I feel like running. Fast.

I feel like running. Fast.

It’s been seven months of a hardships and sadness. Loss and grief. In my mind the stories from these months are so close. They lie in the surface of my thoughts most of my days. And I grow so tired of them, and the desire to change them, or to reverse what has happened hasn’t left me yet. I think I understand how denial becomes a way of navigating through a new life. A life without parts of you that has left. Holes.
Taking the easy way, using the clichés so worn out by our lack of better analogies or explanations. But everyone who has a similar hole, someone who’s also lost parts of themselves – they understand, they don’t need you to explain.
Loss is an integral part of life. Anxiety too. A feeling of panic. Of tremendous weight upon you. And acceptance might be the last thing you want to resort to. But it doesn’t happen that very same day. It won’t let you, not just yet. Float in the dark night sky filled with heavy grey clouds. Weep. Mourn.

I’m not sure if putting my weight on you would do you any good, and I’m not sure if I’m entitled at all to say that what I carry is a weight to speak of. But still. These encounters with loss make up my horizon today, such as yours make up your.

I feel like running. Fast. Throwing many things away. I guess loss does that to us. At least I feel that. To rid myself of the things I don’t want in my life. The darkness. And where does acceptance come in? How do I harmonize myself with the inevitable. To lose someone. To lose. How can we accept its part in our lives? Just avoid the thought all together? It seems like the common solution. But that’s when it hurts the most. When you don’t expect to lose. When you’re turned the other way. It just crushes you. Sweeps you off of your feet. When you embrace the sweetness of life, a handful of sand is thrown into your eyes, and a kick at your feet throws you at the ground.

I feel like running. And I can run. Put my shoes on. Put Justice For All… on. Just run. That’s not denial. That’s just breathing.

I feel like diving. Dive to the bottom. Look at what’s down there. Hold my breath. Feel the cold water stir my pulse and heart and mind. That’s freedom. Not denying. That’s an embrace.

What I’m trying to say is probably that I’m looking for a constructive path to navigate through, and accept the toils we meet. We can’t avoid it, and we shouldn’t.

Live from Landmark

Live from Landmark

Line Ira who runs the Perfect Sounds Forever concept in Bergen invited me to warm up for Jeffrey Lewis & Los Bolts when they came to Bergen. So I brought my fathers Alhambra nylon string guitar and played a few songs from The Course of Things and Our Insignificance (iTunes, Spotify) that I released back in february just after my father passed.

I’ve been struggling a little whether I should «use» my father’s death in my music, and really had to think things through: I don’t want to prostitute myself or the people I love to stand on some stage. But life events like these is exactly why music has become so important, it is a therapy and for my own sake and if someone finds any joy or comfort in it then I am grateful. When I sing I sing about the things that puzzle me or occupy my mind. For the last eight or nine years or so my fathers illness has played a big part in my life, and the last six months of his life was a true nightmare. Emotionally it was so for me aswell, but what hurt me was to see how much he hurt, and the terror and angst that tortured him up until he left for good.

The last week he lived I lived in the nursing home with him, sleeping in the room next door. When I wasn’t by his bed side I was in my room, recording. The four EPs that came out winter/spring this year was all recorded there. So that I will never forget that time. So that I will never forget how much I loved my father. After he passed this has become increasingly more important to me to remember. His girlfriend derailed the minute my dad couldn’t speak anymore and revealed a side of human nature I thought I’d never get to experience. That ring she put on his finger a month before he died – little did I know she would use that to take every material thing away from me and my brother. How I wish my father could see what is happening now. What happened there in his room when he was too medicated and sick to stay awake. When faced with greed and mental sickness of this kind I’ve had to focus on what matters the most: the life I have, the life my father had, the life me and him had together. In objects there is no trace of that. I remember my dad talking about his love for Fernando Pessoa – the power of imagination. But it takes a lot, a lot.

Well. Anyway. Here’s a song that sums up a few things about fatherhood, childhood, death and family.

Only Color True available digitally

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It’s never an easy task to get the overview on the my recordings, and this doesn’t make it any easier. Sorry.

Since the fall of Myspace and AmieStreet this release has yet not been released on Spotify and iTunes, and it is now finally available there. 19 songs, some of them also available on Vamoose!

The songs exclusive to this release is:
Holes in the World, Windmill Eyes, How I Change, Chasing Feet (A Sunday and two hours), Only Color True, Feeling Green, A Glance, Surfer’s Morning, Let Me Bleed, Short of Breath, My Name is Death.

All these recordings were recorded entirely by me on various locations, except Holes in the World that was recorded in Lars Wiik’s home, and was done by him.