Norbergfestival 2014

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  • We're God knows how many feet up, legs dangling over a yawning black void, chin resting on the iron bars in front of me—the only thing keeping that "I'm going to throw myself off this" feeling at bay. Two levels down, to the left, Gothenburg-based noisemaker, composer and multi-instrumentalist Dag Rosenqvist (as in Jasper TX) takes to the "stage." Deathly silence falls upon the place. You can hear the footsteps of late arrivals trying to navigate the winding maze of staircases several floors below. There are hushed whispers, too, but most of the audience—scattered around the various viewing spots—are still, eyes closed, utterly serene. Daylight is trying to stream through the room's only two windows, both crudely patched over somewhere near the roof of the building. And then my hair starts to stand on end. Featherlike keys and gentle, hazy dissonance has somehow swollen into an all-engrossing roar of noise, fractured into it's own melodies in different pockets of the building. And it's getting louder, bringing with it a seraphic rush like I've never experienced before. I close my eyes. I drink it in. And just like that, it's all over. I've finally had my first Mimer encounter. Now I understand. Mimerlaven is the beloved main stage at Norbergfestival, a towering and for the most part terrifying mass of concrete once used to extract iron ore from the site. Admittedly, I didn't really "get it" for most of the festival, despite seeing many notable performances there, like Ominous Recordings chief JSH doing an improv noise-meets-Fight Club piece (with unwarranted drunken extras), or Daniel Araya (unofficial "father" of Norberg festival) playing some slowed down and seriously fucked up acid techno jams. I missed Damien Dubrovnik's regurgitative sound art and a host of other suitably wayfaring musical works over the weekend, partly because of my mixed feelings towards the space and the weird effect it seemed to have on people in there. On one ledge in particular there was nothing but a sea of comatose bodies, laid out in some kind of stoned torpor for what seemed like the duration of the festival. Besides, there were plenty more acts—both known and unknown—to see, spread across Norbergfestival's other two stages. Eomac set the standards early on for the more floor-leaning live acts with a set that boldly steered in and out of some fairly awkward moments, much to my admiration. Like the rest of the peripheral dance program, he was housed in Kraftwerk, the site's disused power station, which resembled something more like a barn equipped with one almighty soundsystem. Other live highlights here included Northern Electronic's Abdulla Rashim, Avian duo SHXCXCHCXSH and Shapednoise, who put the system to the test with his doom-laden soundscapes. But naturally it was Emptyset who won this battle. Armed with sonically-triggered live visuals, the Bristol duo delivered a full-on assault of the senses that left us all a tone deafer. As for the DJs, everything from breakcore to straight 4/4 was belted out at some stage from the 303 tent—hearing Dune's "Hardcore Vibes" wash over the campsite was a definite highlight. But back in Kraftwerk the aloof and elusive Mr.76ix stole the show. The Skam artist cooly delivered nothing but searing broken electronics from his laptop plinth, barely moving, just half a head peeking above the screen. Meanwhile, on the dance floor below, total chaos ensued. But as far as anthemic moments go, Ancient Methods casually dropping Jam & Spoon's stone-cold trance (yes, trance) classic "The Age of Love" somewhere around peak time on Friday was the one. Unlike most festivals, which soldier on til Sunday, Norbergfestival shuts down on the Saturday at 3 PM sharp—a residential curfew the organisers have come to know and respect after 15 years here. This time, however, some unofficial afterhour action had been arranged just a "15-minute" amble along the train tracks. The pilgrimage led us deep into Norgberg's woodland area and out the other side to some semi-industrial lot on the edge of town, where artists, campers and festival volunteers could all dance the last dance as one. It certainly crystallised Norberg's intimate, laid-back and neighbourly disposition, which is ultimately the festival's main charm. That and it's ability to be intellectual, educational and a times deeply nerdy—you could take part in workshops, hear lectures and even jam with some of the latest bits of Roland gear—without ever feeling stranded at a beard convention. You could browse cassettes in the daytime, without a trace of hipsterism—these guys were trading tapes long before it was cool. And sure, there were plenty of serious musical moments, chiefly in Mimer, but there were ample fun ones as well. In essence, there's something for everyone at Norberfestival, but nobody (outside of Scandinavia) has really cottoned onto it yet. 15 years in and it is still a very Swedish festival. For an insight into how they do things over there, it really doesn't come much better. Photo credits: Peo Bengtsson
RA