M83: Emerging unscathed from hippie hell

Kevin Bronson on October 17th, 2008

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Chapter 8: I am in the armpit of the hippie universe right now: Christiania, Copenhagen. Please hear me out before the touchy outcries begin: My father was a hard-core hippie. Sculptor/musician by day, waiter by night, king of the cross-country hitchhike, anti-war activist and frequent mountain man; I was brought up by someone who, to me at least, represented the ultimate in hippiedom.

Because of this, I have a big problem with Christiania [and its gargoyles, above] being associated with hippies as it appears to be nothing more than a vestige of some unrealized free love dream, raped by squatters, anarchists and drug dealers. Run down, filthy, full of drugs and shady people, this place is fricking depressing. Below is the lasting impression Christiania made on me — the photo was taken at the door of the venue, inside, mind you. I won’t dwell on this, but I woke in my bunk this morning as the bus drunkenly lolled through the boulder-strewn Christiania alleys, and I could’ve sworn I was in some kind of “Lost Boys” nightmare. We couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.

Two days later we found ourselves in Norway where Lotje Patrick and I set out early to find a decent breakfast.” At a sweet little diner I ordered the “French” repast, which consisted of toast, a cappuccino and a cigarette.” Unfortunately the cigarette was not a Gauloise but I heartily enjoyed the novelty menu item nonetheless. We had the most delicious sushi for dinner (thank you, Los Angeles gods!), took shots of champagne backstage (that one’s for you, Marcus, remember?) and played our first really decent gig of the tour. Though showering in flip-flops blows and waking up in a different city as the bus rocks to a stop at 5 a.m. is truly disconcerting, we’re finding a groove and I’m falling in love with Scandinavia. Below, the beauty and the not-so …