Concert
Sari
was going out of town, so I took her to the bus station. I stayed
in the city, as I was going to see a concert. The English trip-hop
band Portishead would perform in Tennis Palace at 07:00 pm.
After
the bus had left I walked towards the railway station. I had some
two hours before the concert, so I took the first bus available to
go to East Helsinki. I knew there were a lot poor people living there.
I wanted to explore that area.
Through
the bus window I looked at the scenery, soccer fields and dirty warehouses.
I stepped out in a residential area that consisted of blocks of houses
made out of brown bricks. There was no greenery here. The pavement
was littered with dusty gravel. Children played with plastic toy cars
according to rules deviced by themselves. Skinny workers passed by,
each smoking a cigarette.
I
walked a while, then popped into a flat that had the front door open.
The mother of the family washed dishes in the kitchen. The floor of
the children's room was full of toys. I had to be careful not to step
on them. The shelves were full of old stuff familiar from flea markets
and second-hand shops. Unnoticed I sneaked out of the flat.
The
weather was still sunny. In the glare of yellowish light the surroundings
didn't look too bleak. Slightly further away an unemployed man hitchiked
so as to get a ride to the town. A van stopped, the driver opened
the door, and asked him to get in. I rushed in as well.
In
the bus station I got out of the car. It was good to be back in the
civilized world. Walking towards the Tennis Palace I came to think
that this was an unusual venue for a concert but I concluded that
perhaps there was a good reason for choosing that place. At any rate,
other people, too, walked in the same direction. Approaching the place
I could see Portishead posters around the entrance.
I
was happy with my seats. The concert was almost sold-out. The band
started playing on top of a platform placed in front of the big screen.
I was surprised to notice that there were almost ten people on stage;
almost half of them were middle-aged women that looked like aunts
with their old-fashioned hair style and concervative makeup. In addition
to them there were a couple of younger ladies and three men. The men
looked like average English lads. The younger women didn't look too
bad.
On
the stage there was one synthesizer. The rest of the instruments were
home made and amateurish in their outlook, shuffled together out of
cardboard and pieces of other instruments. The equipment looked shabby
and pale. The sound they produced didn't resemble conventional tunes,
even if they were played in an improvised manner. The sampler itself
was home made: vinyl albums were rolled in and out of their sleeves
so that the electronic sounds were accompanied by smooth jazz from
the 1940s. The samples didn't follow any pre-planned design, but somehow
the portions of trumpet and saxophone fitted well to the rest of the
music so that the overall quality never deteriorated to cacophony.
I had followed the career of the band, so the new artistic direction
greatly surprised me. I didn't recognize any of these songs, but I
liked the atmosphere nevertheless.
I
soon noticed that the music worked in interaction with the audience.
Part of the audience sang along, and their improvised words directed
the harmonies the band was producing. The big screen behind the band
flickered a collage of city images so that the orchestra appeared
in grey, red, green and cobolt hues. The effect was urban and unnatural,
and I admired the band's skills at creating original art.
At
the end of the performance Portishead expressed their thanks by mingling
with the audience, shaking hands, and and even hugging some. I managed
to avoid the middle-aged band members, who would have hugged me too,
unless I had shown an averting expression. Smiling at my repulsion
they greeted the audience behind me and then exited. It would have
been fun to shake hands with the younger ladies but they had already
gone. Most people followed the band, and I joined along even if I
had no idea where the crowd was heading.
Portishead
crossed the park but stopped when some members wanted to squat down
in order to pee. They were not too coy taking down their panties and
crouching next to the hedge. It was white summer night, so the visibility
was not obstructed by darkness. Part of the crowd opened bottles of
vodka and the band seemed to enjoy a few drinks too.
I
proceeded with this gang that now walked in the middle of the road
heading west. By now many had left and as the crowd became smaller
I got closer to the band. I thought it might be fun chatting with
those ladies. In my thoughts I even winked my eye, and of course one
of the girls noticed this. "Shit" I said, as she approached
and asked who I was and why I had come to see the concert. I avoided
most of the questions, being reluctant to engage myself in too deep
a conversation, but even so she found enough reason to exclaim: "Are
you my twin soul!?"
I
had read about twin souls and now tried to remember what it meant.
I guess it referred to such a communion of souls that you would be
able to understand the other person's thoughts even if they had not
said anything. Such supernatural closeness I had never experienced,
of course, and this situation didn't seem like one either; I had no
idea what this lady was about, so I replied, "I don't think I'm
your soul mate."
The
crowd came near to a house, which appeared to be familiar to the Portishead
members, since they knew where everything was, as they showed us the
interior. The English girl was still with me, and she pointed out
various art objects she had made. They were cheap in material but
fairly original in design. For instance, there was a hand mirror hanging
on the wall, glued to which there were pieces of paper of different
colour, so that on the one side there were mini-size hills and valleys
and on the other side these formations were reflected in reverse in
the mirror. Objects like this could be seen everywhere: the walls,
doors, and shelves were full of cardboard candles, metallic labyrinths,
abstract patters made out of various materials, and so on. I got the
impression that these people were true artists, turning everything
around them into something new and exciting, but I was distracted
by the mess and confusion. I didn't stay for long but thanked the
girl for her company, "It was great to dip into your world. We
hardly meet again, but thanks for this experience."
The
girl from Portishead didn't seem to be disappointed but rather happy,
as if she had known exactly what I was thinking about. Walking back
towards the city centre I wondered whether I had met my twin soul
after all.
