The 1997 Volvo station wagon

The humidity in the room caused sprinkles of water to fall down on our heads from the ceiling. But it didn’t really matter as Cut Copy put the sold out humid room into a dance frenzy that saw most of us completely soaked in sweat only a few songs in. The Australian electro poppers put their hits into a neat row and then kept on throwing them out in front of a sold out crowd that had little choice than to throw some hands and shake some hips as a sign of appreciation. Cramped in under the low ceilings of the Strand venue, with the velvet red drapes covering the concrete wall not really managing to dampen the industrial feel, the atmosphere became euphoric. At least in my own mind.

After a few beers trying to recover from the concert dehydration I took two busses home. Listening to rap music. For some reason I felt compelled to write ‘leave it all up in the air, aida i can hear the sound of your laugh through the walls’ on my Facebook wall. This quote from The National’s song Ada seems somewhat pretentious today. And I also misspelled Ada.

Then I dreamt about how to park an old Volvo that I had bought for 2000 Euros. This Volvo first appeared in my dreams this mid-week when I bought it in a gas station because I needed to drive somewhere. It was a silver station wagon from 1997 and I was driving it on summery Stockholm streets listening to Black Milk’s Hell Yeah worrying about the car’s fuel consumption. Apparently the ‘dream me’ is an environmentalist. In this second dream the car had become a real liability. I kept driving around, no longer listening to awesome rap music, wondering where to park it and how much I would have to pay for it. The price of parking made my heart race. When I woke up there was a few minutes where I could not clearly remember if I was an owner of a 1997 Volvo station wagon or not. There was a sense of relief when I realized that I still don’t own a car.

The morning has been spent in the key of nostalgia, which is ironic since I am very much against the concept of nostalgia. Many find this ironic when looking at my reoccurring Amsterdam trips. Still, when seing my former favorite band Stars, playing one of my favorite songs of all time (Your-Ex Lover Is Dead), in a city I have lived in (San Francisco) there are all kinds of nostalgia bells ringing.

So instead of taking advantage of the baby blue sky that spreads over Stockholm I listen to Stars and feel a sense of relief that I am not a car owner. And that I once again was able to see Cut Copy wash away the five day work week haze that I was walking around in before.


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