The end of July in 2016, captured by Laura Vilva. The place is called Sigvartsby, an old village near Hamina, where my parents live and where I spent my early youth in misery and pain. This picture tries to speak. It is the Master of the Mandolin, Tomi Pekkola, on the right. I am next to him, and we are playing Love itself or maybe Suzanne, on a garden party. My little sister Laura is on the left with my little daughter.
One theme could be the bed where I had my first kiss of love. The room has a view over this garden and the apple trees. But it's not what I want to tell now. My little brother, who was born the next morning (in May 1995), told me a story about KISS. Paul Stanley said in an interview that sometimes the musing and the atmosphere seem to be at odds with the reality. A good song could be written on a thin story. The muse may be someone who only exchanges a few words with the poet, or just a glance. Neither does this mean that a poet who writes the song is caught up in it (although it could happen).
This was my little brother's response to my whining. I had told him about my guitar, how it was named after St. Anne. There is a Lady of Romance, too. But only as a memory of the ballad of a young man that happened to receive another verse or three. In the beginning of 2010 I was finishing my old collection of poetry (Flor & Blancheflor), and I walked the streets of Helsinki when someone passed by, who may have been the one mentioned in The Thin Young Men. I sent her a letter, telling about my poem and her initials in the notes. She did not respond, but I'd soon receive a name for my new guitar, two alternative verses for Suzanne and a part of the poem called Beautiful (detached from the original TYM). After a year or so I searched her out and realized a few odd synchronicities that seemed to relate to my songs and performances. I made a decision not to approach her "in real life", because it could be trespassing. Then a f(r)iend of mine wanted to take me along to see her, for they had some business to deal with. This happened on the day I'd give Virta 8 magazine's final version to Unigrafia printing house. When we met her I smiled in a foolish way, not saying anything or introducing myself. She did not tell me anything, either, only introduced herself by name. They had a private discussion and after that my f(r)iend accused me of stalking. In vain I tried to tell him about "meaningful coincidences" (the poem with her initials would be printed right after our meeting that never happened). Another reason behind this nonsense is that she was the one who gave me that image of Tryst, a meeting (place) of lovers, already in 2003. She had been like a muse, and I never understood why or how it came to be that way. Because we only met a few times, and pretty much nothing ever happened. Well, you know what..... Poetry is like that.
October 2009 in Alppila, with Chagall. Photo by Laura Vilva
Here is a fragment of the live journal, originally called Music for birds and bunnies / rabbits (I never could decide which one was better or worse, may they were equally good and bad):
11.11.18
More Blues and Jazz for the Beloved (God)mother, Hamina &
19.11.17 Grandfather's Home Blues / Military Music For The Godmother,
Kirkkojärvi, Hamina I played for my godmother(s) again. I was asked for some more Cohen.
But the other time was my own obsession. I had failed so miserably
the night before, that I needed to prove myself I still got the blues
and jazz kiss my ass going on strong enough.
18.11.17
Folk-Iltamat, Pub Albert, Kotka (w/ Tuukka Sandström)
Another dis-aster date in Kotka city. I had met Sandström earlier
that autumn, and we had songs to play. So he arranged a gig for us.
Tuukka performed really well, singing his own songs in Finnish. When
it was my turn, I couldn’t really hear myself. The man was in
shape, the voice worked well and the memory, too. The guitar went out
of tune half-way and the rest was like Vysotsky (except that it was
Cohen). I was depressed for months after this. Though I had a real
premonition, it still hurt like hell.
10.-11. & 17.11.17 Lit the Candle (Again), L.C. one year on, Hautajaismuistojuhlasoitot & Dress Rehearsal Rag Time(s), Tallinmäki, Hamina (w/ Tuukka Sandström)
25.7.17
Puutarhajuhlat (Födelsedagfest), Karjaa (w/ Lars Karlsson)
1.7.17 Hautajaismusiikkia, Kirkkojärvi, Hamina
25.3.17
Esteettinen Metamorfoosi, olohuonekonsertti, Espoo
24.7.16
Harjulan Iltasoitto, Kirkkojärvi, Hamina
Disappointed in my performance the day before, I wanted to try again.
The Lady of the Hat left early from the garden party, so I went and
played a little concert in her living room. She gave me this hat I
have been wearing, since the summer of 2000. It is my great
grandfather's hat. This time the concert was good and everything
worked. The lady knew her Cohen, and spoke a few words of wisdom
about the music: to keep the magic alive, one has to play the songs
quietly and with..…
23.7.16
120 Kesää / Puutarhajuhlat, Kirkkojärvi, Hamina (w/ Tomi Pekkola)
My parents wanted to have a garden party to celebrate their 60th
birthdays, hence the title "120 summers". There were a lot
of people and I had to use electricity for the second time in a row.
We built up a stage under an apple tree. It looked nice, but I didn't
like the sound. We played a few songs with the Master of the
Mandolin, Tomi Pekkola. And Love itself was even caught on a video
clip. I played a lot of songs later, alone. After the first set list,
when the equipment and myself were starting to warm up and the
afternoon became evening, it started rolling. I didn't know anything
about Cohen's new themes or Marianne, but those days the muse died
and the poet followed her soon after. I wrote a poem in the end of
July, and used a few lines that would fit in. This was also the time
when I published the old scrap book (again), The Nameless TYM, which
begins and ends with a quote taken from Love itself.
30.3.16
Pyhän Antoniuksen Tuli (julkaisujuhlat), Bar Loose, Helsinki (w/
Guggenheim projectz etc)
There was a stage named after my (anti)hero Kari Peitsamo, and I got
to perform there. This was like a dream coming true. I did not know
about it, until I was making a soundcheck and noticed the sign on the
wall: Kari Peitsamo stage. The happening was about Mika Pekkola's new
book, Pyhän
Antoniuksen Tuli.
He asked me to come and play at the publishing party, and I could not
say no. Read the book, follow the trail, see the crow with a host or
two. It was Joan of Arc, Avalanche, Who by Fire and True Love. There
were other (and better) artists, also. And there I was, talking about
another great (anti)hero of my youth, Taneli Jarva, when I looked out
the window of the bar and thought I saw him, with his family, walking
on the other side of Anne street!
