(. ..by some hindsight THAT should have been the name of the fukking CD! "Linkolassa mua vituttaa se sakki, jota se vetää puoleensa... kaikki
nää puolivillaiset pseudo-
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Press Info "WE TAKE PRIDE IN BEING ASSHOLES" Having an attitude like THAT and feeling like a Throwing Muses tune of the time "They can no longer move - I can no longer be still" was the root of all evil at the embryonic stages of LIIMANARINA's [pronounced Leigh-mun-ah-rinnah] journey. No, it wasn't exactly twenty years ago today (but close), neither did Sergeant or Doctor Pepper teach this band to play. Unfortunately, it really was in an often ignored (with good reason) and gladly neglected quiet, little pissant, redneck, podunk, jerk-water, green-horn, one-horse, crud-hole, right-wing, inbred, unkept, out-of-date, white-trash, meshugannah mountain town in Southern Central Fun?land (read = in the middle of FUKKIN nowhere), where the trouble started. 'twas a time, when the old farts in rawk musick were getting too old or boring & most of the younger contenders were either SHIT, turning shit or had already broken up. Never the ones for unnecessary namedropping, we won't start here. In this story names, places & time don't really matter. Just about as many mockeries of a musician must have passed through the imaginary doors of LN (just "Ellen" within the in-crowd) as those of one Mark E. Smith's combo. None that fell by the roadside have been missed too sorely or remembered with any kindness (for lack of more un-PC terms). Never officially split up, the only members who survived every record to tell the tale are yours truly, Olli Powkeh (guitar strumming & tuneless, intense humming) and Kahrri "Curried Tapas" Lietinnen with his drums, that could walk'n'talk...in gardens all wet with rain. Without his drums, he's just published a comic book called "Kafkan tutti" which I translated into Finglish (check out www.robotinpoikanen.com) Daria "Cha-cha-cha" Anarchy (vocals behind the singer+ ashtrays stolen from bars as percussion) did take part in every 7" included on "Linkolalaista lähiörokkia landelta" at least in theory - not telling ya what she was usually doing in practice, am I? Last we heard of her, she's doing something in film (not in porn tho - settle down, Beavises!!) in the land of hash bars, cherry mash, tinfoil tiaras & the question "Where did Vincent Van gogh?" The bass player, suspiciously distant relation to an Olympic Games winning skijumper, complete with Indian (I'm not saying Red) blood in his veins, Tumi Raeaesaeaeaeaenen lasted thru 100+ gigs & the latter recordings with this lot. For all we know, raising a family (of who or what, we don't know) these days in the deepest, darkest uninhibited corners of the F-wordland. He wouldn't want to meet people, especially journalists, now. Some say he's killed a few (journos, that is). Ellen never sent too many demo tapes anywhere - we were skint & stingy. Why we chose Bad Vugum, I still don't know. I never liked anything they'd put out (and have "liked" even less anything they've put out ever since) and there never was any camaraderie to really speak of between the band and the label or the other acts on it. To be honest, I HATED a lot of them (still do). Miraculously enough, the partners in crime managed to get released the 3 Liima-VITUN-narina EP's at the turn of the 1980's/90's. Only now they're released on CD for the first time ever. Hate to admit it, but not much money changed hands in persuading us to finally give permission to this foul, heinous deed. No, it had more to do with gentle, gay-type pressuring from certain people indirectly "thanked" (or at least uncharacteristically amicably mentioned) in the liner notes of the CD or on our "No new friends made" website @ www.dragcity.com/artists/liimanarina Having never believed in explaining anything much, what has attracted foreign people to our musick never dawned on me (tho I can't say I've exactly spent sleepless nights thinking about it). I've never listened to any Finnish music very much, so I haven't paid attention to how other people have been writing their songs in that language. All I know is, no one ever said in Finnish anything I wanted to be said. A lot of things that ended up in Ellen's lyrics were written ages before, when I was just a kid (I'm 29 now & I don't mind dyin') and were never even meant to be "songs". That's one of my excuses why our musick and words often are so out-of-sync, but why should I care? Never had to give the boyz in the band (or even the gal) too many instructions on anything. So, what you hear is pretty much what happened to come out of us more or less accidentally. None of us were ever interested in all the typical muso crap like effect pedals, amps and whatever kind of gear. We never even had our own PA. Lucky if we had the instruments needed to play whatever was supposed to be played in the first place. An Ellen motto always was: Only losers practice. I heard most of what's on this compilation for the first time since they were originally released (I don't have a copy of any of our records - I usually hate eventually everything I've been involved in myself). Butt, since muzak today seems to be worse than it prolly ever was - and I can't see how it'd get any better - I don't know if this already fucked-up world world would be any shittier place with this Liima-FUKKING-narina CD available, do you, Mistah Jones? FROOOG BASEBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALL - OLLI PAUKE,nearly
Alabama |
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| photo by Mia Ristimäki |
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MY ROMANIAN NEIGHBORES They didn't come over here, cos they're interested in this country or this culture. No, they only came here to scrape off some money and are gonna go straight back as soon as they've made enough. One of them is here illegally, and they don't even have any contract with our mutual Dear Landlord. They speak hardly any English, so it's nigh on impossible to communicate with them. They never start conversations, but if you try to ask them something, they usually don't understand what I'm trying to say. If they try to say something, they don't know how to say it in English. The guy goes to work every day from Monday to Friday at 9 o'clock and gets off at 5 in the afternoon. At least he doesn't have to travel very far, cos his workplace is right infront of our house. I could see him from my window all the time, if I wanted to (do you think I wanna?). I even know exactly when he's got his breaks, cos every time he has one, he calls his girlfriend...or wife, or what the FUCK ever she is, I dunno, I don't even remember their names, cos they're something unpronouncable. Anyway, they only have one set of keys, so he always calls her to go and open the door for him. Through the paper-thin walls I hear the same-o [Nokia] ringtone every single, solitary time (if I don't have my stereo volume at, like, 11). I've told them that cutting keys only costs about £1 each just around the corner. I think they said they know, so I guess that's too expensive for them then. The girl is not getting money from anywhere now. She used to have a cleaning job under the table, but they sacked her after a week or two. Obviously she wasn't doing too great of a job. You can tell it in this house. I [have to] share the hallway, kitchen and bathroom with these people (almost said animals). Every time she's washed the dishes, you have to wash them again, if you wanna use them. The wipes she's using for “cleaning” places are so shitty, that they only make everything she touches dirtier. She might come up with several bags of garbage, but she can't take them out when she's got no keys, so she just leaves them laying around the house. These people lock their door behind them – if they can, depending on the key situ – every time they go out of their room, even if just for the bathroom. I don't know what is so valuable in their room, that they I might steal, if I only had 30 seconds time. Just to be their complete opposite, I NEVER fukkin' lock my door, and I still haven't had even any of my priceless Dylan bootlegs (silver discs, mind ya) stolen. When those guys go to the bathroom, they take their own toilet paper with them and then take it back as well – they don't share. If there's my T.P. In the toilet, somebody else seems to use it, too, nevertheless. PART TWO: “Of mice and human robots” (first released in 1492, an out-take from the King James version of the Holy Bible) It might take her most of the day to cook her ass [not the animal] off for the guy. She would sit there by the stove for hours and hours on end. Not even doing anything else in the meantime. She might have the radio on, but it doesn't seem to matter much what station it is. Oftentimes it is on so quiet you can't hear it from underneath some kitchen noise or the traffic in the street. During all this time I've lived next doors to them, I've never heard the girl complain or protest about anything. She's never ever raised her voice, even if the guy has screamed his head off at her. I've never heard cry or break anything, when he seems to give her some shit in their language. She's just happy to be his slave. They're still living in the fucking 15th century. If there was a field, they'd be plowing it by hand. If they had a horse, they'd ride it into town [the Kazakhstan in the movie "Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan" was actually Romania]. Fuck no, their roles haven't changed since Adam and Eve. These guys don't seem to have any life outside of this building. They never have anyone visiting, they never go anywhere. They go to sleep even on weekends around 10 at the latest and likewise wake up earlier than I might come home in the morning. They don't drink, smoke, do drugs or fuck so loud that I could hear it, tho I could hear them farting in their room, if they had such a vice. They never listen to any music, and the only language I seem to be overhearing from their TV (or is it radio?) is Rumanian. Never even anything in English. Of course, we Finns probably are just spoilt brats, when we can't understand why some people seem to be totally satisfied with being nothing but FUCKING robots. The unemployed in “our” country get two times more money for doing nothing than an average hard-working person earns in a month where my neighbors come from. They don't even have electricity in a lot of places over there, and where they do, it might be strictly rationed, with supplies drastically cut, curfews instated, frequent blackouts (generally 1–2 hours daily)[citation needed], only one in five streetlights are to be kept on, and television is reduced to a 2 hours each day, mostly propaganda. The Good Book says: love thy neighbour. tuloillaan samassa satsissa: - KOMMUNISM AND POLAR BEARS - PASKAKULTTUURI EI TUNNE RAJOJA - PANEMINEN (& SIITÄ & SEN PUUTTEESTA PUHUMINEN) ERI KULTTUUREISSA - KRAPULA ERI PAIKOISSA - ROSKIKSIEN PENKOMISTA, KADULTA SYÖMISTÄ & PORTTIKONGEISSA NUKUSKELUA BRITTILÄISESSä SUURKAUPUNGISSA ("Livin' la vida lokaa") |
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JOKE
JOBS In "Great" Britain these days, most of the shit jobs are available through employment or recruitment agencies. What happens when you register with them is that you pretty much sign away your life and let THEM decide for YOU what to do, where and when. It usually starts at the National Minimum Wage, which is 5.73 for over 22-year-olds and £4.77 for the younger than that (=at the current exchange rate it's FUCK ALL in €). How it could raise from that, I don't even know - do you, Mister Jones? I cut the bullshit here and save you from all the boring every-day kind of details, that you have to go through, when dealing with these bastards. I'm also deliberately leaving out all the good things you might come across in the kind of jobs they offer you. I'm only doing what I'm best at - accentuating the negative. My agency had the kind of policy "Don't call us - we'll call you" which, of course, would save you some money, if they ever called you. The call might come at 7 AM on a Monday morning or at 6 PM on a Friday evening. If they're desperate, they have a 24/7 phone service for that, too. The best way to ruin your weekend with these guys is, when they ask you "Can we put you on hold?" meaning: are you willing to go to work at any given moment? They might call you then at any hour of the day (especially on weekends) expecting you to go to work ASAP. Chances are they will never call at all. Neither would they let you know if the possible job offer was cancelled. You're just supposed to be ready like a boy scout to take that call and go! These blood-suckers don't usually bullshit around too much on the phone. They might not even introduce themselves, when they call. They take it for granted, that you have installed their number on your cell phone, so you'd know automatically who's calling. I never even got to see in person most of the people I dealt with from my agency, let alone got to know them in any way more closely. There were no company parties or sauna nights - at least for us, the fukking working ants (nothing to do with Adam, mind ya!) So, it would be just an anonymous [if not masked] voice at the other end of the line, at best on a first name basis. They were not expecting - neither would they be interested in any slightest way - you to answer too extensively to the question "How are you?" They just asked you, if you're available for work and where to go and how soon you should be there. After half a year, one of the guys from the agency still thought I was from Poland, tho I had mentioned Finland every now and then somewhere along the line. In a lot of places I was working, they expected you to do what you were supposed to do as quickly as possible - even if there wasn't any rush - and then you were told to fuck off... or, erm, to go home, so that the employer would save money. If someone was trying to "play time" and make it last longer in order to make more money, there usually was someone watching your ass and telling you to "hurry up, dickheads". Or more likely, the slow ones were not wanted back again. Skipping most of the duties you had to do in shit jobs like these, I just want to detail some things, that struck me kind of funny about a lot of my English bosses or co-workers. In one shithole I told the guy I was working with, that I had had got sacked from my first ever job back in the funland of Finland for the most ridiculous reason ever. That was trying to write the same things with my left hand, when my job was to write the amount of these ferkin' rubber pieces, that I had gathered into a bag, onto a label on its side. After writing the numbers from 0-9 for the umpteenth million times with my right hand, I started doing the same thing with my left hand for a change. When my boss saw this, she asked me "Which hand do you normally write with?" I said "Right, but can you tell the difference?" She didn't even look or answer, but I was then "let go" as they say. Little did I realise, that over 20 years later, when I'd still be getting paid just about as badly as a teenager in the mid-80's Finland, this limey cocksucker would be responsible for me being "let go" from this dump in the UK for at least as ridiculous a reason - for talking too much at work. I would think he's the one who did a little bit too much of talking, when taking pains to go and rat on me to the boss. I hope they will do a full cavity search on every one of these Cockney motherfuckers with BOTH hands some fine day. At another joke place of work, my foreman, an older English lad, had been drinkin' the night before and I hadn't. He was kind of bragging about it to everyone within a hearing distance. He was trying to say what a tough guy he is, doing here all this hard work now with all that massive drinkin' and only 2 hours of sleep behind. You didn't have to be a doctor to see [no, not that "you're madly in love" babe] that he was severely hungover, if not still drunk. There was an older guy (another feckin' local yokel) working in this hellhole, who I'd worked with at another location of legalized slavery before, but who hadn't been working in this joint for as long as I had. Still, that hadn't stopped him from getting a better pay than I did or having gotten a bit higher up in the pecking order of this company. I noticed he was sucking up to the big boss man wannabe big time. At one point I overheard him say, or in fact he didn't do much to keep his voice down, when I heard him say to the Ace: "When I started working with Olli and asked him something simple, this guy starts telling the fawken story of his life!" That day I was mostly working with this Nigerian dude, and whenever the work allowed talking about the merits of his fellow countryman Fela Kuti, whom I'd also been listening to ever since I was a kid. This doesn't go unnoticed by our (do I even need to say it: yet another lily-white, wishy-washy, middle-aged, all-English) supervisor, who I'd noticed before had a problem with foreign accents. So much so, that he'd rather keep his mouth shut, when having to work with foreign people, than try and make even the shortest of conversations with them (us). After an almost full day's worth of having to listen to one hungover limey's tales of drinkiiiin' and complaints of not much sleep & having to watch the ever more sour expressions on another limey's face, me and the Nigger--oops-Nigerian bloke are sent home earlier than the others. On our way out, the Hangover Chief is shouting at us something ending with "...and keep on talkin'!" The next morning I wake up to a call from the agency at 7 o'clock saying, that they don't want us back to those farkin' saltmines anymore, cuz we had been talkin' too much and makin' too much noise and whatnot. Actually, what the yuppie slave-trader said on the phone was reminiscent of a well-worn line from some crappy Hollywood b-movie: "YOU'RE NEVER GONNA WORK IN THIS TOWN AGAIN!!!" Seems like inna Inglan, walls don't just have ears, they have a very big mouth and a fucking looooooooooooong face, too. So, all ye shy and quiet Finns, if you ever end up working on this Maggie's (or that "one-eyed Scottish idiot" Gordon Brown's) farm, remember what you've been told in the country you come from all your lives: DON'T TALK TO STRANGERS!! related
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COMMUNISM & POLAR BEARS While most of the people in Inglan mistake me for a Polack - except the Polish people themselves- the two most common questions the Amerikkans still ask me & the two most typical answers I give them after going thru this for the 5,000,000th time still are: - Is
Finland still part of Russia? [or Soviet Union] |
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ALKOHOLISTI VALEHTELEMASSA ITTELLEEN Top Ten kronologisessa järjestyksessä - vaikka alkuunhan se aina palaa, tää touhu meinaan nääs (An alcoholic lying to him- or herself... or maybe to HIM!??)
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BRUMMIES I can't quite put my finger on which set of people here piss me off most Could it be... the students the business-type yuppies in their £1m suits and gelled-up hairdos, that make them look like swines (that they are) and with their shoes, that clang on the floor like women's shoes do the Polaks or the other speek-no-ingleesh Easter Europeans, who just keep to their own lot & are not even interested in mixing with anyone else the wannabe gangsta rapper Paki lads with their bling-bling in their "sportscars" with that same-o mononous tuneless muzak blaring outa their stereos the refugees from Africa, who don't even have to do anything to get their benefits, cuz they're here just to stay away from the wars that their own people or governments can't solve ...or could it be the white street junkies hanging on your sleeve begging for a "change" (Change indeed is what this place would need, but a different kind) or the Biiiiiig Iiiiissuuuuuuue sellers that just won't leave you alone or maybe the heavy metal juntit that make you feel like it's Finland all over again Nooooooooo, I think it's the government... these faceless pawns in Her Majesty's satanic game all these office clerks and civil servants in all kind of councils and bureaux and their call centres the anonymous voice at the other end of the line not knowing anything, just doing their job all these little piss-ants who just tell you to call some other office, where they tell you this, while the other one tells you that and no one takes responsibility for anything - even if they fuck up your life with their incompetence I dunno if it's just this town or are they everywhere in Grrr-----Little Britain?!? |
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"AN ENGLISH COW WANTS TO FUCK" Without äsking, |
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BRITIT TV:N ÄÄRESSÄ Mitä pitäis päätellä kansakunnasta,
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OLLIE MEETS HANDSOME FAMILY I went to see the bänd, thät gave us such lyrics as "The guy next door plays Dylan till four/ I bang on the wall, but he won't turn it down" a day äfter Båwb's 68th birthday. It was a bänk holiday in this country and still part of a Gay Pride weekend, tho it was already Monday. Behind a merch table I see a couple, who look a lot like the Handsome Family. I was wondering to myself if the people from such a big act would REALLY be selling their merchandise from hand to hand. Also, Rennie Sparks was kinda hard to recognize because of the mummolasit she was wearing. After a couple of rohkaisuryyppy I go to find out. - Are you the girl from the Handsome Family? I was about to ask "You didn't throw him out?" when there was a whole lotta other eager fans pushing and shoving by the merch table, so I quit before I am thrown out myself. I go to the bathroom, so I can get properly plästered on my own booze in peace. I miss most of the opening äct, who were supposed to be like both country AND western, but turned out to be anything but. I had more fun writing things like JEWISH MOTHER - which I managed to remember Rennie Sparks having written on her bass from the above mentioned video - on the bathroom door with a biro. From the gig itself I mostly remember Brett Sparks having a bottle of beer [I dränk mostly red wine at that show, which I'm sure everyone reading this is just DYING to know] in his hand at every given opportunity - which he did already at the merch table, too. But he seemed to be only sipping it, folks. Towards the end of the Handsome Family set, I start shouting "Play One More Cup Of Coffee" or "Amelia Earhart" in turns. After several attempts at this, they seem to talk about me on stage and you can hear Rennie say near a mic "This guy's consistent!" Still they don't play either. The last thing I remember... no, not before I "stripped and kneeled" Señor... is that I try to lean against what I thought was a wall covered by some clothing. Turns out it was just a curtain with nothing behind it. So I fall over with my smuggled-in drinks spilling all over me and everything I'm carrying with me - mostly some free shit (didn't buy anything from the merchandise, heh heh). OK, I do remember talking to some older Irish guys, who had been following the Handsome Family all over the British Isles. When they ask me if I'm from Poland, I says "No, I'm from a civilized country" and they actually guess Finland pretty soon, amazingly enough. The next thing I know is I wake up home alone without my knit cäp, that had a Russian hämmer'n'sickle badge (courtesy of Pecka Ctrange) on its front. I still seem to have some of my BYOB booze left at the bottom of my fläsk tho. Also in my possession is a very scratchy Gay Pride beer glass, but have no idea where or how I got it - and not quite sure if I even want to know. All of my clothes are all soaked wet with God knows what. "God knows - I don't even want to". If Rennie or Brett Sparks ever read this, maybe you guys could write a song about it, so I wouldn't have to bother you with those requests at the next Handsome Family gig I attend? |
16.
MY PAKI NEIGHBOUR He never introduced himself, when he moved into my house over a half-year ago. So I have no idea what's his name and where he's from. As a matter of fact, I first saw his dad or big brother or someone who looked just like him first, when some older Pak--erm--Southern Asian dude in the hallway asked me the way to the pub. So, at first I had no idea which one of 'em had moved in, to start with. The Pakistani boyo is putting up his fellow countrymen all the time. There always seems to be one or two of them in his room the size of a little more than a matchbox, even if he's not there. You never see them, and since they don't speak English between themselves, it's anybody guess what they're doing there. Planning a terror attack? Smuggling illegal immigrants? "What's he building in there..." Never any women with my Pakk neighbor, tho. But it doesn't look like these guys are gays either. Every time I leave some magazine lying around in our shared facilities, they're always turned to the pages with pictures of half-naked chicks. Maybe it's better that you never see T&A in this country's free papers, y'know? [This house would have drowned in sperm by now, for fuckssake!!] Tho my Pakk neighbor hasn't wasted too much time on talking to me or anyone else in this house, he did once search for me in particualr all across the whole building on a Saturday or Sunday morning (when Yours Truly was, suffice to say, worse for wear'n'tear). Because of his less-than-clear accent, it was pretty hard to figure out what he was after. Something about "thrllet" not "whrckking". Turned out that our toilet hadn't flushed exactly 100% of my shit, that I had just taken. So I follow him back to the toilet, only to find that there was, like, the tiniest piece of shite & TP still there, that hadn't gone down. So I push the button and say "Looks like it's whrkking OK now!" ...and all of this from a person, who (or whose guest) once dried himself to the filthiest ever rag on the floor, that we'd been using to dry it, when they didn't seem to have a towel of their own at hand (only on their heads - smile please!) If you didn't know, these people don't even use TP, so there's always water all over the toilet and all kind of containers and bottles they've used here and there. Anyone want the full, all-out details of The Boys From Pakistan shaving their balls in our bathroom and not cleaning up a [pubic] hair after them? Staying in the bathroom - literally, tho gladly not physically after what I just said... Not only have the fire alarms in the house gone off several times at an ungodly hour, when my Pakk neighbor has been smoking indoors, tho you're not supposed to and he's been told that there are smoke detectors everywhere and they're very sensitive (unlike any of the tenants)... going off, like, when you're toasting a slice of bread. I don't know which part of that he didn't understand. The best one was, tho, when in the wintertime, he unscrewed the screws in our bathroom window so that he could smoke there, resulting in the window not closing entirely anymore. In other words, "cold shower" gets a whole new meaning in this house. Well, he also unscrewed the lid from the toilet bowl seat for reasons only known to him. Going to our kitchen, I seem to be the only one in the household, who even tries to clean it a little bit sometimes. Many are the times, when I've had to throw away everyone else's moldy & rotten food before it's started to literally WALK (there have been, um, rodent sightings in the kitchen - I hope they were just mice!) Once I was out of the house for a couple of weeks and when I got back, there was still the same garbage bag on the kitchen floor, that was there when I left. Only now there were flies buzzing around it. Even if the trash hadn't been taken out while I was gone, time had been found to eat (or whatever the fuck they had done with it...) what I had left in the fridge and the freezer. At the time, the Pakk was the only one I was sharing the house with, so that kind of narrows it down.. My Paki neighbor doesn't seem to know, that your're not supposed to put hot food or dishes in the fridge. Countless times the whole damn thing and everything inside has melted. The freezer is usually so frozen up, that the door doesn't close too hot ;) I could count on two hands the times I've been going to the freezer to find my food in there gone bad, cos someone hasn't bothered to see if the door has been closed properly. If the Boy From Pakistan knows the meaning of "shared accomodation" he's certainly got a totally own version of it - and a couple of outtakes to boot! I don't know if our Dear Landlord (who seems to speak the same language as he does) never told him, that it doesn't mean, that you are supposed to take all the shared facilities and everything available in the communal rooms to your own room and at least never bring it back. My Pakk neighbor has never brought anything into this house, but the list of things he has obviously taken away is endless. This dude is working and these things shouldn't cost that much, so I wonder what's the problem? Shorly after he had moved in, I tried to eat for once in our kitchen, only to find there no forks nowhere to be found anymore. On the ultra-rare occasion (quite possibly the only time EVER I've brought booze into the building) when I bought a bottle of wine, I couldn't open, cos the corkscrew had disappeared. When one of our housemates who had brought a DVD player with him to our common room, moved away, the DVD player was missing before I even knew he had moved out. Then again, there wouldn't have been anywhere to sit on there anymore, cos the Pakk taken away the only unbroken chair in the room (which I had "found" on the street). Eventually, he even swapped the big-screen TV in that room with his tiny portable one with no remote, without asking anyone - or telling ME, cos at that point we were the only ones living in the house then. Neither could you listen to any muzak in the kitchen anymore, if you wanted to, the CD/cassette player-radio is also gone now. Tho I don't know what language my Southern Asian neighbor speaks, you forcefed with free unsolicited lessons for Punjabi, Urdu or what-the-fuck-ever it is in our hallway almost on a daily and oftentimes nightly basis. Not only does he usually have his door open, when he's on the phone, but he also goes to make his calls in the hall or the bathroom, so you can't help but overhear his molotus even to my room. I've never heard him speak Englsih one single solitary time on his phone. No. These guys don't even wanna know English people - unless it's to shag some white, preferably blonde birds (in their dreams). They hate this country and they wanna blow it up in the spirit of 7/7... but first they wanna take as much advanatge of it as possible at as little expense as they can get away with. Now, what kind of answers are you supposed to give to the question in The Fall songtitle "Who Makes The Nazis?" |
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MINÄ, IHANNENAAPURI |
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THE UNTRANSLATEABLE |
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TRE VS. BRUM |
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MIELUMMIN PORNOO KU P.J. HARVEYA |
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MUSIC’S GOT EVERYTHING TO DO WITH EVERYTHING |
24. MARY GAUTHIER "INTERVIEW" Olin Mary Gauthierin konsertin jälkeen kaljajonossa, ku huomaan, et se on kävelemässä vähän matkan päästä ohi. Huuran sille: - Mary! MAAAARYYY!!!! Se pysähtyy kuuloetäisyydelle ja kysyn siltä: - Do you know Pop Dylan?
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JESSICA LEA MAYFIELD TAVALLA VÄHÄN ENNEN 20-VUOTIS(!?)SYNTYMÄPÄIVÄÄNSÄ Meitsi on menossa kuselle vähä ennen ku Band Of Horses alkaa skulaan, ku kävelen päin jotain aikas glamorous looking chick. Sanon sille "sori" ja ku se kääntyy muhun päin, tajuun et se on just lämppärinä esiintyny Jessica Lea Mayfield. Heitän sille sit: - By the way, nice gig! Myöhemmin ostan pari sen CD:tä (halvalla ku sai, nääs) merch tablelta, jota en ollu aikasemmin huomannukka. En jaksanu ottaa selvää oliko tyypit pöydän toisella puolella minkäkielisiä, ni kysyn englanniks: - Is that chick still around? Y'know, I wouldn't mind getting these things signed by her. Aika äkkiä tulee selväks, et tyypit on suomalaisia, eikä [tai ehkä juuri six ei] ne tiä missä JLM ny on. Emmääkä sitä sen jälkeen enää nää, nääs, mut tua voitte käydä tsiigamassa saundeja: |
31. “OLLI PAUKE NAKI DOLL AND THE KICKSIN, MUTTEI MUISTA SIITA JUURI MITAAN” Koska tata blogia ei kirjota mikaan mervivuorela tai joku jeanramsay...Ei vaan – suoraan sanottuna: koska en VITTU muista juuri mittaan, sanon itte keikasta vaan, etta vitun hyvia olivat Doll & The Kicks livena. Eivat mitenka vittuuntuneita soittamaan toistaiseksi viela aika rajallisen tuotantonsa samoja piiseja ties kuinka monetta kertaa. Eivatka antaneet edes sen hairita, etta paikalla oli ehka 2 ihmisen 2 kaden sormilla laskettava maara porukkaa, vaikka liput makso ennakossa £4. Ja olivat ne 2 ihmista sitten ainoot paikalla olleet suomalaiset tai ei, ainakin olivat ainoat koko FUCKING yleisosta, jokka heilu tai teki mitaan muutaka siina lavan edessa. Ja allekirjottanu oli ainoo, joka huuteli/kommentoi bandille lavalla yhtikas mitaan – herranen aika! Keikan jalkeen ku taman blogin kirjoittaja oli irrottelemassa bandin keikkajulisteita alakerran pubin seinalta, koko DATK huomas sen & tuli jutteleen... Tai sitten: maa aloin hopiseen niille, ku ne siihen ilmaantu.Erona oli se, ett ne ei juanu juuri mitaan (Doll ei juanu ainaka viinaa – sen huomasin & muistan) & arvoisa kirjoittajanne oli aivan perseet. Himass oli juatu pari pulloo laheisen Lidlin eteleafrikkalaista halpispunkkua (£3 per pullo) mita tuli salakuljetettua keikkapaikallekin. Ja eikohan sia paikan paalla tullu pari bisseeki kumottua (vai tuliko?!?) Suomalaiskansalliseen wannabe-gonzojournalistin tapaan muistan ihmeen hyvin mita itte sanoin DATKin tyypeille, mutten mita ne sano. Fooken cool, ain’t it? Liimiksen Linkola-levyn etukannen textaillu Miami FLA Kouvolasta (Rumban Jeanin mielestahan taa on ”Englannin Kouvola”) oli paikalla & sanoin DATKin sakille, et ”She flew all the way from Finland just to see you guys!”Usko ne sita tai ei, puhe kaanty taannoisiin Suamen keikkoihin Morrissey lampparina. En vaan muista mita ne sano. Kai sia ihan kivaa oli ollu. Rumpalilla oli paalla joku fukking poropaitaki, missa tais lukee Lappland tai Lappi, mika tietysti tappo mun kiinnostuksen (ilmankos se oliki si ainoo, jonka nimmaria ei oo tossa keikkajulisteessa). Pyari siina myos joku jatka – jolla ei onneks ollu kai mitaan tekemista bandin kaa – jolla oli muka tyttoystava Tampereessa nimelta Henna. Terveisia vaan, jos tan lukee! DATKin Chris seisoskeli siina mun vasemmalla puolella. Sanoin sille "I think you're better than the Smiths" - se oli heti et "Fuck no!" [voi olla, etta ruma sana mun mielikuvituksen tuotetta, ed.note] Anyway, Doll seiso siina mun oikeella puolella & jotain maa kyselin silta vaha Manics-piisin mukaan "Now baby, what have you done to your hair?" ku se oli varjanny sen mustaks. En tiatenka muista mita se itte sano, mut ma sanoin et "I preferred it blonde." |
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DYLAN & THE DEAD WEATHER [or She Said Yeah!] Before the gig, at the bar, I saw a totally ordinary-lookin’ guy wearing a t-shirt for Dylan’s current tour. I went up to make some comment about it and ask him where’d he get it. I was wearing the shirt, that was included in a limited edition for the first “Bootleg Series” myself. The guy turns to have a look at it, then without saying a word turns back to his drink. So much for hobnobbing with Brummie Dylan fans & other strangers. On stage, the Dead Weather’s version of Bawb’s “New Pony” is pretty much unrecognizable, but there’s not too many of his own live versions to compare – is there – so who’s to say? To add a bit originality, they could have just as well used the unused “Shadow in the door” verse (available in most of Dylan’s lyric books, tho not included in the lyric sheet for the Dead Weather’s “Horehound” CD). Watching Jack White smooching quite openly with Alison Mosshart, I ask Carmen of Horse Feathers: |
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OLLI PAUKE'S TOP TEN FAVORITE ENGLISH WORDS (Don't ask me why - I might even tell you the truth)
1. irreverent |
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DOKAAMASSA NAPALM DEATHIN KAA HALLOWEENINA Halloweenina näin vanhemman, väha ...tukevamman hevi-aijan, jolla luki paidassa Deathbound ja jotain suomenkielista tekstia "Miksi elätte kuin rotat?" tms. Kavin kysyyn klassiset "Hei, sori, oot sa Suomesta?" Tyyppi osottautuki Napalm Deathin rumpaliks LA:sta. Se sano venailevansa niitten kitaristia, jolla oli myös syntymapaiva. Se tuli siihen sit jonku hadin tuskin tays'ikasen nakosen likan kaa, joka ei puhunu koko iltana mitaan (naisen paikka HM-hierarkiassa...) Sanoin äijille, et "Tehan ootte kayny Suomessa montaki kertaa - muistaks te sielta mitaan?" Kitaristi sano, et sia oli saatanan kylma (vaikka ne viimeks oli sia melkein kesalla). Rumpali sano, et sen mielesta muutenki aika paskan bandin HIM:in rumpali oli niin arsyttava jatka, et taa oli melkein tempassu sita. Yritin jotain kysya tyypeilta et "Eks te alottanu jonkilaisena anarkistipunk-bandina?" Mut sia Scruffy Murphy'sissa oli tavalliseen tapaan se hevipaska 'taustalla' niin vitun kovalla, etten kuullu, mita se mun fellow Scorpiooni sano. Rumpalilta kysyin oliks se LA:ssa sillonki ku sia alko taa hardcore punk-scene & mainittin nimelta jotain sikalaisten bandien nimia...Black Flag, Germs... Joko se ei tianny niita tai kuullu mita mää sanoin, mut jotain se mutisi Dischargesta. Ihan mukavia & vaatimattomia äijiä {varsinki heavy-]rockstaroiks, vaikka jossain vaiheessa sanoinki sivulauseessa "...even tho I don't like your band..." Se oli kans huvittavaa, etten ikina oikeen paassy perille niitten nimista. Kuulin/luulin, et ne oli Georgie ja Jason, mut kasittaakseni ne oliki Danny ja Mitch. Ne kyl kuuli ja muisti mun nimen ihan hyvin & huvittavasti lopetti joka lauseen: "____________ blaablaa blaa, Olli!" |
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OLLI PAUKE HIP PRIESTSIEN VIERAILEVANA SOLISTINA? En tia onko bandi ottanu nimensa The Fall-yhtyeen biisista vai ei, mut siihen ne yhtenevaisyydet si loppuuki. Hip Priestsien zipaleissa eniten kaytetyt sanat taitaa olla fuck ja pussy. Tarkempaan analyysiin en ny pystykka, ku hukkasin niitten keikalta ostamani CD:n heti seuraavana paivana kannissa. Keikalla Hip Priestsien laulaja viihty enemman yleison seassa ku lavalla, joka tosin oli melkein lattiatason korkeudella... tai itse asiassa, ei se tainnu lavalla kayda ku kaantymassa tai ottamassa huikkaa. Kundi ojenteli mikkiansa anteliaasti kaikille lavan edessa heiluneille & kun se sita tarjos allekirjottaneelle, bandin tyyliin sopien siihen tuli si huudettua suomeks & sumeilematta: "HUORRRRRAAAAAAAAAA!!!!" Vaikka Hip Priestsien keikka oli kovaa menoo alusta loppuun, mieliinpainuvinta sia tais olla blondit [with mighty boobsh] blondin peraan/paalle :P Ramones-paitansa johonki hukannu radiant jewel & valitettavasti jonkun mystical(?) wife Sarah in a calico dress, 34 v. ja joku 38-vuotias kolmen skidin YH-aiti Cambridgesta, jonka nimi ei ny enaa tuu mieleen... Ei vaan, historiallista tosta illasta nailla leveysasteilla teki, et DJ soitti sia pyytamatta (!) Dylanin "Obviously 5 Believersin" nimenomaiselta Blonde On Blonde-kiekolta. P.S. Hip Priestsien oheisessa settilistassa on verta meitsin nenasta, ku kotimatkalla kaatosateessa kompastuin & kaaduin MELKEIN kuralatakkoon, eika ollu muutaka mihin pyyhkia. |
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OLLI KAY KUSELLA & "KESKUSTELEE" DYLANISTA SEASICK STEVEN KEIKALLA Birminghamin uus Academy on kaikkea muuta ku kodikas tai intiimi keikkapaikka. Sen lisaks sia on aikas poliisivaltiomeininki ovella. Kaikkien (=ammienki) kassit & kamat pengotaan lapikotasin. Niinpa oli pieni ihme, et onnistuin salakuljettaan sinne melkein taysinaisen punkkupullon mukanani. Koska en halua leikkia mitaan rock-kritiikkoa, Seasick Stevesta ittesta ei sen enempaa ku, et se veti samaa tavaraa lavalla - lopulta pullon suusta - mita mulla oli povarissa. Laakari oli sanonu sille, et vinkku on sen terveydelle parempaa ku viski. Jengi hurras sille kommentille, vaikken maa ainaka nahny keidenka muiden sia juovan punkkua. Stoopid Brummies... Okei, yks brumilais-kundi sia yllatti mut kakski kertaa. Se jopa tunnisti Dylanin Bobin mun paidassa, vaikkei siina ees lue sen nimee. Sikku ostin lampparina esiintyneen Amy LaVeren CD:n, missa oli Dylan-coveri "I'll remember you" kundi muka tiesi senki biisin! Sen vaimon mielesta osuvin biisin nimi [sita meian touhuilua siina vieresta seurailtuuan] likan levylla oli kuiteski "Pointless drinking". Ai niin, se piti sanomani, etten oo missaan muualla ku Venajalla nahny niin pitkia jonoja ku oli vessaan tossa konsertissa (vaikken oo Venajalla koskaan kaynykka). |
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WHY I DON'T GIVE A SHIT IF BRITISH SOLDIERS DIE IN AFGHANISTAN (or FUCK THIS WAR, FUCK THESE PEOPLE!) There was no reason for them to go there in the first place. Why don't these people blame the British government This violent shithole is full of all kinds of crazy people, It's sickening to see more than half of the Brits support this war. Instead of lining up the streets crying, "Oh God, please kill every boyband and celebrity couple ---------------------------------- |
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2 ILMAISKONSERTTIA YHTENA ILTANA KAUPUNGISSA, JOSSA VUODEN ’65 DYLANIA LUULLAAN ROY ORBISONIKS Samana iltana ku tan yhen taysin tapettavan poikabandin ulkoilmakeikalla 60-70 ihmista loukkaantu jossain ryysiksessa (kai niilla ressukoilla oli niin kova kiire paasta pakoon sellasta skeidaa) mun lahipubissa olis ollu GBH ilmaiskeikalla. Kaikkialla luki, et se alkaa 8:lta, mut sikku meen sinne niihin aikoihin jo aika perseet, sia sanotaan, et ne alkaaki soittaan 11:lta. Ihmettelin missa mun so-called friends oli & miks ne ei vastannu puhelimeen. Myohemmin sain selville, et yks niista oli sammunu kampille, eika muukka si jaksanu lahtee mihka. Peri-birminghamilaiseen tapaan kukaan tassa pubissa ei tietenka puhunu ventovieraille. Ei ollu eka kerta tassa kylassa, ku tuli mieleen se yks sketsi Herrasmiesliigasta, lievasti muunneltuna: ”This is a local pub for local people – there’s nothing for you here!” Viimenen pisara oli ku parhaat paivansa nahny, ei taatusti sekuntiaka alle 50-vuotias punkkariamma kaivo nenaansa ihan mun vieressa & laitto SUUHUNSA mita sielta loyty. Jai GBH sit nakematta, ku lahin vittuun
ajatellen ittekseni aaneen: ”Fuck this city and everyone in it!”
Tuskin meen ”Highway 61” blues-iltaanka ens tiistaina.
Taidan yrittaa laatia seuraavaa maailmansotaa,
ettia promoottori, joka melkein putoo lattialta, vaikkei oo ikina sotkeutunu mihinka tallaseen aiemmin,
laittaa kattamattomia seisomapaikkoja aurinkoon
ja........................................ 
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SELVINPÄIN FLAMING LIPSIEN KEIKALLA ORWELLILAISESSA NAZIMESTASSA Oli tarkotus ottaakki vähä rauhallisemmin, mutta ei ny ihan niin rauhallisesti ku Academyn poke halus. Mul oli muovisessa limpparipullossa punkkua povarissa siihen asti ku ovella jouduin Beavis & Butthead Do America-leffasta tuttua full cavity search:ia muistuttanuttaneen operaation uhriks. Cola-linjalla sitten menin istuun tietämättäni disabled-paikoille, joihin ei kovinka pahasti vammanen olis päässykkä omin avuin. Ei kauaa menny ku seuraava virkaintonen natsipoke tuli ajaan mua helvettiin siitä. En nähny ainuttaka rullatuolipotilasta jonottamassa sille paikalle. Yleisössä oli jopa niin nuorta sakkia ku ihka oikea sylivauva saatananmoiset kuulokkeet korvissaan & jota sen mutsi (joku hippi) imettikin välillä. Mun edessä istu myös arviolta 7-9 vuotias pikkupoika luultavasti äitensä seurassa. Jätkä laulo suurimman osan Flaming Lipsien biisien mukana & heilutteli käsiään aina kun Wayne Coyne siihen yllytti. Siitä en päässy perille mitä mahtoivat äiti & poika tuumia tavasta, jolla bändi tuli lavalle. Ne tuli kirjaimellisesti sieltä, mistä lapset useimmiten tulee, takaseinälle heijastetun naisen jalkojen välistä. Lisää limpparia haettuani päädyin paikalle, josta olis ollu muuten suora näköyhteys Wayne Coyneen lavalla, mutta yet another dickhead poke seisoskeli siinä välissä HAUKOTELLEN. Hiljasemman kohdan aikana, kun tää erehdyttävästi Stereophonicsien (of course, some total SHITE like that!) laulajaa muisuttava sälli käänty muhun päin, huusin sille: "Voisikko mennä vittuun siitä edestä?" Se vaan ravisteli päätään vastaukseks. Ei ollu eka kerta tässä maassa ku tuli mieleen kysymys: How do these people get their jobs? Tässä kapasiteetiltaan yli 3000 henkee vetävässä poliisivaltiomestassa tuli mieleen eräistäki muijista ja niitten miespuolisista seuralaisista: How do these guys get these birds? Mut se on sitten jo different story… Yrityksenä heittää jotain positiivistakin tälle 4:nnelle kadulle; välillä aika kiivaankin saarnaamisen & kiroilun lomassa Wayne Coyne totesi aforismin omaisesti: "Joy is more powerful than anger!" [liitteenä bändin yleisön sekaan puhaltamaa paperisilppua, beibet] 
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FROM A TO B AND BACK AGAIN [A Finn and an American talking Finns] A ...neither of those guys have been in ANY contact with me after i came back & i dunno why! B Just sounds like classically Finnish behavior to me. Some of your countrymen simply do not respond to messages instead of replying with something negative, uncomfortable or critical. Email silence. They prefer not to write at all instead of responding with something unpleasant or argumentative. It's easier for them than confronting you and writing that they're upset or politely telling you that they're too busy to respond to you. Why is that? How do you figure out what's on their mind or what their problem is? A --IN ALL SERIOUSNESS, i think you should apply for a job to be a marriage/relattionship counsellor in Funland, if there was one!! B I would enjoy this job. Although I'd eventually get tired of all the miscommunications I'd have to deal with. And the drunk guys who beat their wives wouldn't be much fun. A--Maybe you can see it from a distance, unlike us. B On the outside looking in. I think I can understand the stereotypical Finnish character (if there even is such a thing) a little bit because I have been exposed to so many people from there. I know a little about the culture. Despite all the positives about Finland, some people just don't have a good grasp on basic communication. A lot of misery would be alleviated if Finns were a bit more expressive and honest about their emotions with one another. All the guessing and silent treatment and mindreading can be frustrating. So many Finns complain about this. But then they, themselves, also partake in this same silence. Why not just be direct? It's so much easier on everyone. Although I guess this isn't really the Finnish way, at least not among the older generation. And Finns can definitely be stubborn about that kind of thing. It's like, if you tell them to be direct, they sometimes don't even seem to understand what you mean. But maybe this is like telling an Italian to be punctual or telling an American to be subtle? You know, Yanks certainly have their share of communication problems, too. A lot of bullshiting and unrealistic, naive optimism, which you don't really encounter in Finland, thank God. A --What you said about the Finns was true almost word to word,man! B I speak from experience. And by that, I don't mean from knowing you. You tend to be a lot more direct, even though you're a bit of a weirdo. I bet that makes other Finns uncomfortable sometimes. It amazes me that you, a native-born Finn, have no idea what you did or didn't do wrong in many social situations. I think it must feel really weird to be puzzled by your own countrymen. In my business dealings, I will sometimes wonder if a Finnish contact is not staying in touch with me because they're busy, annoyed or just forgetful. But I guess that actual Finnish people wonder about this among themselves, too? And some people get paranoid, trying to find hidden meanings in what their friends are saying, even when there isn't one. Probably because they're so used to having to guess all the time. One of the main points of Liimanarina, I think, is making the intentions of the jokes in the songs kind of hard to figure out. They might sound serious if you don't listen too closely. I have always referred to the band's lyrics and music as being somewhat tragicomic. They're both sad and funny. And you're an equal-opportunity offender: You're certainly more critical of the Finnish middle class than you are of say, gays, Africans and Arabs. It's the same kind of humor that Borat would utilize much later on, but in a more mainstream way. A if there seems to be a problem with someone i thought was a friend (why would i write to someone i hate anyway..?) I try to find out what it is. And if someone pisses me off, i wouldn't leave them just second guessing after NOT telling them what's the matter. B Exactly. But one of your friends might go totally silent for months, even after you've tried to email them repeatedly. No response. Then suddenly, they start writing to you again. (It's fine to take a break from email if you're busy or if you have nothing to say, but people in Finland tend to just stop without warning, like they died or something.) Maybe they'll only get in touch again when they want something? Or maybe they've suddenly decided they can finally handle whatever personal problems they have with you? This silence is somewhat unusual in other countries. People don't just say nothing for months or even years and then email you, out of the blue, to tell you something big, out of nowhere. To be fair, I've also found that Finnish silence isn't always personal. Many times it's just that the person doesn't feel like writing. But how do you know? You cannot ask, because nobody will respond. Endless guessing game. |
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LIIMANARINA: First I Look At The Tits CS (released by Mieletön Mutantti,
January 2011)
Tracklisting in Finglish:
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LIIMANARINA: Live at LePiss LP (released on Temmi Kongi, Feb. 2011)
..it used to be like that, now it goes like this:
Lisää Teemun omien pizzojen syömisohjeita baareihin & vähä muualleki Marilta, joka on vaeltanu mm. Vantaalla ku vajaamielinen avaruuskala Ahvenanmaalla
On the right: Rawpe Seppaelae on the loan from the Musti Laiton, Cockpits and Temmi Kongi fame. |
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Liimanarina vs. Pere Ubu (Uskonsa menettäneiden & toivosta luopuneiden joulujuhla) Our roadie for the night, Jyrki Nissinen of Seksihullut, accidentally went to Pere Ubu's backstage, not knowing they had a separate one from Liimanarina. As a mother of fuck't, our backstage was even on a different floor from theirs, distancing us almost like Hellsinki from Cleveland, Ohio. Nevertheless, at least they had the decency to give him a cold beer for his pains. Later on, me and our bass player Teemu happened to pass by Pere Ubu's backstage. I told them he's from "Finland's Cleveland". He was also wearing an Electric Eels t-shirt and tried to ask them something about those guys. With no intention for a comment, Mr. David Thomas grabbed a handful of beer bottles and pretty much stormed out of the room. Maybe, if he's still a practicing Jehovah's witness, he might have been slightly miffed, if he saw what I had written on the piece of paper covering the bass drum (influenced by the Christian Rock Hard episode of South Park, that was on the telly just the other night before the gig): UNBELIEF + 5, CHRISTMAS PARTY FOR THOSE OF US WHO HAVE LOST THEIR FAITH & GIVEN UP ALL HOPE and GOD - ACTION = ZERO. The other Ubus were a bit less uptight than their singer. I said something about the New Picnic Time being like the 3rd LP my folks ever bought me, when it came out. I told the lady bass player, that our own walk-in song had been named after David's side project at the time, The Wooden Birds. I asked if they'd play anything by them or from any other album than The Modern Dance. She said "Probably not by the Wooden Birds, but we've already played something from the next couple of albums as well and prolly will tonight as well". And they actually did in Helshittinki, too. The drummer for Perkele Ubu was obviosuly the youngest one of the lot. I asked him something about Cleveland, saying both me and Teemu have been there. He said he was the only one in the band still living there. He said David's now living in Brighton, England. I said "That's where Nick Cave lives nowadays too. Do you think they know each other?". He says "I dunno, but I hear he lives just up the road from David." Then he grabbed prolly more beer than I got from the promoters that night with him and headed on stage.
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Angelic Upstarts Puntalassa 2011 & Epeksen kuvakannet 1979/80 (Small town small mind) Joku joka oliki si Mensi lähti talsimaan lavalle päin ihan mun vierestä (hyvä ettei tönässy mua mennessään - muttei sentään tuupannu) yleisöjoukon taa'immaisten ohitse. Vasta kun äijä pääsi lavalle asti, tajusin ettei tää sinipaitainen, riskimpi (mut EI lihava, ei) vanhempi herra ollutkaan kuka tahansa potentiaalinen Millwallin kannattaja. 8 kaljan ja 4 litran punaviinisetin jäljiltä (okei, osan joi L.A.R.S. Aryannation) en keikasta kauheen tarkkoja yksityiskohtia muista... mutta hyviä olivat NOIN vanhoiks & samat rallit NIIN moneen kertaan veivanneiks - kai.
Sen sijaan voisin tässä yhteydessä - Pirkanmaalla kun nytkin oltiin - mollata Eppujenkin Jee jee- biisissään mainostaman tamperkeleläisen levykaupan, Epeksen maahantuontipolitiikkaa mun nuoruudessa. Sieltä mulle ostettiin mun about 5 ekaa seiskatuumasta 70- ja 80-luvun taitteessa. Yks' niistä oli Upstartsien I'm an upstart/ Leave me alone (molemmat biisit tais tulla Puntalassakin livenä?) Yhteistä noilla sinkuilla oli (muut oli jotain Siouxsie & The Bansheesiä, Undertonesia, Sehr Schnelliä yms.) et Epeksessä missään niistä ei ollu kuvakansia. Vasta vuosikymmenien varrella mulle vähitellen valkeni, et kyl niistä muualla maailmassa oli ollu pic sleeves ja joissain painoksissa jopa coloured vinyl. Onko siis ihme, et lapsuus/varhaisnuoruuskin TampereeSSa oli niin ankeeta, ku Epeksestäki sai vaan epätäydellisiä levyjä? Tässähän tuntee ihan kasvaneensa kieroon 'kele!
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SPLITSIEN 7":N MYYMISYRITYKSIÄ PROBLEMS?IEN KEIKALLA TAMPEREESSA No. 10 Vatsavirtsan yläkerran kaljajonossa mun vieressä seisoo joku rokkijätkän näkönen tyyppi,
käsivarsi täynnä tatskoja & kaikki, Seuraavaks Tumppi Varonen ja Rane Raitsikka heittää kaksin kokolailla unplugged-setin. |
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MINÄ, EPUT & BOB DYLAN (Mitä et Runkasta voinu lukkee) Tai siis ton verran luki hei'än nettisivuillaan: "EPPU NORMAALI – nykyinen suomirockin stadionjätti, joka oli joskus punk-bändi. Kolme Eppua saapui etelään Lepakkomies-punkluolan hämyyn seuraamaan kellaribändien melskettä. Millaisiksi punkkarien ilmeet vääntyivät, kun Martti Syrjä kumppaneineen astui saluunaan? Entä mitä tapahtui, kun Liimanarinan Olli Pauke tunki väkisin mukaan haastattelupöytään?" Luulin meneväni dokaan Eppujen kaa, ku Gordon Sibeliukselta tuli kutsu liittyä seuraan (en "tunkenut väkisin" tai "kävellyt ohi" sattumalta niinku Rumba anto ymmärtää) ku en tienny kuka heistä juo tai ei nykyään. Aku oli ainoa joka veti ainaka Bissee, mut just se ei osallistunu meiän keskusteluun muistaakseni mitenkä. Haastattelumikrofonin ulkopuolella heitetyt jutut oli mielestäni niin inside-juttuja Tampereen seudulla pari-kolmekymmentä vuotta sitten pyörineiden kesken, etten ajatellu niissä olevan mitään kiinnostavaa kenenkä Rumbaa nykyään lukevan miälestä. Esimerkkinä: Kaks' puheenaihetta, jokka tuli mieleen Eput tavatessa, kuivu kokoon lähes samantien. Yritin kysellä jotain "yhestä Poko Recordsin vähiten myyneestä bändistä, jota ei oo ees CD:nä julkastu" eli lahtelaisesta Vau!!-yhtyeestä. Torvinen muistaa, et "Niillähän oli se biisi Yö Asematunnelin Keskitysleirillä...leirissä?" [sic] Mitään muuta nää labelmatesit ei si keksinykkä niistä kertoa. Ainoo biisi, mikä mulla oli himassa suoraltakäsin kuunneltavissa Epuilta ennen ku menin heitä miittaan oli Bob Dylan ("Dylan on messias, kamoon kamoon mennään Dylania kumartamaan...") Ja vaikkei olis ollukka, olisin varmaan yrittäny ottaa Bobin puhheeks tavalla tai toisella anyway.
Keskustelu tyrehtyy ennen ku se on alkanukka, osittain siks, et meitsi alustaa asiaa Epuille tyyliin: Kun Eput vietiin tämän päivän punkkareita tsekkaan tarkemmin, multa tullaan heti kyseleen "Millasia ne oli?" P.S. Martin The Kids Are Alright-leffan "He was almost as interesting as--" kohtausta muistuttava sormella osoittelu tossa kuvassa liitty jonkun tarkan ajan ja paikan (tapahtumapaikkana muinainen Pirkanmaa) painottamiseen, ei mihinkä "I'm right, you're wrong" tai "Kumpihan tässä on enemmän levyjä myyny tai keikkaa heittäny" tyyppiseen jupinaan niinku ehkä vois luulla. |
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MEETING PISSED JEANS, TALKIN' BILLY JOEL Linja-autoaseman lähellä, Liimanarinan lisäks porukkaa oli pohjia ottamassa bändeistä á la Achtungs, Shakin' Legs, Lähtevät Kaukojunat
ja sitten tää TNT Serviisin Mies Räjäyttäjistä.
Osa lähti Tullikamarin Klubille kattomaan Pissed Jeansejä, osa ei. Paikan päällä mut esitellään bändin laulajalle Mattille, mut se sano kyl tietävänsä jo entuudestaan mut,
Liimanarinan ja yhen mun New Yorkin kaverin, Jordanin. Talk about a small world. Mä en taas tienny niistä juuri muuta ku, et ne on Pennsylvaniasta. Elikkäs, Billy Joel teki 80-luvun alussa biisin terästeollisuuden loppumisesta pennsylvanialaisessa pikkukaupungissa, missä kaikki pyöri sen [Sen? ed.huom.] ympärillä. Biisissä kuvaillut asiat tapahtu Bethlehem, PA:ssa, mutta supertähtemme otti taiteilijan vapauksia ja sijoittikin ne Allentownin (missä ei oo koskaan ollukkaan terästeollisuutta), koska se "kuulosti paremmalta ja rimmas helpommin muitten sanojen kaa." - Ostakko meiän levyn, vai onks sulla tää jo? kysyn Mattilta ja näytän sille Liimiksen live-LP:tä, ku olin jo onnistunu (!)
hankkiutuun eroon kaikista Keskenmenobileet-kokoelmalevyistä sinä iltana. Suomi-rokkareita oli kutsuttu keikan jälkeen saunomaan Klubin bäkkarille Pissed Jeansien possen kaa. Me,
I wasn't included tai jos mut oli kutsuttu, en tienny/muistanu sitä kekkulitilastani johtuen.
Tyypit oli sit menny venaileen amerikkalaisia saunan lauteille. Adolescentsejäki käytiin kattoon niinku kuvasta näkyy & oltais menty höpiseen niille (et vois kirjottaa näin saatanan hyvän & järkevän blogin siitäki) mut just ku olin änkeemässä äijien pöytään, tää Klubin ed.main. kaltanen nazi-henkilökunta tuli ajaan pihalle, vaikka oli hädin tuskin pikkulasten nukkumaanmenoaika (fuckin' early gig) vai mikä homodisko siä oli just alkamassa. Stadissa Splitsien Kiti ne tapas & jotain vonkaamista siinä kuulemma oli ollut, mut se on jo sit ihan eri stoori. |
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"VELI TAPAS BOB DYLANIN" Heiniksessä tuli taas vaihteeks höpistyä jotain Dylanin Bobista, kun vanhempi herrasmies tulee sanoon "Velipoika tapaskin Dylanin".
Oli ollu Hootenanny Trion tai Finntrion kanssa jollain folk-festareilla Ameriikassa joskus 60- tai 70-luvulla. |
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"MIES" JOKA TAPASI FRANK ZAPPAN USA:n presidentin vaalien tuloksen ratkeamisen jälkeisenä iltana Voodoo Nights
oli keikalla Amiksessa. Encorena niiltä pyydettiin kaikkee paskaa Paranoidista lähtien. Tämän jutun kirjoittaja huusi AMERICA DRINKS & GOES HOME! |
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ÖLLI SELVITTÄÄ YLI 30 VUODEN JÄLKEEN KUINKA MÄDÄNTYNYT SYDÄN VAU!!-YHTYEEN RUUMIISSA OIKEEN OLI
Ostaessani Epeksestä Poko Recordsin halpissarjaan (4,90 €) kuuluvan Belaboriksen Koko tuotanto+bonukset CD:n,
alan kassalla ihmetteleen ääneen pitkän päivätyön Epelle & Pokollekin tehneelle iäkkäämmälle miesmyyjälle:
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BUILT TO SPILL THE DYLAN BEANS Yli 15 vuotta Built To Spillin tyyppejä tunnettuani, en ollu ainoastaan etuoikeutettu listapaikkaan avecceineni heidän kuukausia jo loppuunmyytynä olleeseen ekaan Suomen keikkaansa, vaan pääsimme myös tsiigaileen saundeja hei'än soundcheckiinsä.
Juuri ja juuri sisälle päästyämme, lavalta raikaa tutun kuulonen cover-biisi. Tietäen, että BTS on heittäny kyseisen biisin eräänkin kerran keikoillaan ympäri mualimman, kysyn piruuttani porukasta parhaiten tuntemaltani mixaaja Ianilta:
Vaikkei sitä meitsin incomplete * purkituksesta pystykkä päätteleen, BTS saatana soitti Jokermanin kokonaan sekä soundcheckissä että itte konsertissa. Doug Martschille kunniaks', että mies muisti/viitsi laulaa useemman säkeistön ku Baaawb itte suurimmassa osassa omista versioistaan.
Yksi hymyilevistä naamoista stagella kuuluu 1/3:lle BTS:n kitaristeista, Caustic Resin-veteraani Brett Netsonille, joka myös näytteli Matti Pellonpää-vainaan roolin Richard Lefebvren ohjaamassa Calamari Unionin ameriKKKalaisversiossa.
 Dougin vasen olkapää vasemmanpuoleisen kuvan oikeessa alareunassa
Doug Martschin olin viimeks nähny kattelemassa USA:n itsenäisyyspäivän paraatia Boisen pääkadulla Pertti Kurikan Nimipäivien tavoin erilaisen skidinsä kanssa kesällä 2000 - mie seurasin sitä kännissä ku käki keskellä päivää yhen kodittoman kundin kaa. Ojentaessani "Punk Syndrome"-DVD:tä herra Martschille, en kekkulipäissäni keksi järkevämpää kysyttävää ku:
Illan suurin downer tuleeki si vasta seuraavana päivänä Brettin lähettämässä messagessa:
bob dylanin lyriikat #276 |
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Why don't DOA do Dylan? (or "I said Joey, he said What?") D.O.A:n ensimmäisen ja viimesen (?) Suomen keikan jälkeen näen bändin ainoan alkuperäisjäsenen, |
53. 154 - 101. S(h?)itting on a barbed Wire fence Wire-yhtyettä Nuorgamiin haastatellu A.O. Piirainen järjesti allekirjoittaneen listalle heidän ekalle Suomen keikalleen. Kiitollisena (Kuolleena?) kerkiän kirjoittamaan oheiset ilmeisen (?)känniset havainnot meiningeistä hetkeä ennen ku...
...huomaan höpiseväni heidän laulaja-kitaristille Colin Nemanille (hi, Antti!) kuvassa näkyvän myyntipäydän kupeessa. Kerron luulleeni Wiren olleen osa jotain fucking musiikillista mainstreamia, kun heitä ekan kerran kuulin radiossa 70/80-lukujen taitteessa - sen verran paljon heitä kuuli niissä ohjelmissa, joita silloin eniten kuuntelin. Yritän seurata Colinin ilmeitä ja mitä mies tähän sanoisi. Sen muistan, että se katteli vaan flegmaattisena suoraan edessä olevaa seinää. Joko se ei saatana sanonu ees MITÄÄN, tai sit MÄÄ olin vaan taas vaihteeks niin vi--deolaitteen kekkulissa, etten muista mitä mahto olla. Onneks jäi jälkipolville sentään tämä suuri & mahtava, upee video |
Gordon Sibelius meets Neko Case, butt.. Ölli: kysyikkö Nekolta mitään Dylaniin liittyvää? Gordon: E. Ölli: entäs juopottelusta? Gordon: E. Ölli: mihis TOLLANEN haastis tulee, missä ei mitään Olennaista höpistä? Gordon: Runk....
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55. MISSING THE GIG, BUT MEETING MIKE WATT Argentiinalainen pepsi cola petti mut. Melkein heti sisälle päästyäni näin Miken ittensä. Kerroin Mikelle, et näin ne kyl kakskin kertaa ku ne keikkaili tuntemieni Caustic Resinin kaa vuonna 1998, Portland, Oregonin Berbati's Panissa ja Neuroluxissa Boise, Idahossa. - Boise... I remember Boise! Mike sanoo innostuneena. Tottahan on, että David Lynchkin on asunu ko. kaupungissa. Se on jopa sanonu, ett alkaessaan suunnitteleen Blue Velvettiä, sillä oli mielessä, että se nurmikko jolta se irtileikattu korva siinä alussa löytyy, on nimenomaan jollain Boisen keskiluokkasella esikaupunkialueella. Tarjoiluki pelas. Istuin jossain vaiheessa tietämättäni bändin kitaristin, Tom Watsonin (ex-Slovenly ja Red Krayola mm.) vieressä. Muisteltuamme menneitä, esim. ett meitsiki kuullu Minutemenejä ja muita aikalaisiaan samasta LA-scenestä ekan kerran jo joskus 70/80-luvun taitteessa, mies tarjoo mulle kaljankin. Huvittavaa oli, ett kun ennen pitkää menen hakemaan bissee ihan issekseni, myyjä luulee ett määkin oon bändissä ja saan kans "artistikaljoja" vaikka tilasin sen ihan suomeks ja kukaan kummastakaan illan bändeistä ei tietääkseni kukaan ollut Suomesta.
56. BUILT TO SPILL PAINT STOCKHOLM BLACK ON 9/11 (in European date notation)
- What's with Ian (their sound guy for almost 20 years, now missing from their road crew)? I wish them well and say maybe some BS like "Keep on rockin' in the free world" or whatever |
Parikyt vuotta sitten ei meinattu uskoo ilman kirjallista vahvistusta, ett "Skotlannin" (Sheffieldissä syntyny) oma poeka tosiaan oli lähdössä Californiaan ja sittemmin vähä muuallekki mixaan noita
57. I MADE VÅNNA INGET'S SINGER GIGGLE (ja ajatellen et bändillä ei tunnu olevan juuri mitään hyvää sanottavaa tästä elämästä, ain't that something!) Vånna Ingetin Kutosen keikalla meen heti sisään päästyäni mieluummin myyntipöytää tsekkaan ku jotain kuivaa lämppäribändiä, joka on tyyliltänsäki aivan väärällä keikalla (jotain vitun suomirokkia ruotsalaisen energian & angstin alla). Oheisessa keskustelussa/"haastattelussa" ei ole toisen osapuolen kommentteja yhtä lukuunottamatta, syistä että: Ostan Allvar-CD:n ja kysyn pöytää pitävältä tummatukkaselta tytöltä: Ostin sit viä niitten veskankin ja meen romujeni kaa viereiseen pöytään tsekkaileen niitä. - Är du den sjungerskan för det här bandet? Eli aikas erilaisen kuvan sai Karoliinasta (Konvehteja vaan sille si!) ku siitä lavalla sittemmin riehuneesta & välillä raivonneestakin laulajattaresta.
58. Vastikselle ennen keikkaa jätettyä "fanipostia" (tai propagandaa) 59. Ei sellaisia judeja ku Kinky juuri oo
Ennen ensimmäistä Suomen keikkaansa Kinky "Big Dick" [niinku hää puhelinvastaajassaan kuulemma ittensä esittelee] Friedman seisoskelee Savoy-teatterin aulassa, myyntipöydän vieressä suht' helpostilähestyttävän näköisenä.
Texasin juutalaispojan keikan ehtoopuolella joku, joka oon mää, puolilitraa punaviiniä sisään salakuljettaneena & ne onnistuneesti juoneena, menee lavan ääreen & etusormellansa winkkaa Vuoden 1973 Sovinistisiaksikin valitulle biisinikkarille.
Ei ihan Fourth vaan 3rd Time Around: Sentään en kysyny "Vetikö Dylan kans paljo kamaa tolla kiertueella?" Gordon Sibeliuksen analyyttisempi skrivaus illankulusta & ihan omalla boy scout-aloitteellisuudellaan järkkäämästä meetingistä Itse Tähden kanssa @ ZIKA - SE KOHTA PAISTETAAN.... Tamla Homotown julkaisi ainoastaan promo-käyttöön ja Liimanarina- ja Ja He Ovat Jehovat-orkestereiden "sisäpiireille" tarkoitetun kasetillisen (sarjanumeroltaan Otto's 15th Warmbeer) Vielä pienemmälle piirille paistettiin parit CD-versiot samoista sessioista, osassa bonus-materiaalina muutamat out-takesit samoista biiseistä - suurimmasta osasta vedettiin vaan yhdet otot, joitain biisejä jäi jopa tallentamattakin ikiajoiksi due to the spontaneous nature of the performances.
Keikan jälkeen huomaan Klubin terassilla, et Daniel Romanon pöydässä olis periaatteessa tilaa. Aluksi kiittelen heitä siitä, kuinka hyvin he soittivat "about 11 ihmiselle". Tämä herättää lievää hilpeyttä porukassa ja joku puolustautuu sanomalla "Olihan siä ny vähä enemmän väkee!" Kekkuloinnin tullessa puheeks, heitän ihan pokalla "I thought you were a non-drinking band!" Juttu siirtyy "pakolliseen" maantietoon. Kyselen onks he kaikki Kanadasta (muistaakseni oli ja jostain Niagaran putousten lähistöltä). Kerron, että ainoo paikka missä oon siä käyny on Winnipeg. Tyypit muistaa, mutta mää en ees tiänny, et olivat soittaneet Tamperkeleellä aiemminkin, mut jossain muualla, jossain lähiössä - osoittautu Hervannaks. Myöhemmin sain selville myös, et Liimiksen satunnainen kitaristi "Gordon Sibelius" oli ollu tuolla pienimuotoisella Suomen kiertueella heitä lämppäämässä sooloartistina. Tätä kirjoittajaa kiinnostavampina detaljina hänellä oli kertoa, et Bob Dylanin AND The Bandin "Basement Tapes Complete" boxi oli juuri ilmestyny & siitähän oli Danielinki kaa riittäny veisteltävää. Romanon omat Dylan-intrestit eivät varmaan ole jääneet epäselväks kenellekkään, joka on lukenu arvosteluja kuten esmes Cheeky Monkey-sivuston: A whole separate thread that runs through Mosey is the barely concealed electric Dylan-ism. In other circumstances invoking the well-trod and thoroughly eyeroll-worthy “sounds like [insert specific Bob Dylan record here]” is cause to shut down on a record more than anything else. Here, though, particularly on the winding guitar thriller “I Had To Hide Your Poem In A Song” and the bristling “Dead Medium” Romano evokes the sometimes less-appreciated rawk side of Dylan’s sound. ...tai nähny kundin viimeaikaisia levyn kansia: Heti alkajaisiksi kehun hänen loistavaa rumpaliansa (jonka kanssa "Danny" vaihtoi joissain biiseissä jopa tonttia ihan siedettävällä menestyksellä!). Kerron Danny Boylle kuinka sen soittotyyli mun mielestä muistuttaa Dylanin nykyistä kiertuerumpalia (vaikka hänen olemuksestaan - jos totta puhutaan - tuli enemmän mieleen Muppet Shown fonisti) ja kysyn onks hää seurannu niiden nykysiä touhuja? Jotain selitän Dannylle siitä kuinka mallikkaasti & luontevasti hän on mielestäni omalla urallaan siirtynyt hardcore punkista countryyn AND westerniin. Tässä vaiheessa tän tattooed ladyn (Lydia?) vaatimukset saada ottaa selfieitä Dannyn kaa muun tunkeilun ohella alkoivat oleen sen verran päällekäyviä, että päätän vähitellen siirtyä takavasemmalle. ...meanwhile, on the other side of the street "Welcome to the demolition"
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...ja kaikilla ooli NÄIN mukaavaa?
