The promoter in Stockholm, an Irish guy named Harry, told a story. He was reading a book on the battle of Stalingrad and left it out on his home table. His 70-year-old Russian cleaning woman saw it and wept; she was a child in Leningrad (St. Petersburg) during the siege of that city. For 900 days the city was blockaded by the Nazi's and the sight of a book about another siege brought back memories. During the war, after a devastating initial period, the city reoriented itself for the long haul. She was around 11 years old at the time and had the job of running the mail to the soldiers at the front. Her family and relatives were dying of disease and malnutrition, but when the soldiers asked her to deliver something into town they would give her some of their food — and she lived as a result, though she felt incredibly guilty.
Harry tells stories about Clear Channel moving into these European capitols and taking control of all the venues. Rather than hiring him on as a local expert, they booted him out to increase profits. As with other multinationals, they often show growth and "profit" on the books by continually expanding. Of course, there's a limit to it, and at one point one has to simply know how to navigate the local waters and know the audiences and be content with what is possible in a given area. Growth has its limits; ultimately, the beast topples over from its own weight.
Granted, Clear Channel has probably done fairly well in many markets. In many instances, they simply are skimming off some profits and letting the local promoters, venue owners, and radio stations owners continue as they were. But it's a risky business. Harry lost his house and his family — so he claims — in the music business. It's certainly not a sure-fire investment.
We're playing a place called Berns, an old music hall. Josephine Baker and Vera Lind performed here. Our dressing room is the Red Room, memorialized in a Strindberg book, which, apparently, is well known in Scandinavia and Europe as one of the first modern books. It's a satire of the hypocritical bourgeoisie, who used to sneak into the Red Room to do opium and have sex and then put on their proper face when entering the music hall.
The Museum of modern art here has a show of young Swedish artists, entitled "Swedish Hearts."
Carl Erikson has a series of photos that portrays a number of baptisteries used for adult baptism. At first I thought they were weird home saunas, but, apparently, there is a fundamentalist movement afoot here that has resulted in these things in homes and local churches. Kind of like bomb shelters too. There was also a video from the POV of someone immersed in one.
Since the show is partly about Swedish identity, another artist got up in Lapland drag and had himself photographed.
As is their want, the dark side of Sweden is amply represented. One artists did a series of pictures of bodies face down in the woods, marches, or in shallow muddy ponds.
