Friday, 13 December 2024
Riding the wave of interest and excitement coming from their involvement in Eurovision, Gåte are finally going on tour in Europe. As one of the utlendinger on the NRM staff, it seemed ironic that I should be writing about them in my former home country, especially when what they presented was a tour de force of authenticity, the complete counterpoint to the plastic horror of Eurovision, which served as the springboard that has made this possible.
It was like being part of a rite. It was an uncompromising performance of full, joyous commitment and high energy from the very beginning. Vocalist Gunnhild Sundli took centre stage on her own at the start, with “Skarvane”, her voice clear and strong, ringing out over a crowd that was quickly captivated. The rest of the band came on, one at a time, building the music up until it was at full tilt. They played three numbers straight, following with “Svarteboka” and “Knut liten og Sylvelin” before they stopped to greet the crowd, Sundli speaking in English.
“Our music is rooted in Norwegian folk traditions inspired by ancient legends and folk tales. It’s so nice that you want to come and listen to that”.
The delight was unforced. Even guitarist Magnus Børmark, an intense, livewire of a performer, grinned at people in the front rows during the show. Sundli explained a little of the meaning of “Solfager og Ormekongen” but otherwise they let the music speak for itself. And that was enough. They can’t have been many in the approximately 200-strong audience who could understand the lyrics – I did not hear anyone speaking Norwegian – but I have no doubt there were people there who knew the songs and had found out the meaning of the words. John Stenersen with his nyckelharpa was a constant visual and musical reminder of the folk music underpinnings of the band’s material. He had several solos and came to the front of the stage over and over, weaving his body and working his instrument.
The impact of the performance cannot be understated. The band were in constant motion. “Margit Hjukse” seemed like an angry folk disco number, and “Hamløypar” which was later in the set was bacchant. Sundli danced constantly when not at her microphone, and even when singing, her hands and arms twisted and swayed as if they were part of the storytelling of the lyrics. Børmark and bassist Mats Paulsen also darted and weaved to and fro across the stage behind her, the music flowing through them, with Stenersen jumping in when space allowed. Despite the more modern metal arrangements and instrumentation, many of the songs still came across like jigs or reels.
Likevel, this was jo not “Christmas in Killarney”.
Perhaps it is a cliché to describe music like this as “pagan”, but with the vital force of the performance and the stories and the musical background harking back to Norway’s pre-Christian history, it is not a stretch. The lighting was subtle and atmospheric, spots on the performers generally preferred to washes. Sundli wore red, and the rest of the band dark colours, entirely in keeping with this primordial, earthen atmosphere. The drumming of Jon Even Schärer also called us back into that older time, sometimes throbbing, pulsing, muddy, emanating from deep in the earth.
That same spirit found more modern expression in some of the breakdowns in the music. There was even a hint of punk aggression, for example in “Margit Hjukse”. Børmark detuned his guitar and knelt at the edge of the stage, banging the instrument with his fist, slowing raising it into the air and the crowd cheered louder as it climbed. “Bannlyst”, one of the two encore numbers, had this same chaos at its heart. Sundli, standing on a box, had invited the audience to “find your inner wild spirit and let it out!”, as if they needed invitation – the audience had been in motion since the band started. The music unravelled as the number closed, the drumming getting denser and denser, Sundli screaming over the cacophony of the instrumentation. The audience danced like initiates.
Before that, the much anticipated Eurovision number “Ulvehamn” had already whipped the crowd up into a frenzy. It was lightly disguised by an extended drum solo opening, “Talande Tunger”, which gave Schärer another chance to show off his first-rate chops. But as soon as Sundli opened her mouth, the crowd knew the song they had been waiting for had arrived. This was the non-sanitised version, with Paulsen growling, and Børmark hurling his guitar high into the air. I don’t think this has become kitsch. This is not a case of fans waiting for the “big hit”. Rather, I would say it was a moment of shared celebration, as if they were saying Play us the song that got you here. When the band briefly left the stage, a spontaneous chant rose, of “Gåte! Gåte! Gåte! Gåte! Gåte! Gåte! Gåte!…” until they returned.
However, this was not the only piece that got that kind of reception. “Stengd Dør” was also immediately met with a cheer after only two of the opening chimes on the guitar. The gentle, yearning “Liti Kjersti”, one of their oldest songs, which gave us time to catch our breath just over halfway, was also greeted with a spontaneous applause. Sundli’s voice had been at full volume almost continually by this point, clear and strong all across her range, no mean feat given the intense touring schedule the band have faced. These two numbers gave us a chance to hear her in a more subtle and delicate register, more vulnerable but still clear and even.
The final number might have seemed a curious choice, atmospherically. Apart from the gentle interlude of “Liti Kjersti”, the concert had been relentless. “Sjåaren” is a more balanced piece, more subtle and less demonstrative, with the piano motif giving it a subdued and modern feel. However, it was legerdemain. After so much excitement, so much primal urgency, this brought us full circle, Sundli’s voice wavering and pleading over the beautiful simplicity of the music. There was one final burst of energy as the music broke down into more orchestrated chaos, before we were left with Sundli singing alone, her voice tailing off into a distorted echo, a moment of utter gåshud.
As the concert closed, another member of the audience, mistaking me for one of the band’s team, gestured to Sundli on stage, as the band took their bow, and said “She is so talented, so brilliant. She should be singing in Wembley not this Academy.” I cannot disagree. There was easily sound and force enough to fill that space. Apart from the sheer power of the performance, something just short of brutality, softened by its joy and mischief, the most affecting thing about it was the band’s complete commitment to their material. They did not dodge, they did not soften – or translate – and if this music is to come across to lands where the Norwegian dialects are a kind of unknown music, then it is this authenticity that will carry it as much as the quality of the musicianship. That and whatever is left in us of the pagan in this modern, rightly godless age.
Jorda må følgje sin veg. 6/6
Text: Alex Maines
Photography: Anne-Marie Forker
