Oslo, Norway
Words & Photos by Abbey Braden

‘SUP hit up Øyafestivalen and we are still totally psyched about our trip. However before the 4-day event kicked into full swing, I was privy to the best Norwegian metal education a girl could ever dream of while exploring the city. I should expand on the actual festival first. Øya is a double whammy concert going experience in Oslo. On one hand, there are festival fairgrounds on the outskirts of the city where bands play on outdoor stages until around midnight. Wellies are the footwear of choice, and beer and merch tents dot the horizon. All familiar sights no matter what country you’re in. On the other hand after that winds down the entire city turns itself inside out and fills as many bars and venues with live gigs as possible. The music literally spills into the streets. Hypothetically you could bounce from a headlining mainstage slot by Röyksopp, to an out of the way jazz club with a late night set by Junior Boys and Holy Ghost! on the 1s and 2s, and then bounce to Prins Thomas or Ladyhawke in a tiny basement bar. Yes, Coachella and Lolla have their afterparties, but Øyanatt takes it exponential and adds an entire music marathon to the mix with a cherry on top. Consider us schooled. Here is what went down during our first 24 hours:

After a random layover in Helsinki I got to Oslo midday (This was aided by the Flytoget train which whisks you out of the airport and into the city in 15 minutes. BEST.NAME.EVER). Anyway check in was a breeze – seeing your name in sharpie on a fat envelope containing festival credentials is one of the best feelings in the entire world. Since my friends weren’t arriving til later I dropped off my bags and set off to explore. The hotel was across the street from the blinding white Oslo Opera House, which turns out is a major part not only of the art and culture scene but a social one too. As in people of all ages go there simply to hang out, kickback, and sunbathe. The roof slopes down towards the ground level on the waterfront and people are welcome to literally scale the building. To kick the cool points into even higher gear, Anthony and the Johnsons had played an open air gig with the Opera House Orchestra the previous night. I’m not the sharpest person when it comes to currency conversion during jetlag, so after chowing down on a delightful 16 dollar panini I headed back to the hotel.

Back in the lobby the Øya staff eased the international visitors into the surroundings by inviting us out to ‘Club Night.’ Usually any convo that utilizes the word ‘club’ as a verb or adjective makes me flee in the other direction. This however was simply in reference to a ton of gigs by local bands that would happen downtown to kick off the festivities downtown. After perusing the very informative handout outlining which genre paths one could take to hop from venue to venue, I chose metal, surprising even myself by bypassing the electro-pop route. I mean when in Rome, right? I ended up getting an escort to show me the way to Blå. Amazing. It’s a jazz club outside of the comfort zone of Torggata, which seems is the main thoroughfare of the nightlife area. Ok the following photo is a cheapshot, but really. The entire surface of the store (which is indeed on Torggata) and its interior was covered in this logo. I think it’s a skate shop. Moving on…

Seriously I never would have found Blå by myself – around the corner downhill past a hollowed out all ages punk hangout on a river bank (srsly it’s like the Norwegian version of the Smell), over a footbridge, down a gravel path and back over another bridge, and then we arrived. Blå is incredibly conducive to hanging out: a giant front porch looking over the river wraps around the front of the structure, and it is stocked with wooden benches and chairs and an outdoor bar. Through the doors and down the concrete hallway though and you are definitely in a music venue as stickers and graffiti are abundant. After grabbing a beer I leaned up against a pillar and braced myself for some face-melting awesome music, but there was no way of knowing what was in store… and then I was greeted by a familiar sight.

Now somewhere along the lines of preparing for the trip to Oslo I came across and excrutiatingly specific tip in a guidebook: “Whatever you do, don’t bring up Black Metal to Norwegians.” Uh-oh. I can’t? No? Huh? Ummm ok. I guess. Fair play. They must be tired of it, and after all Norway has plenty more to offer besides that. Probably still traumatized by the church burning thing? Whatevwhatevwhatever. I pushed the whole ‘What really went down in the basement of Helvete because I’ve been dying to know since like, 1993′ query to the side of my mind. Anyway, one can imagine my delight when the houselights dimmed as the first band Altaar came onstage. Illuminated only by black candles, the space was flooded by that spine chilling echo mashup of low register groaning, which lasted throughout the set. You know, the type that sounds like a virgin is just about to be sacrificed.

The band took their positions and remained with their heads bowed in reverence and one by one joined in for a jaw dropping seamless experience. At one point a gentleman joined them onstage for a spoken word segment, holding up one of the black candles in order to read a slip of paper. This was one of the few instances where an act didn’t sing in English which makes complete sense and was totally refreshing. Many sites tag Altaar as ‘Doom’ and ‘Noise’ but I see them span a much further range, and a spectacular one as that. One song straight up sounded like the sun rising and the inevitable Mogwai reference popped into my head (definitely check out “Doedsoenske”). It’s obvs these guys had a Brian Eno album or two growing up. They are officially on my radar and hopefully on yours too.

Then came Monolithic. There are only two band members. NO. WORDS.

The following morning:

Feeling refreshed by the previous night’s face melting, I met up w/ my partner in crime. We set off on a mission to find the old Helvete records store, which played a key role in Norwegian Black Metal and its demise. After poking around some metal forums (this particular subject matter is not for the faint of heart) I had found the current occupants of the space to be a bakery called Vart Daglige Brod. This translates to “Our Daily Bread.” The irony should not be lost on anyone. Yes, a bakery. As one commenter noted, “That better be the grimmest fucking bakery EVER.”

My friend heard that if you ask nicely an employee might let you into the basement (headquarters for a record label and much much more) to view what remains of well, anything. Pentagrams? Blood on the walls? This is, of course, was the establishment of someone confirmed to have made necklaces out of his bandmate’s skull fragments upon discovering the dead body. So after frosty iced lattes we waited for the right moment and asked. Below is what we found. Don’t watch it if you have some rich fantasy of the space. Please don’t take my giggling as a sign of disrespect- it’s just a reflex when something scares the pants off of me.

So you see? I totally stubbed my toe on that crate of oranges on my way out. Grimmest fucking oranges ever. With my tourist cravings (with a metal slant) finally satiated, I was ready for the festival. Well, there was the whole bar hopping episode with Enslaved 2 days later, but we’ll save that for another day.