BSP Chat from Traena

[Gorgeous Undertow]

I've no idea what the Norwegian reads, but the interview is in English. Not really much info here but just thought I'd pass it along. http://www.nrk.no/lydverket/stort-band-pa-liten-scene/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+Lydverket+%28NRK+Lydverket%29

[nora dindian]

Good find!

...heres what the translator says ...

Home England British Sea Power an immensely popular live acts. Not least because they are very creative in its approach to the live format, you never know what to expect when indie heroes from Brighton is on the scene. When they played on the popular TV program Later With Jools HollandThey had , for example, the cumbriske wrestlers . And a Bulgarian choir. It was therefore with light hearts they agreed to do two concerts in tiny Træna Church. They have performed their own soundtrack to the documentary Mon Of Aran (1934).

In late August headliner British Sea Power two of the biggest British festivals , Reading & Leeds Festival. Here at Træna have mostly moved around totally unnoticed, and seem to enjoy themselves out here in the ocean. We took a chat with lead singer and guitarist Scott Wilkinson and Phil Sumner , who among other things, playing cornet and keyboard , just after tussle in God's house.

[talia]

I love that "tussle in God's house". Great find. Thanks!

[nora dindian]

“..Welcome to Norway Sir.”

And a nice smile from the air hostess as we disembarked the plane on the tarmac at Trondheim airport. The plane had come over some stunning scenery and rounded the outside of the built up area before heading straight for a runway, which if you overran, you ended up straight in the sea. Luckily we hadn’t, we would be seeing a lot of water on this trip anyway. Just enough time for a couple of lungfulls of fresh clean air before picking up our bags, jumping into the hire car and heading due north on a six hour drive up toward a small place on the map called Stokkvagen

The scenery we had looked down on open mouthed from above, lived up to its expectations at ground level. Snow capped mountains, vast and lush forests sweeping down hillsides into beautiful green valleys that looked for all the world like they’d been mown. A river of ice blue water winding its way through the middle of the valley, which was dotted with chalet type houses and pristine white wooden churches. True picture postcard stuff. Along the way boom continually remarked “we are being spoiled here!” and he was right, the drive was fantastic.

Valley view.



On arrival at Stokkvagen we expected to find a small bustling port, a few bars maybe, and a hotel we might be able to check into for a few hours kip before the ferry left for Traena the next morning. Not quite. We found a small empty dock and a sun which seemed to be having difficulty in setting over the mountains in the background, or perhaps it just didn’t want to, and I couldn’t blame it.

Halfnight over Stokkvagen. 1.30am



We drank our beers and just stared into the glowing light of halfnight, then slept in the car. The sun was up again before us, and before long we were boarding the ferry for Traena with other festival goers. Purchase of beer on the ferry wasn’t on, but coffee and flapjacks heaped with jam were sustenance enough for that early hour. The ferry chugged out into the sea from the creaking harbour and off we headed for the Arctic Circle. I was up on deck for most of the 3hr journey, binoculars on the nose, sweeping the area for cetaceans and seabirds. An occasional Guillemot, and toy like Puffins looking like they had been wound up with a key and released by human hands, skipped across the surface of the water.

We began to pass a few small islands and eventually the mountain peaks on Sanna, which is the isle adjacent to Traena, grew larger until they dominated the skyline. Once we had docked, we walked onto the small island and there were a few young boys with wheelbarrows speaking Norwegian to us. We just nodded an smiled. They spoke again, showing us the barrow, and I still didn’t click on that they were offering to carry our bags/tents etc to the festival area. “I’m sorry. I’m English!” ..the ambiguity of the phrase was lost on them. Those youngsters could well have made a fortune over the weekend, because on numerous occasions we seen them carrying drunken people on their taxi-barrows as well as luggage. The Norwegians certainly seemed to like their gargle. Young men and women were often to be seen in various states of alcoholic discombobulation. Fair play to them.

Approach.



A short walk from the harbour stood Traena Kirke, the tiny white timber chapel that was to host Man of Aran that afternoon. It was a lovely site, and the journey before us, which had been tiring but thrilling, seemed now to be reaching some sort of conclusion. We walked from the church to pitch our tents, and the camping area was among the best scenery you could imagine. The peaks of Sanna stood over us, and we pitched on the soft mossy ground among the many tiny hillocks that swept down to the sea.

Inside the chapel we took a pew and waited. We could hear people chatting about the band and about the story, people were keen and soon there was a healthy congregation with people sitting cross legged on the cold stone floor of the nave. The band emerged from behind the large screen which was draped behind the alter and occupied the small chancel, all save Abi, who took her place high in the wooden pulpit. The setting was immaculate really. The journey before us had played a huge part in the build up and as I shifted to find some comfort on the pew, I was warmed by the feeling of expectation I could sense among the gathering. Even though I’d seen this performed a good few times before, there was something really special about having it performed to us in such an idyllic setting, in a place where some of the people in the crowd may well have come from families who had striven in a similar fashion to survive surrounded by the very thing that can take their lives as well as give them food and fuel to live by. The sea.


As No Man Is An Archipelago reverberated around the rafters, the crowd stood to cheer and applaud the dramatic and fulfilling climax. We emerged from the chapel, and I was taken back to my childhood for a moment. It brought back memories of when we would come out of the pictures after a matinee and be blinded by the sunlight, and how during the performance you’d forgotten it was daytime because of the darkness inside. Inside that chapel was the only darkness we’d see for three days, as the sunlight was not to give. We wondered to the main festival area near the campsite and looked in, but over zealous security pulling up cuffs to check for wristbands and rummaging through bags to check for beer took a slight shine off the day, so we made our way back to the tents where we had a couple of tins of beer and pepperoni and cheese spread sandwiches. Then we just sat and drank in the splendour of the surroundings. We could hear the main stage from where we were, but if I’m honest there was nothing that sounded like it was more appealing than what we were doing.

Camp Pepperoni.




Next day it was sunny, still. We walked around the shopping area, one small supermarket, and went to the one small pub, and on the way we decided to help the locals by buying some home made fayre to help put a lining in their needy pockets. An indigenous fisherman spoke to us in his native tongue, I apologised for my origin again, and he spoke to us in broken English, which impressed us. He said he was selling home made fish burgers with a large smile and a small bun. We paid him and smiled back, then ate the burgers while sat on the small quayside. We then worked out what we paid him, and it turned out to be a a very large £8. Boom swore to fight him to the death but when we got back he’d packed up and was sailing out of the harbour on his gleaming white yacht. We’d been had.

The second performance of Man of Aran once again saw a full church, and once again saw cheers, tears and beers among the crowd. All good, another superb performance. This time it was It Comes Back Again that really got to me. For a song that has so much emotion and energy in its (semi) original form, to be reworked to such brilliance is a feat in itself. Phil and Abi bring consideration and forbearance to the instrumental, and they give it something really special, and that day it just shook with magnificence. The chapel and all within shook as well. Superb.

Inside Traena Kirke.



Afterwards we heard that a special performance was taking place on Sanna, and we boarded boats and sped over there, getting soaked in the process and almost flipped by the wash of larger vessels. Once on the island we trekked up the hill toward a huge cavernous opening in the mountainside. A steady stream of people made their way up, and to get to the entrance you had to do a bit of dodgy footwork over some craggy rocks, where a slip could mean a serious fall and injury or a broken can or two. As we edged around the rock there was a stern faced fellow getting in the way. I approached and he didn’t seem to want to give any ground. My bulk meant I was edged further to the drop and I gave him a look of disdain. He stared back …”Wristbands!” he said sternly. I was gobsmacked. I’d been given a wristband on another island in this extensive archipelago. I’d risked my life on a small tin vessel with a grinning loon at the helm to get here. I’d clambered up grassy banks and up a mountainside toward a cave hole and I had a backpack which had inside it two cans of beer, some Kentucky fried chicken, a dressing gown, and a couple of fishing rods, like any sane person would, and I was fucking angry at being confronted like this. I’m over twenty stone and I was sweating like Iggy on speed, and this ‘Twat’ was asking for a wristbands on a precipice and not giving an inch. I apologised for being English of course, and hitched up my cuff.

Once in the cave serenity and sanity prevailed, and we sat and drank the beers and ate the sandwiches which boom prepared. A Norwegian choir began to sing, their voices echoed around the cave and to hear such beauty within such natural beauty was really moving. In the distance behind the choir, high up on the rocks on the inside of the cave a figure clambered around, a familiar figure at that.

Choir: familliar figure high up.



Once back on Traena we went to the main stage area and enjoyed some ale and a whaleburger, which tasted damn good, and we watched a Norwegian hip hop band which closed the festival in great style, with the crowd absolutely going for it. I hadn’t a clue what they were on about like, but it looked good.

Some of the other bands, and the security at Traena. (actually a shop in Oslo)



Next morning we packed up our goods and chattels and headed off to the harbour, as we did so young children swept the area for cans, bottles and all rubbish, filling barrows and carts with everything they could find. We spoke to a women who was chaperoning them, and she told us that the government paid them for each bottle/can collected and sorted for recycling. The kids were going to use the money to buy computers. A good incentive.

There was a long wait for the ferry, some 3 or 4 hours, with literally hundreds queuing, and when we boarded it was like the opening day of the sales, absolute chaos. Every man for themselves, cases were burst in the rush and camping chairs broken and stamped on, it was clear we were heading back to reality.

Berthing in the late evening meant the lengthy drive back south would go on through the night, so it was quieter but no less light and the drive was once again lovely. We saw two moose on separate occasions, and a black fox. By the time we got to Trondheim we were ready for home. We separated there and boarded different flights for Oslo, and the onward journey home and back to work.

The trip was one I’ll never forget, for a lot of reasons, but it just compounded the fact that its not just about watching British Sea Power play music that can both elevate and crush you, its about the getting there as well.

Avance`

[TJ Dizzle]

Thanks a lot Nora, thats a great read. A different perspective to the (also good) NME angle. Although I have to ask, how much does this sort of trip cost? Because I couldn't see myself being able to pop off to Norway just like that (sadly). Anyway, sounded like a brilliant trip, thanks for the report.

[avocetboy]

Brilliant stuff, Nora. Wonderful pictures. My Saturday has started well

[Ronald Amundsen]

Tremendously evocative account of what i'm sure was a memorable trip out.
Far better written than most of what passes for music journalism nowadays,too.
Thanks very much for that,nora.