09/07/2012

Norwegians would...

---

So. Oslo Airport. A café called La Baguette. Andrew Cronshaw and I are killing time awaiting the train that will torpedo us north into the mountains around Otta, wondering what adventures may lurk in the ether of Landskappleiken, a fabled traditional music and dance event which has been held in different parts of Norway over the last century.

Andrew is regaling me with scattergun anecdotes about his travels to Croatia, Finland, Armenia, Scotland, Spain and all points south, north, east and west, while I lovingly fondle the loyal laptop nestling contentedly at my feet. I know. Bonkers. I don’t really need it on this trip, but I just feel kind of naked without it. Andrew’s telling me about the gig his band SANS recently played in Devon when I glance downwards… the laptop is gone.

These are grim times when you can’t even share a coffee with Andrew Cronshaw at Oslo Airport without some low-life ghosting along to whip your laptop from under your nose. Not just a laptop either…passport, camera, money, Dictaphone, diary, address book, a copy of fROOTS, the Sophie Parkes biography of Eliza Carthy… my whole frigging life.

I wail like a disembowelled wolfhound until the police come shuffling over to explain there are no security cameras at the café so the laptop and all who sail in her are probably gone forever and ever, amen. Sorry about that. You should have chained it to your ankle. Numb, I miserably follow Cronshaw to the train and decamp to the bar where, despite the gasp-inducing prices (“a can of Ringnes? Certainly sir, if you’d just like to give me the deeds to your house…”), I spend the next three hours contemplating the irreplaceable interviews and unfinished work probably being casually tossed aside at that very moment as the thief nonchalantly studies his booty.

Several hours later the Ringnes, warm sunshine, drop-dead gorgeous scenery, references to trolls, Ibsen, Grieg and Peer Gynt at every turn work wonders in restoring morale as up there in our log cabin in the sky, Cronshaw and I, along with assorted Spaniards, Germans and Norwegians spend a convivial evening engrossed in discussion, displays and demonstrations of the proud unbroken tradition of Nordic music and dance.

Trond Stenseth Moe, an amiable, extraordinarily patient young man who’s seemingly forsaken his jazz training to involve himself in the promotion of Norwegian folk music, takes it on himself to become the hapless UK music hack’s guiding star in his hour of crisis. Trond is a Spurs fan but we can probably overlook that in the circumstances.

The rest of the party are off white water rafting and hiking over the hills in a reconstruction of an inadvertently epic march by Scots mercenaries in 1610. Seeking to join the fun when a load of Swedes sought to annexe Norway in what became the Battle of Kringen, they sailed to Norway, only to be diverted by crafty mountain folk who gave them false directions. Moral: when you want to join a war, don’t ask the enemy where it is being held. In any case you’d have thought the Scots would have had enough on their hands scrapping with the English without worrying about joining in other people’s wars, but there you go. There’s a mermaid involved somewhere in the story, too, but I’m not too sure what that’s all about.

For while all this is going on, Trond and I are on our own epic journey trying to find a local police station, scanner, computer and, trickiest of all, a long drive in search of a photographer capable of generating a picture for an emergency passport…while a nice woman at the British Embassy in Oslo patiently fields frantic phone calls and offer support and advice. “Where are you?” “I’m not sure, but it’s near some mountains.” “That’s not terribly helpful. Everywhere’s near mountains in Norway…”

I’d quite forgotten the original purpose of the visit until the next day, back in Otta, the full majesty of Landskappleiken becomes apparent. Moving to a different location each year, it is essentially a competition – a bit like the Irish fleadh without the informal sessions, excessive drinking or complete mayhem. “Know much about Norwegian music, do you?” Cronshaw had said before the Bag Incident, “well, you’ll be diving into the deep end at Landskappleiken.”

He’s not wrong. In four sizable halls, ancient traditions are re-enacted, mostly in national costume, with the sort of seriousness reserved for sacred arts. Tents and camper vans abound, while it’s rather charming to find, among the merchandise, a stall still flogging cassettes. A vast sports hall is crammed to capacity as master Hardingfele (Hardanger fiddle) players display their intricate skills with hypnotic intensity in front of a line of judges and a rapt, silent audience concentrating every bit as hard as the musicians. At the end of a particular gripping piece they will rise to roar their approval.

Sitting watching endless solo Hardanger fiddle players back to back may not seem like a whole bunch of fun but, imagining that if I don’t sort out an emergency passport soon I’ll be spending the rest of my life here, I become absorbed by it. The tension of the event sucks you in and the sound resonating from those “under-strings”, which give the Hardingfele its uniqueness, is entrancing. The legend that Hardanger fiddlers learned the mysteries of playing from water elves - who were given legs of lamb for their troubles - suddenly doesn’t seem so implausible. Henrik Ibsen wrote in Peer Gynt that the Hardanger fiddle “ripples and sings like a stream at a waterfall”…and ol’ Henrik knew what he was talking about.

Click here to read part two...

Tweets by @SpiralEarth

About Colin Irwin:

Irwin was an assistant editor of Melody Maker in the 1970s and 1980s, before leaving in the summer of 1987 as the magazine moved in a different direction, and editor of Number One magazine in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

His book In Search of the Craic details a comic journey around Ireland seeking out pub music sessions and became a best-seller in Ireland. Subsequent books were In Search Of Albion, a similarly light-hearted journey around English traditions and rituals and Sing When You're Winning, about the history and culture of terrace songs at football matches.

He's also reviewed music for The Guardian, Mojo, The Daily Telegraph, The Independent and fRoots and has been a Mercury Music Prize judge.

FEATURES