I can count higher than two

Yesterday was a long and magic day. Most importantly, Nilla and I celebrated two years together. Congrats to us! We're such troopers. A majority of those two years were spent apart while we made plans/saved money to come see each other and then eventually went through the mile of red tape to actually legally reside here. Done and done, couldn't be happier.

After a relaxing morning (looking at your Myspace profile, listening to Depeche, drinking warm drinks) we met Stina, Nilla's sister, for lunch. Stina had just returned from a month in Ecuador. Her stories made Nilla and I want to book a ticket somewhere warm! Yeah, it's a winter wonderland here lately. And on my way to see some friends Monday night I completely wiped out and fell flat on my back. SAFE! No injuries but sheesh, I totally bit it and in a quick second the city boy who rode through heavy traffic on a brakeless bike and thought he could handle any sort of weather situation was defeated on a quiet snowy evening while crossing a walking bridge at a leisurely pace. Christmas lights twinkled above my head and I think I heard a giggle in the air.

We splurged and had some tasty Greek food to celebrate our special day. And with bellies full and happy we cruised across town and arrived at the club just as Grizzly Bear took the stage. It was so amazing to see my friends from the States here on their first Scandinavian tour. They are having an absolute blast and their set was nothing short of spectacular. As I type this I'm wearing a Grizzly Bear t-shirt and their remix album is uploading onto my iPod. Yeah, it's that sort of goodness.

Grizzly Bear @ Katalin. Nov. 29th, Uppsala, Sweden

Drama gets them down

Oh wow, so many mentionables to get to today. I'll start with the super cool show that I played here in Uppsala Friday night at Kalmar Nation/Pang Musik! What a great vibe and so many of my new friends here came out to support. It was a really special night. Pang has a crack staff of photographers that documented the evening. Check Stefan Söderlindh's pics and then check Daniel Seestrand's pics! My recommendation: sit down with an Åbro (lager) and view all of the photos. And if you've, say, one of my mp3s play it and it's like you are there. Maybe?

Sad stuff: RIP Pat Morita. One of the channels here played the Karate Kid Trilogy the past three Sunday nights, last night being the final installment. Safe to say I caught nearly all of it. And, RIP George Best. Soccer's first superstar? Soccer's best all-time player? He will be missed.

And from this point on, I'm calling soccer football. No, it's not because I live in Europe now, it's because the sport is played predominantly with your feet and a ball and it just makes total sense. Football. American football: the ball touches the players feet far less than it is being touched by their hands. Handball: now that makes sense. Regardless of what you call it, I've got World Cup Fever!

Air Miami - World Cup Fever (HollAnd remix) - mp3
I have to say that since I relocated I've really tapped back into my love of football (see, I told you). During my younger days and through my first two years of high school I was a football junkie and played indoor and outdoor in order to keep busy the entire year. Since that time I pretty much gave up the sport except for when the World Cup rolled around. Now, I'm in a part of the world where baseball sadly doesn't exist and the optional sports to give a shit about are: football, ice hockey, bandy or handball. The choice was easy. Recently I've been keeping tabs on the English Premier League and Scandinavia's Royal League. And, I've sorta been influenced...Go Hammarby!

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I'm thankful for you

To Motown, and back

From Uppsala to Motala, Sweden is a good three to four hour train ride depending on how many transfers you have to make. The landscape out the window is not unlike, say, northern Minnesota. But I don't think it sunk in that I was completely in another world until after Nilla and I were picked up from the train station by her father and driven immediately to the resting place of a Swedish conqueror. I stood on the burial hill overlooking a few farms and churches. I was in rural Sweden for the first time. The air was that clean and cold kind that makes your eyes blurry. It was easy to breathe.

All of my jaunts around this country have been to the larger cities to play shows. This was my first weekend of really just seeing Sweden for reasons that had nothing to do with load in times, soundchecks or complimentary crates of beer. Motala, Nilla's hometown, was our destination. Our guide was her incredibly kind and intelligent father. The reason for stopping by the burial hill? Simple. He had just finished a book about the historical figure and wanted to see the plot of land for himself. In the scheme of it all it seemed that the burial hill was on the way home although I have no idea if it was.


We arrived at their house soon after. I was treated to a salmon dinner and enough cocktails to tire out any weary traveler. After a night of solid, and at times broken, conversation we needed sleep. We had a full day ahead of us.

Saturday afternoon I was taken on a tour of Östergötland, the region where Motala is located. Nilla's father drove us around curvy roads at breakneck speeds, always to a destination full of historical significance. We browsed the tangled web of tales cast by the 9th century Rök Stone, crept through the grassy corridors of the Alvastra Monastery, peered over Lake Vättern from atop Omsberg's Västra Väggar and strolled around the old timey streets of Vadstena. Here, have a look:


More: 1, 2


More: 1, 2, 3


More: 1, 2

Saturday evening Nike and I chilled out before dinner with Nilla and her parents. We enjoyed all of the amenities of home and even caught a football game on one of those flat screen TVs! Manchester United easily victorious over Charlton. Anyways, by Sunday night we were back in Uppsala. I welcomed the traffic of students at the train station and the bustling city center. But getting out into the small towns and open spaces was a nice change for a few days. We'll be back to Motala for Christmas. For now, there's a life to live here. Details forthcoming.

Jag heter Mike. Jag kommer från Chicago.

So I started a Swedish language class last night. I'm one of three Americans. Others are from France, Germany, Estonia, Ghana, Czech Republic, Italy, Portugal and England. Between the fourteen of us in the class there are nine languages represented. My only-English tongue didn't add to that number; everyone understands if not fluently speaks English. But we've got one of those teachers that use the "use English only in the case of extreme emergency" teaching theory. So Ludvig, the teacher, spews out endless lines of svenska in which oh about maybe 10% is understood by yours truly. Based on conversations (in English) with other classmates I concluded that I understand more than they do. This is going to be an interesting six weeks. Then, in January I start the Swedish class I have been talking about, the Swedish for Immigrants class that is most likely far more intensive. Right now I'm studying at the Folkuniversitetet which is the sort of place that one practices Swedish if they're just visiting/studying for a year or so and want to learn how to ask for directions or order food without sounding like a complete idiot. I guess the Swedish for Immigrants class is for people who are set on living, working and staying in Sweden for an indefinite amount of time. At this point I'll take what I can get and prefer to be categorized as a kid that wants to learn the language because 1) I really want to and 2) I haven't really much else to do at the moment. Right now my focus is on pronouncing the difference between the vowels E and I.

Oh, and over here (there's no direct link so click on 'bilder' and then scroll down to my name) are some pics from my recent show in Stockholm compliments of Svenskamusikklubben. Thanks to all who attended! I played at this little club called Landet and it was about the perfect size and atmosphere for a guy with a guitar that wasn't a coffeehouse or someone's living room.

What else? Yes, the other day I received a super special email from my good comrade Quinn from the band Sleepout. Attached to the email was a secret mp3 of a recently completed song from their upcoming debut album. SO GOOD! Sleepout is one of my favorite Chicago bands and I'm so stoked for the album in its entirety.

And lastly, ask and you shall receive. It's another pic of the furry Scottish cow neighbor (and I!)...

Oh you're so silent Jens

Jens Lekman, (encore) Empty Bottle, Chicago, Illinois, October 20, 2005, Photo by Amy Spencer

Jens Lekman's music was introduced to me by my girlfriend Nilla; a breath of fresh air. His songs are so wonderful and sweet that when he came to Chicago and played Schubas I rode my bike through the freezing late winter dark to catch his set, alone. I found myself among unknown others who had been taken by his honest croon and writing style. Moving through the crowd I saw a pale faced kid. He looked about 17 but he's older than that. I met him and explained that I was planning on moving to Sweden, his home country. I received a warm smile and well wishes. Later, I was treated to one of the most personal and engaging sets I'd seen in quite some time. As he sang 'The Cold Swedish Winter' I closed my eyes and imagined Nilla warm in bed as the freezing fingers of Uppsala tapped at her window. I felt amazing somehow eventhough we were so far away from each other. His music was a natural bridge.

Jens' blog Small Talk is one of my daily visits eventhough he updates only once in a while. Today, as usual, I checked it and to my dismay I read his latest entry telling of his recent decision to take an extended, possibly permanant, leave from performing and releasing music.

This happens. I too have run into walls and wondered what my next move was going to be. We all have; we're only human. As you can read he's admitting to some emotional and physical problems that he needs to deal with. I can respect that. Playing a couple shows with Jens was an obvious highlight for me. And regardless as to whether I share a stage with him again, I hope to see him perform again one day.

The Cold Swedish Winter - mp3

Black Cab - mp3

Imagine this in PowerPoint!

+ Tonight I'm going to just thank stars that I'm not in Chicago. Why? Because having to decide between the Mannequin Men release show and the return of Grizzly Bear would be too much for this guy to handle. Good luck to those of you who must make such a choice. Is there no justice in this world?

+ Amy Spencer posted pics showcasing the cast of amazing people that came out to my Empty Bottle show last month. Maybe you were there?

+ Yesterday I received my personnummer, which in turn means that this afternoon I register for my Swedish for Immigrants class.

Swedish entry word
person|nummer [²per_s'o:num:er] -numret -nummer -numren (el. -nummerna) noun
ett tiosiffrigt nummer som tilldelas alla som blir folkbokförda eller får skattsedel i Sverige

English translation
civic registration number
Everyone in Sweden who is registered with the population census authority or has a tax card is given a ten-digit civic registration number. The first six digits are the year, month and day of birth, the following three are the birth number and the last is a control number.

+ So, I'm going to say it, there's been a lack of comment action on this here blog. I know plenty of you are reading (I occasionally check stats), and I see that you're emailing me (I always respond to everyone) but for some reason public comments aren't really happening in Mike Downey blog land. As I go through my list of daily blogs I visit I see some with loads of comments, others have barely any, go figure. I know that this isn't a popularity contest, but sheesh, you guys can do better that this! I'm over here in the Nordic North fumbling over the pronunciation, attempting to cook dinner but oops the instructions on the box of whatever are in Swedish/Danish/Finnish so I must first have a translation session before I even fire up a burner, wondering if 10 kronor to have someone hang up your coat or 5 to take a leak is lawful, etc...you get the picture; you can help. And you can help by commenting.


...this Scottish cow that lives in my neighborhood would surely comment, if he she had fingers and an internet connection.

In a cemetery at once

There's more graffiti here than I'd thought there'd be. Oddly, not a single smashed pumpkin to be seen.

What we had here in Sweden this weekend was the age-old tradition of All Saints' Day being overlapped by Sweden's semi-recent acceptance of celebrating Halloween. All Saints is a religious day set aside to remember and honor friends and family that have passed away. Families assemble in front of graves and stare down simultaneously in silence; each grave that is visited receives a candle. The visual outcome of this was, to me, quite somber and special.

My internet comrade Amy Lou recently blogged about the half-panned acceptance Halloween gets here. She does a great job at explaining why she thinks Sweden could really use a more strategically planned and executed Halloween, say like, we have in America. Now, I'm not here to bring American traditions abroad, but when a "holiday" is struggling to keep it's head above the bobbing apples it can make someone like me, who has such a high standard for Halloween activities, sad. In the grocery stores I've seen temporary displays of Halloween goods for sale; a sort of one-stop-shop for everything you'd really need to get by. Sales appear to be slow. In the produce section there was a pile of about eight smallish pumpkins on the floor underneath the tomatoes. I grabbed three tomatoes because there was cooking to do. This meager attempt at promoting Halloween didn't put me in the mood to start up my own Punk Rock Pumpkin Carving Contest as my friends back home annually hold.

But this isn't back home! And I promise I won't compare the States to Sweden in every blog from here on out (just sometimes!). It's just that the differences are quite immense as you can imagine. American Halloween aside, this weekend's autumn festivities, no matter how much they contradicted each other in the aspects of seriousness, set a mark for what I can expect from this country. It seems to me there's incredibly strong traditions peppered with new and open ideas, whether it's for the kids or just for even more diversity.

After a day of browsing around some shops we walked home instead of taking the bus in order to stroll through the cemetery. There was a fog that floated down to about the tree line. A sea of candles shimmied in the slight breeze while families pushing strollers and wheelchairs rolled up and down the manicured rows of graves. It was odd to see so many people in a cemetery at once. It looked more like a flea market at first with people spread out, walking different directions. Souls in limbo, as it's the only way I can think to describe the dead that had to be bearing witness to all of this, must've been satisfied. Everyone so somber, missing their loved ones, knowing the winter is here.

They're listening to crap

When people hear music that makes sense largely in an indie pop context-- say, Wolfie's Awful Mess Mystery, an insanely good record that hardly anyone likes-- they mostly just think the band is doing something wrong; they mostly just think they're listening to crap. -- Nitsuh Abebe, from Pitchfork's 'Twee As Fuck'

I check Pitchfork's website every weekday. Like a lot of you I read it to get up-to-date news briefs and recent reviews on new releases and happenings within the music world. Music is our passion; Pitchfork informs us. They haven't reinvented the wheel by any means; they review records and give them a rating, tell us who's playing where and what releases are forthcoming. They just do it better than most. And seeing as how they have such a presence in Chicago it's hard not to hear their published opinions floating around within earshot.

The first really bad review I ever received was when said website reviewed Wolfie's second full length (note: link wasn't working when I posted this, don't know why). They also reviewed our following EP. The average of the two ratings was 2.5/10. If you take their word on what is good and what's not you wouldn't purchase either album. Luckily for our band, Pitchfork was up and coming in the late '90s and I'd take a poke at saying they didn't have anywhere near the readership they currently do. But, having anyone publicly say your band's release is a complete and utter piece of unlistenable garbage (I'm paraphrasing) is a bitter pill to swallow. We were young and naive and those words burned us down. But we loved making and performing those songs. And I can speak for all of us that we never regretted any of it.

The same staff writer reviewed both of those releases. So it was one person's opinion, really. I still though paralleled that writer's opinion with anyone who had ever or would ever have anything to do with the site, until now.

About a week ago Pitchfork presented their feature 'Twee As Fuck: The Story of Indie Pop'. It's a pretty comprehensive article on this music's history. Somewhere along the time that the article starts explaining indie pop's eventual fall our debut album gets the little blurb I quoted above. Our band "broke" into the scene probably a little too late. I don't know, maybe it was at the perfect time for us. I'm not good at judging these things. In fact, we considered ourselves an indie rock band and didn't get this whole twee thing a lot of our peers were yakking about. Regardless, it was the genre we were grouped into and we found so much love there eagerly awaiting us. It all really made sense when we pulled into Athens, Georgia and played as part of Kindercore's Athens Summer Music Extravaganza in 1998. The fog lifted; we felt loved. It was three days I'll never forget.

But enough of this reminiscing. Now, I'm scared to death to see if Pitchfork reviews my debut album. I almost don't want them to. It's safer if they don't. But I can't help but feel a small sense of victory in this quasi-battle of me vs. their writer(s). My band that I still hold so dearly received some of the credit I always thought it was due. Maybe now we're even. I can stop holding that grudge.

At the end of the article Abebe lists picks for a genre-spanning mixtape. One of our songs landed on there as well and it was just really nice to see our name in such good company. Our band was one of probably a hundred mentioned in the entire article. We weren't singled out by any stretch of the imagination. But this blog is about what I'm currently thinking and feeling and for the moment I'm looking back and remembering my bandmates, the music we made and the shows we played. Right now it feels like it lasted about three months; a quick blur in a gray and red van. These are the sort of memories that stick forever.

If this article is the last I ever see of our band in print then that'll be fine. We were a blip on the huge radar screen and then we vanished after a few albums. It was almost a perfect plan even though it was far from what we originally intended. Back then it was a feat if we wrote a bridge and bumped the song over three minutes. I still can't write a bridge that makes any sense to the rest of the song and I'm publicly announcing that I'm a better man for it.

From the forest floor

Here I am. I'm right here. My first blog abroad, nice. This past week has been packed with loads of travel, lovely people, performance and now, settling in. So can we get all caught up?

A week ago: an easy flight from Chicago to Stockholm. During the 8 1/2 hour flight I read not a single page of any book. Instead, I got hooked on Scandinavian Airlines' fabulous in-flight entertainment system. I regret that I didn't get a good picture of this thing but basically there's a monitor built into the seat in front of you. Between the touch-sensitive screen and the remote control/gaming controller, which is stored in the armrest, you can navigate through plenty of movies, situational comedies, documentaries and games. I kicked ass on Black Jack. Movies I watched: Fantastic Four, Som Man Baddar and Bewitched. My contacts were glued to my eyeballs by the time we touched down.

Obviously it was far beyond wonderful to see Nilla again after nearly 3 months of being apart. We scooted from Stockholm's Arlanda Airport to Uppsala via bus. By 9:00AM Tuesday I was sitting on what was now my new couch in what was now my new apartment. It's two bedrooms, one of which is working as a dining/computer room. There's plenty of room for us. And guess what? There's also room for when you come and visit. You said you were; ball is in your court people.

After a full day of rest I somehow cured a case of what could've been hardcore jetlag. Trick: I took it easy buy stayed awake (besides a quick nap) until it was finally bedtime here; sleeping all afternoon would've screwed me for the next three days. Wednesday morning I was ready to rock, sort of. I was traveling by train to my next three shows in Sweden. The trains are clean and usually on time. The more modern X2000 trains glide over the landscape smooth and fast. The older regional trains are a bit less comfortable but are only used for shorter distances. Compare this to driving from show to show and I was a spoiled kid.

We rolled into Göteborg Wednesday evening for my first show. It's a beautiful city and Sweden's second biggest. We met up with a few of Nilla's friends at the venue and even ran into a member of the band White Town, an English band that is?/was on Parasol records (Wolfie's old label). Small world! The show worked as sort of a warm-up for the next two nights.

I love Norrköping! It's a cute little city that knows how to have a great time. The local symphony was performing next to the venue I was playing and they were passing out free tickets. I would've totally checked it out but I had my own show to play. The kids there "get it" and made me feel super welcome. I'll be back for another show as soon as possible.


Excitement, Stockholm! Stockholm is one of the coolest cities I've ever been to and I love every chance I get to go visit. This time was extra special because Nilla and I'd be seeing even more of our friends. Before the show we met up with Mia at the art school she's attending where someone found reason for painting a Smurf on a wall. I had such a great time at Landet before, during and after my show. Rickard, Nicklas and Oskar from Svenskamusikklubben were all in attendance and it was great to finally spend some QT with them.

We somehow managed to catch the last bus back to Uppsala from Stockholm and landed back at home ready for sleep after 3 hectic but amazing days. Since then I've been getting registered at local government offices so I can do cool stuff like take swedish for immigrants class and hopefully con someone into giving me a legit job. We made the obligatory trip to IKEA, which was an experience in itself. Going to IKEA in Sweden is pretty similar to going to one in the States except this IKEA was only one floor instead of the mult-leveled monster that I was used to in Illinois. We trudged through the maze of consumables and bouncing kids and came out spending exactly 6 kronor less than we wanted to. That means we won! No IKEA will defeat this team. When did this become a contest? Ever been to IKEA on a Sunday afternoon? If you have, you know what I'm talking about.

I've basically just been getting aquainted with a new way of living. It feels great and I'm happy. Hopefully within a week I'll be in language class and possibly helping out at a local student-run club, we shall see. In the meantime I'll be getting to know more pizza with kebab sauce. Then I'll look out my window before I sit down and work on another song that'll ultimately make me feel amazing. We'll cook dinner; we'll read good books. This is life, a string of events making up an existence. I couldn't ask for much more than this.

Hej då!