Golly-gosh, these blogs are tricky to keep on top of !
After another lovely Cadogan concert, this time with the very amazing Martin Roscoe, we find ourselves back in Sweden. Now Mats, our local manager, heard we were arriving on 30th April with the kids and got very excited; he was adamant that under no circumstances should we miss the great Swedish Festival which annually marks the arrival of Spring (ooops, already forgotten the name). There would be bonfires and bbqs, choirs singing and bands playing in every town and village throughout the land. Never ones for missing out on such excitements we changed to a earlier flight, got the kids out of school earlier than planned and drove like maniacs to the far S/W of Sweden (Skane) so as not to miss even the very first spark of the joyous, life-affirming, pagan-like ritual. We found the beautiful little house in the woods that was to be our home for the next few days but spent no time there at all; staying only long enough to deposit our instruments and cases before dashing at break-neck speed to the centre of town where a sizeable crowd had indeed gathered in anticipation. Sure enough, a brass band duly arrived decked out in full regalia and out in the extremely picturesque river we could clearly see what was either 'Beaversville' or the makings of a bonfire. Now I agree it was silly of me to imagine at this point, Pete Postlethwaithe taking charge of the Black Dykes and Sylvia Kristel swinging over the rapids with a flaming torch between her teeth, in a costume that would embarrass Lady Ga-Ga but........... In truth, some town burgher lit the fire which practically burnt-out before the band had warmed their tubes! The whole thing lasted about 15mins whereupon the crowd dispersed never to be seen again.
We sneaked off to a little pizza place and finished the evening with an Irish Coffee (decaf!) in a nice little place overlooking the river.
Skinnskatterburg ( or Skin-the-cat, Skinny-dipping etc......as you like) is pretty remote by any standards (have a look if you don't believe me). We flew 2hrs north and drove another 3hrs at least through beautiful, barren landscape before we finally arrived at this charming little village by a lake. Could we find our venue??? Could we 'eck! We asked as many people as we could find but were met with blank looks. Could it be our impeccable Swedish?? surely not.....might there be another Skinnygoat?? Surely not..... Turned out , the place we were playing was actually in a place to small to even name on the itinerary; Uttersburg (or un-Uttersburg, it occured to us). It was a further 9km into nowhere but boy, was it worth the effort. Situated next to what looked like a fantastic salmon river was a small group of buildings (kind of manor house with outbuildings) that had been brilliantly converted into an artistic haven. One house, our 'dressing room' was actually a printing press and another housed a wonderful cafe, charming gallery with fascinating exhibition and upstairs, a gorgeous, intimate performing space. All around was an outdoor sculpture-park an then nothingness for miles and miles........extraordinary.
What an evening we passed there; cut short unfortunately because we had to drive back to 'civilisation' for somewhere to stay. Uttersburg had become that place which jumps up and bites you and leaves an unexpected mark on your memory. We all agreed how much we would love to return there and maybe next time spend a bit more time.
