MON: 19º/11º TUE: 18º/12º
Going Underground | Explore the world of art, disco and the theatre party
05:00AM: Well, here I am, rolling on the floor again, microphone in hand at Jule Distortion, while Santa Claus is beat-boxing in his leather G-string, asking me if I fancy going back to his place - an offer I can only decline since Lapland is a tad far away. As a matter of fact, it was only this morning that I’d told my kids that Santa was too old and sick to make it this year and had sadly croaked. Not quite yet, or so it seems.
Rewind to 21:30PM: I casually put down another smashed acoustic guitar, while the 30 plus unexpected guests are getting gently hysterical at this art opening that is so underground that we are all slowly, but surely, turning into mole rats .
“Wow, I really dig the way you played ‘Dancing Queen’ in a depressed Johnny Cash kinda way,” says Skildpade Suppe (that’s ‘turtle soup’ in Danish), my dear siamese cousin, handing me two pills: one red, one black.
“Well, the red one will ...” I interrupt him and promptly swallow them both as I religiously put down smashed electric guitar number six, telling myself that I just happen to be stuck in another vortex.“Okay, ladies, there will be a bus picking us up at the end of the street within seven minutes,” I hear myself shout to no one in particular.
“This French dude is so full of it ... What the hell is he talking about?!”
“Five minutes from now”
“Could this guy be serious, after all?”
Eleven people believe that I might be so, or just enough to give it a shot to the end of the street. While they're putting on their coats, hats, scarves and whatnots, still slightly sceptical, I yell: “Just hurry the hell up! Are you mermen or what?!”
“Have you noticed the 20 degrees difference from last year?” asks the weatherman who got lost on his way.
“Yeah, whatever; c'mon guys!” I urge them. I know that Lars, the driver, will not wait an extra second.
It is quite a spectacle to see them all put their gear on in the street, while still wondering.
Then, there it is, in all its resplendent glory: the legendary raver BUS, glowing like a million supernova, magnificently roaring, just as if Neal Cassidy were behind the wheel, Ken Kesey giving psychedelic orders, Bill Burroughs controlling your dreams, and the ghosts of James Brown and M J moon-stepping all over your subconscious. We are stuck in between several packs of blondes as improbably beautiful as they are inebriated, grooving with such an iron determination - a careless abandon that the bus is just BOOMING with relentless beats and Scandinavian pheromones! I can see the disbelief in my new friends' eyes. The driver hands me an envelope (that I will find two days later). It says: “This is real, this is Copenhagen: magic happens here, especially when you least expect it.”
As a Santa in bondage gear hands me a microphone, I start to scream and get rolling.
Beyond the Disco Dick Featuring Christian D’or Well, you got an itch that you cannot scratch and it just happens to be the time of the year when everybody believes that staying in is the new going out, apart from the truly wild at heart. Yes, the weather can be a challenge, but my friend, do not listen to the party poopers, go and meet our punk rock friends at this must-see venue in between Tivoli and the Little Mermaid, both geographically and on the underground map (well almost), and fall in love with a fur coat in the ladies toilet.
This section was contributed by Alexis Robiou, a French fine artist, writer and musician who has lived in Copenhagen for two years. As well as hosting Copenhagen Fashion Week events at Nikolaï Kirke or rocking live at Rust, he´s been spotted acting as a very improbable city tour guide or singing street karaoké during the last edition of Distortion. His work has been exhibited in New York, Tokyo, Paris, London, Munich, Barcelona, Dublin, and now on Blågårdsgade.