Spoonboy

We played a really cool show in an apartment and walked around Trondheim, where they too have a squatted neighborhood. Unlike Kristania, the squats in Trondheim are political and they have a collectively run bar, cafe, record store, infoshop and a couple housing projects. In Oslo, we played at a DJ night for a local all women run radio station at a cool DIY venue. The radio station is run out of a space called Blitz which is a permitted squat with a cafe, show space and infoshop, that the city recently renovated for free. It was funny to compare pictures of the building before the renovation when it had been painted all black and covered in graffiti to the sterilized white paint over the city had done. Still you can’t complain when the city pours millions of kronos into your anarchist social center, and they took the fresh canvas as an opportunity to invite artists from the Palestinian liberation movement, Zapatistas, the Kenyan queer movement, and Italian anti-fascists to come and paint murals!

In Gothenburg, I finally played a street punk show! It went better than I expected, and after the show a skinhead with an “oi!” tattoo gave me a hug. In Gothenburg the punks apparently buy full bottles of some liquor that’s meant to be drank in small portions before dinner as an appetite stimulator, and chug them giving their inevitable puke a bright red color. We’re told it’s what the Gothenburg punk scene is famous for, and indeed we witnessed red vomit left and right. One of these hurlers enlightened me to the truth about how Bush orchestrated 9/11 before he spilled his guts on the sidewalk. Notably, this show was the second that I’ve played that took place in a former office building, and the hallways still had a strange sterile feel to them.

Gothenburg was our last show with Lycka Till who we’d come to love for their understated Swedish humor and raucous musical spunk. One funny story about them is that one of their songs is about a anti-labor, pro Palestinian occupation parliament member named Frederick Federley who retains some sort of credibility for being a hip young person of some shit. The song was a nightly favorite for anyone who understood Swedish, and the lyrics to the chorus were roughly translated as “You’d be better off dead, I curse the day you were born. Out of some twist of justice Frederick Federley found out about the song and whined about it on his blog, which only served to introduce a score of new people to the band! Any press is good press, right?

In spite of obvious holes in the theory, it comforted me briefly, as I’d been a bit disappointed in myself because of how succeptible I’d been to the aryan beauty standard. You could attribute it to American socialization and the high number of Scandanavian models who are imported by the American beauty industry, but as soon as we got to Denmark, Jordan and I were both embarrassed to admit that everywhere we looked we saw beautiful people, men and women equally. For example, In Copenhagen a girl fainted suddenly on the bus. We stopped to wait for an ambulence, and after a few minutes two ruggedly handsome EMT’s rushed on the bus, both of them with muscular model’s builds shown off by tight white tee shirts. They gazed sincerely at the girl (who was really pretty herself) and asked “are you alright? Can you hear me darling?” It was like a scene from a soap opera unfolding in front of us.

When we got to Umea I shared my friend from the plane’s theory with our friend Viktor, and he shot it down immediately. “That’s bullshit that people are less stressed in Sweden! We have the highest suicide rate in the world! You’re so bombarded with this beauty standard from a young age. That’s the only reason people think Scandanavians are more attractive.” He was right. The high suicide rate in Sweden is interesting too. Some people we met attributed it to the idleness of a society where people have so many things provided for them, though I think it’s probably related more to the fact that in the winter there gets to be as little as 3 hours of sunlight a day, and people who work indoors can go a whole week without ever seeing the sun. But hey, I’m no expert.

The show in Umea was easily one of the best of tour – a house show in a town where house shows are extremely rare. From an American perspective, its funny to think that the fact that a show is taking place in house might be the main attraction, especially since the house show circuit in the U.S. sprung up mostly in response to the lack of available venues for underground music. But several of our European friends who had traveled in the U.S. expressed their respect for the U.S. house show scene. They described an admiration for the intimacy of the house show that was lost in squats and venues, and said they thought house shows were often more welcoming and condusive to building relationships and communities than squats where squatters who have developed their own culture can be unwelcoming to outsiders. It’s funny because the same criticism of exclusivity is leveled against punk scenes based around house shows in the states, and the fact that shows are in houses often is seen as alienating by people who are less comfortable with the idea of coming to someone’s private home than a more public setting. The problems of inaccessibility and exclusivity surely transcend the settings that their found in. Nevertheless, I did find myself more comfortable in the house show setting and the fact that 100 or so people crammed into the house didn’t hurt.

One of our shows in Sweden fell through, and we’d already scheduled a couple of off days to break up the long drives in Sweden and Norway, so we ended up staying in Umea for 4 nights which was a nice break. Whatever people say about the “idleness” of Swedish lifestyle didn’t seem like much of a problem, as everyone we met seemed always up for hanging out and working on creative projects. On the first day someone showed up at a house we were hanging out at and solicited Jordan and some others to be filmed for a scene in their music video. The next day we started a Swedish hardcore band, wrote two songs, one that sounded like Motorhead, and one that sounded like Warzone and recorded them with Jordan singing in Swedish. His attempts to pronounce the lyrics as a non-Swedish speaker were described as the ranting of drunk Frenchman, which everyone agreed gave the songs their own character. On the last day, one of our friends made a short movie starring Jordan as a lonely horse. We finally left Umea to drive for a few days with Viktor’s band Lycka Till and drove out to a cabin in Western Sweden that Viktor’s parents own. It was a nice little spot to spend the night, with a word burning stove and a sauna, though it was too cold for any of us to get motivated to use the sauna, so we drank tea and ate spaghetti.

Everyone we talked to in or about Copenhagen told us stories of the old “youth house,” Ungdomshuset Jagtvej 69, a now legendary squatted social center, which had been evicted 2 years earlier in a devious turn of events when the city sold the building to right wing Christian fundamentalists. The event was a strong testament to the power of militant street action, as upon eviction the anarchists in Copenhagen rioted for some three months until eventually the city gave them a bigger building as a replacement. Between the various accounts we heard, we learned that anarchists and squatters from all over Europe had converged in Copenhagen, and after the initial three months, riots continued to break out weekly for several months to come. Various passersby would join in on the riots even if they hadn’t been involved with the squat, and anyone who didn’t know about Ungdomshuset beforehand, knew all about it after. A friend told us he’d be eating at a cafe and he’d look outside and be like “oops, a car on fire… must be a riot today.” Eventually the Copenhagen police called in Swedish officers to help handle the situation, but the victory was clearly in the hands of the squatters. Not only did they get a new bigger building, but the riots were really important for the international squatter scene. In other cities where there was repression against established squats, cities were forced to rethink their stategies out of fear of the precedent set in Copenhagen. On top of it all, when the Christians tore down Ungdomshuset they couldn’t find any contractors to rebuild it because no one wanted to risk having their construction supplies sabotage. The lot still lays vacant, and tags of “69″ (in reference to the youth house’s address) remain all over the city.

Hearing about the riots served as a good lesson about the importance of combining militant street action with establishing meaningful anarchist institutions. The fact that Ungdomshuset had been a center of activity for so many people in Denmark showed how important community investment was to creating a successful militant street action. Almost everyone we met in Scandanavia had at least been there, if they hadn’t had some deeper level of involvement with the space.

I played the new social center, Dortheavej 61, which was unfortunately further from the center in town, but still very active. In addition to two show spaces and an art studio, they had weekly people’s kitchens, free yoga, and an infoshop. We were told to visit the “free state” of Kristania – a walled off neighborhood in the center of Copenhagen, said to be the largest squat in the world. Depending on who we talked to it was described as a utopic inspiring autonomous space, or (and this was more common) a hippy neighborhood where people went to buy weed. It was a cool place to visit and impressive in so much as it’s self-organized and doesn’t pay the taxes or mind the laws of the state, but it did seem that the uniting politic was less in autonomous organization but more a desire to sell pot without being hassled by the cops. Still, I couldn’t imagine anything like it existing in the states, so kudos to Copenhagen.

In Amsterdam we asked the first bus driver we found if his bus was going to where we were headed to, and as luck was with us, he was. We got to Joe’s Garage, a squatted storefront that had been evicted at a location across the street, but they’d re-opened after crossing the road and squatting another building and they were having their opening cafe night. The kitchen was run by a group of Israeli anarchists who made incredible food, and I played as after-dinner entertainment along with Dusty Awe who played the next few shows with me. The next night the same crew of cooks put on a people’s kitchen at a different squat in Amsterdam and again I perched on a ledge above the door to perform as after-dinner entertainment. The second squat was a cafe called MKz – part of a permitted complex called Ociii that had a few different buildings including a larger show venue, an infoshop, a bar, and one building I hadn’t expected to find at a squat. We were poking our heads around the pavilion and we peaked into one building to find a bunch of steamy naked people walking around. A worker explained that it was their squatted sauna, and after he found out we were performing at the cafe, he insisted that we come in for a dry sauna, a wet sauna, showers and a cold bath!

Now, I’ve heard conflicting stories about the weed in Amsterdam – everything from how mindblowingly strong it is, to how weak it is because of regulation, to how you can buy a joint that will perfectly fit any mood you’re in. I don’t usually smoke weed, but I thought I should try some in Amsterdam, and quickly fell into what I learned was a typical American tourist folly. After two small tokes of a cheap joint I was STONED TO THE BONE and completely useless for the next several hours. Fortunately, Jordan was sober and he navigated us to the various stops on our map: a queer bookstore with comic books featuring remarkably well endowed superheros and the anarchist bookstore. The worker at the anarchist bookstore was remarkably patient with me as I stammered through a couple disjointed sentences about the international anarchist network. Fortunately he came to the show later and told me he’d understood my situation immediately. “I’ve seen dozens of American bands come over here who I’ve been excited about, and then watch them stagger through their songs, barely able to play, they’re so stoned. At least you were sober enough in time for the show!”

After the show we went to another squat where we heard it was ping pong night. Not expecting much from ping pong night, especially since the squat was only accessible by a remote alleyway that was guarded by someone (who turned out to be the singer from Vitamin X) telling people to be quiet as they entered, we were surprised to find a huge bar with two rooms full of people and ping pong tables and enthusiastic tournaments in action. Our friend Helena, Jordan and I formed an alliance which for lack of a better name we dubbed “Team U.S.A.” We tried our skills against team Amsterdam, and team Japan, and Jordan and Helena both made it to the final round once each. The crowd at ping pong night didn’t seem particularly part of any squatter subculture, which was one of the many examples of how atypically swank the squats in Amsterdam were. Aside from the squatted storefronts, bars, and the sauna, we also met a girl named Rosa who upon introduction invited us to her squat which was directly on waterfront by the canal, and according to her was worth several million dollars if sold!

Noam and Gilles drove us to Straussburg and then bid us a sad farewell. Here too we discovered that the punks in Straussburg had been given a huge building by the city with which to do as they may. The venue, Molodoi, had been contracted rent free as an underground music venue and infoshop 18 years ago and they were anticipating another 18 year contract on the horizon. I was on the bill with two crust metal bands and two math rock bands, all of whom were great.

Almost everywhere we’ve been in Europe we’ve visited long running sustainable independent music venues. Squats, legalized squats, collectively run venues that are decades old, etc… Compared to the United States, Europe has us well beat out on spaces for underground music. The few American examples are nationally famous in the punk world – Gilman St., ABC No Rio – but in Washington DC for example we’re lucky to have a venue for two years. Just before I left for tour two show spaces and two houses closed or stopped doing shows. In spite of it all, American underground music is still going strong and it’s interesting to see the evidence of it over here. Everywhere we’ve been we’ve met people excited about American music, playing American songs, wearing American band tee shirts. It makes you wonder how American music could be so widely appreciated when we live in a culture that doesn’t in any way nurture spaces for independant music to thrive?

The obvious and surely most accurate answer is that American cultural imperialism has created a USA-centrism that permeates even the smaller crevices of subcultures internationally. But part of it, it could be argued as devil’s advocate or maybe out of a deep seeded patriotic defensiveness, is that maybe American music benefits from its isolation in the same way that some of the best songs were products of depression. Maybe the artist in exile has a greater sense of urgency and it’s in that urgency that the creative impulse grows. Take the birth of jazz and the blues as examples of what kind of brilliant creativity can come out of impoverished conditions… living in the one world superpower is probably the bigger puzzle piece, though the second line of argument does make for a small consolation to the fact that Americans are so utterly lacking in resources to foster underground music compared to our counterparts abroad.

In Vic, a smaller Catalonian town that Ramon grew up in, there is a yearly weekend of outdoor live music. Since Ramon was a teenager he’d been throwing satellite illegal outdoor punk shows every year to coincide with the mainstream festival, and this year was the 10th anniversary. In the past ten years the idea of doing guerilla shows had really caught on, and walking around Vic, it seemed like you couldn’t turn a corner without seeing bands playing. Ramon’s show was the last one of the night – the only competition being someone blasting raver music across the street. In spite of the sonic competition my acoustic songs were met with almost comic enthusiasm by a crowd of people who’d spent the whole day drinking and dancing.

One of the bands playing told me that they didn’t have lyrics to most of their songs, they just sang in gibberish English and no one knew the difference. It was a strange idea, but I suppose most people in Catalonia are used to listening to music in non-native languages, and often don’t know what the singers are saying, if they’re saying anything. Stranger still, I saw some people singing along to this band, which led me to believe that they did have lyrics to their songs, but maybe not – during my set some people who had clearly never heard any of my songs were so enthusiastic that they’d start singing along as soon as they heard a pair of syllables repeated and keep singing them well past the refrain. Taking the lyrical element out of the songs makes for a total different way of appreciating music, where the music can mean anything your imagination wants it to. I remember listening to Os Mutantes and imagining anthems of Brazilian peasant revolts, only to find out later that they were love songs.

It was strange for me being such a lyrical based songwriter to meet this an attitude, especially since the melodic mood of my songs tends to be upbeat, in spite of downbeat lyrics. Even my attempts to breach the language barrier with translations of the lyrics and song explanations weren’t suited for the party-like atmosphere. At one point during a song that’s about avoiding suicide a group of kids formed a circle around me and started doing joyous traditional Spanish dance. I tried my best to roll with it and keep the party going. One promoter I’d e-mailed with had in a way warned me in a way when in response to my request for a show, they wrote back “you want to come to Spain to sing political songs in English to Catalan speakers? OK! Whatever makes you happy.”

The show was at a cool little hole in the wall ex-squatted bar, and I was surprised to meet some friends from the DC there. They were playing Catalan Rumba on the PA when we got there, which is a type of music completely local to Barcelona, like DC’s go-go. I was the only performer so I played a longer set, but everyone kept yelling at me to play until I didn’t have any songs left. I’d say “I have one more,” and Ramon would repeatedly yell back “five more!” Then after 3 Billy Bragg covers, a Local H song, and a Green Day/ The Cars medley I said, “ok, this is my last song.” To which Ramon yelled “five more!”

The next day we set out to do some squatter sightseeing, but although I’d found the names and addresses of 4 or 5 squats that were open, none opened until 7pm when we were headed off to Torello so we took pictures of the murals out front. One of the squats was called Ateneu Maig 37, which is in reference to May 1937, when during the Spanish Civil War when the Communists attacked the Anarchists. Ramon called it “the civil war within the civil war.” He told me most people in Spain have a less romantic attitude towards the Spanish Civil War than people from the outside. He said, “yes, what happened with the collectivized land was very beautiful, but many people were dying in this war. We all have grandparents who died or knew people who died, and many people were fighting for personal reasons, not political. Even some who fought with the anarchists would join because they wanted personal revenge against people they knew who were fighting with the Fascists.” He talked about the anarchist movement in the 20′s and how strong it was.

By most accounts, the anarchist squatter scene in Barcelona has quieted down in the past few years – Ramon even referred to it as a stereotype – but we did get to see several huge buildings that were completely squatted and had been defended for years. Just getting off the train we were greeted by a banner that said “We Can Live Without Capitalism” hung above an info table on alternative visions for collective economies. The people running the table declined to identify themselves as anarchists, socialists, or communists, just that they are part of a collective called Crisi (translated: crisis). The Crisi collective has published accessible materials addressing the economic crisis from an anti-capitalist perspective and distributed them widely in Spain. Apparently their newspapers were so well distributed that you’d see business men on the metro reading them. One of the people running the table was named Enric Duran and he’d funded much of their publications through an act of financial civil disobedience where he took out loans adding up to almost half a million euros, and gave away the money for social programs, and then publicly defaulted on his loans to make a statement. What was especially coincidental about running into them is that the Institute for Anarchist Studies just decided this summer to grant a translation of some of their materials and when we exchanged pamphlets, the person from Crisi collective already knew what the IAS was!

Walking around for the day we visited three radical book stores (one run by the CNT, one run by Crisi collective), walked past guerrilla gardens, and sites of recent university occupations. If I could have changed our schedule, I would spent several more days of anarchist tourism in Barcelona. I was especially bummed that we didn’t have time to visit Can Madeu, a rural squat outside of Barcelona where they took over an old leper colony and planted gardens, make their own bread, and publish materials for others interested in starting rural squats. Everyone who told us about it said it’s amazing!

Oh, and somewhere along the way, I stopped to play with a yappy dog and the old lady who was walking it started talking to me enthusiastically in Catalan. I told her sadly “no parlo Catalan,” but she laughed and explained (still in Catalan) “you don’t need a translation for ‘arf!’” Dogs speak a universal language.

We spent a day in Bordeaux with Noam and Gilles’ friend Seb who they had met over the summer as co-volunteers at an Emauss recycling center. The project is a recycling center run by mostly ex-homeless people who take up a trade at the center and have a place to live and eat. They said there were aspects of autonomy and collectivism to the project – anyone could chose to join by free association, people went into their own trades by their own volition, there were volunteer positions for outside community involvement and meals and lodging were shared collectively – but that it was far from anarchistic, as there’s one director who has the final decision making power on who lives stays and who goes. Anyway, we had a delicious dinner, Seb and I learned to play “Keep on Rockin’ in the Free World” and the next morning we visited a giant squat called Athenee Libertaire, the first of many we would seek out, only to find totally closed to the public.

In Toulouse I played a squat called Chaussas, one of several squats we were told about in Toulouse, but the only one we actually visited. There were two buildings, one residential and one for events and in between there was a park where people were having a meeting, a daycare center and a community garden. Apparently in the recent mayoral election, the leading candidate had promised to keep the Chaussas open and he ended up winning. This was the first of several “permitted” or “official” squats we’d end up visiting. The concept is a bit strange – when certain cities deem it appropriate, or when squatters win legal battles they are permitted to keep running their spaces autonomously and rent free, but the city owns the land. In some places they have to keep up with certain regulations to keep their permits. It’s interesting, because anyway you look at it, a free autonomous community resource is an awesome thing, but at the same time the blessing of the city in some ways neutralizes the political threat that squatting poses to capitalism. Or, using the terminology of Call, it no longer creates a space that’s “unmanagable” by capitalism. For example on the same block as Chaussas there were three condo developments under construction. That in no way negates the awesome work that the people there are doing, but I wonder what role permitted squats play in the gentrification of European cities.