their name and details on a piece of paper by the door, then technically it's a private party and there isn't anything the cops can do about it.

The club looks great. Our friend, Frasse, has done a great job with it. Another friend of ours, Klara, has booked the bands and is playing records. It's great to see people getting involved, keeping the scene going.

Makarbert are fucking crazy tonight. Kalle, the drummer, is pissed out of his mind and my friend Anders on guitar, normally a big quiet, shy kind of guy, is smashing his guitar into pieces on the floor. Apparently he's had enough of his guitar going out of tune. The tiny space is packed and it's hilarious watching Anders smash the shit out his guitar. Even funnier when the song is done, and the singer in the band announces they haven't finished their set yet and asks if anyone can lend them a guitar. Me and Johan piss ourselves, but of course, Local Oafs lend them a guitar without any hesitation. Great guys.

Local Oafs are as always, unbelievably entertaining. They are a great live band and always give a full on show. I love how the singer and guitarist constantly swap roles during the gig. Both guys are great at both guitar and vocals, so why not? They play for quite a while and by the time they're done it's almost two-thirty am. and, unsurprisingly the crowd has thinned out quite a bit. People have either left or have started to flake out in the bar room of the club.

Johan and I leave around four am. I don't feel that drunk but I already have a headache from the shitty cans of Åbro beer that the club was selling. I can already tell that tomorrow I'm going to be suffering.

Quote of the day: Fredrik Local Oafs - “What's the difference between the Sex Pistols and Jay Retard? Both of them were fake but the Sex Pistols were good.”

Day Eight

Barely five hours sleep again...in the last two days I've slept less than eight hours and worked twenty three. I can barely get myself out of the sack this morning.

And then I remember I'm meeting up with Eric at eleven thirty, and before that I have to take Bonzo to my sister-in law's place. Not even time for a cup of tea this morning. Up, in the shower and out.

I'm stood on the corner by Skanstull station, waiting for a coffee and a cream cheese bagel, when I spot Eric trudging past in the snow with his suitcase. It's good to see him. We head down the road to the studio and catch up. It seems like the Black Breath tour went really well. I'm pleased to hear it. He tells me they were really shocked with how well they got treated over here, that they got hotel rooms seventy percent of the time. That would never happen in the States. In the States you have to rely on friends to let you sleep on their floors.




We want Eric to put a solo on a song called Theft, which for the longest time has gone under the working title Dismember. Obviously, it's perfect for Eric to lay a Black Breath style guitar solo on it. It's really fun watching him work. He truly is a great guitarist, certainly puts us two idiots to shame. Eric gets to work and it sounds amazing! The original idea was for Jon and Eric to do a dual solo here but I tell Eric just to do the whole thing since it's sounds so good. I know Jon would agree. He tries out a bunch of different stuff but in a very short time he's nailed it.

It seemed with Eric's schedule I was going to be the one to miss him when he was in Stockholm, but as it happened it worked out just right. Eric is going to Düsseldorf this afternoon for a couple of days before heading home to Seattle, it's really great of him to squeeze in the time to come by the studio when I know he's stressed for time. Johan comes by just as Eric gets finished up and we sit around and chat for a while, before Johan walks Eric to Södra Station, leaving me to get on with the rest of my guitar tracks.

Five songs to go.

For the most part, it all comes pretty easy. Johan comes back from the station with a new bag of coffee beans, and the afternoon is fuelled to go. Fuck how I need the coffee!

After a while Johan heads off to work for a couple of hours. He'll be back later. I know he's itching to start playing his bass on this album now. It hasn't really worked out that well for him that we're recording his bass and then his vocals at the end of the session. Tough finish for him.

By the time Jon and Andy come by around five pm. I have one song to go. Maiden, or as it's now called, Nowhere In Time. And then it happens. The fucking nemesis song. The tiredness is catching up with me now. My hands seem to have disconnected with my brain and my fingers are turning to rubber. What the fuck is going on here? I patch together one take of the song, but I'm not feeling good about it. Linus tells me to take it easy and relax but I can feel myself getting angry and frustrated. I didn't think it was going to be this song that was going to fuck me up. I try and play a second dubbed track, but it's just not happening. It's actually just getting worse. I'm now screaming all sorts of obscenities every time I come to a halt and finally I take a pause. Breathe now.

I decide to give it one more go, standing up this time to see if that will make a difference. It doesn't. Twenty seconds in and the song comes to a halt again. I throw my guitar on to the stool and announce that I'm done for today. Jon asks me if he wants me to have him play the dubbed track. I tell him to go for it. I don't have an ego when it comes to that kind of thing. Whatever is best for the record. He puts the bare bones of it down in the first take. He's not laughing though, he knows what it's like. Andy certainly knows how I feel. Mentally blocked.

As soon as I sit down and Jon finished up the track I feel better about it. I'm just glad that all the rhythm guitar tracks are done. I only have over-dubs left now, which I'll do tomorrow. That stuff is far more fun. Johan comes back in a very good mood, and he's brought glögg with him. Glögg is something else I love about Sweden. It's like muld wine. It smells like Christmas and it's beautiful. We warm some up in the coffee maker and we all share a glass. It's a very cosy moment.

Andy and I head off around seven thirty, leaving Johan and Jon to track some of Jon's solos. I'm going to meet Jen for dinner. Today is the day when we met each other, ten years ago. We're meeting at this great little French restaurant called Bergamotte on Kungsholmen. And after dinner is done, I'm going to bed to sleep.