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lectrix_lectiIn a meme some time ago, I stated that I wanted to see Thåström live once more before I die. It's my pleasure to announce that this is accomplished.
Squee moments: Alla Vill Till Himlen (surprise surprise, and a great version), Du Ska Va President, Ungefär Så Här and ...Som Eld. Naturally, he played several songs from the latest album, and surprisingly at least one more from the Peace Love & Pitbulls era.
The thing is, Thåström has such a brilliant catalogue to choose songs from that a gig can never be truly bad. It can, however, leave something to be desired. I'm afraid he's gone too quiet now, he needs to rock it up a bit.
Also, at first the gig seemed like a bloody barista convention. Swedes immigrate to Oslo in hordes, as they make lots more money as baristas and bartenders here than they would in just about any job in Sweden, and apparently every single one of them had showed up to get embarrassingly drunk and dimly register that a Swedish hero was on the stage (two, I suppose, the guitarist in Thåström's band was the ugly fella from Bob Hund). Ah well, there were blessedly few of them at the barrier.
No chest shot this time either. I did buy a T-shirt (no shit), though.
Oh, and Danny has arrived. Plus, I bought a couple of Philip K. Dick novels, Frode Grytten's book about Dublin and a hopefully amusing book about being a culture-shocked Westerner in Japan. There was a sale at Tronsmo...
Squee moments: Alla Vill Till Himlen (surprise surprise, and a great version), Du Ska Va President, Ungefär Så Här and ...Som Eld. Naturally, he played several songs from the latest album, and surprisingly at least one more from the Peace Love & Pitbulls era.
The thing is, Thåström has such a brilliant catalogue to choose songs from that a gig can never be truly bad. It can, however, leave something to be desired. I'm afraid he's gone too quiet now, he needs to rock it up a bit.
Also, at first the gig seemed like a bloody barista convention. Swedes immigrate to Oslo in hordes, as they make lots more money as baristas and bartenders here than they would in just about any job in Sweden, and apparently every single one of them had showed up to get embarrassingly drunk and dimly register that a Swedish hero was on the stage (two, I suppose, the guitarist in Thåström's band was the ugly fella from Bob Hund). Ah well, there were blessedly few of them at the barrier.
No chest shot this time either. I did buy a T-shirt (no shit), though.
Oh, and Danny has arrived. Plus, I bought a couple of Philip K. Dick novels, Frode Grytten's book about Dublin and a hopefully amusing book about being a culture-shocked Westerner in Japan. There was a sale at Tronsmo...
