Sunday, February 22
Saturday was pretty sweet. I wore a 1940s crêpe dress and stood around at Stratos at the top of Oslo and saw Rockettothesky again, she is beyond words, I think she can be immense.
One of the band members played guitar with a bow.
Einar Stray is barely 18 and played multi-instrumental indiepop. It left something to be desired, but I guess that would be maturity. This is his violinist friend:
Hajen, beautiful Hajen, she sounds like Cat Power, or Regina Spektor.
Detektivbyrån was the evening's climax, they played an amazing tight set, they're energetic and professional, they're a parallell universe to 1970s black&white aesthetics, Yann Tiersen deciding to play electronica instead of the piano, and fabulous, trippy destinies at Montmartre.
Lama was beautiful too, I just want to put him in my pocket.
Just like in Orlando, when during great darkness a cat was mistaken for coals and shoved on the fire, I was mistaken for a BBC journalist and Swedish singer Maia Hirasawa. I was even thanked for my wonderful concert last night. I think my face is of that sort that could be anything, anywhere; in absence of features I have projection.
Posted by benedicte at 16:21