Riddu Riddu

Riddu Riddu takes place in Kåfjord, in a valley between two mountains but well above sea level. It's a festival of Sami culture and aboriginal art and music from around the world. This year it was 21 years old. Riddu Riddu is small. It's one of the most important festivals of its kind, but is spread out across only three fields and has just one stage. The main event takes place at the weekend  but throughout the preceding week there are workshops, films and performances.

In a money-raising exercise for the local choir, Marthe and I agreed to volunteer as night security for the festival on Saturday. We started work at 6pm and worked through until 10am. Everyone took turns doing different jobs throughout the night, including watching a roundabout and providing backstage security. Marthe and I were lucky enough to end up working together in a group with one other person.

The first band to play were a Chinese (I think) three-piece who played an intense, repetitive gothy music in weird time signatures. I got the chance to watch some of their set, which was performed to maybe 150 people. They'd come a long way up into the Norwegian mountains for the show and there was something quite wonderful about being one of the few people to see it. On the whole their performance seemed to create quiet confusion, but I really liked what they were doing. 

Harpal, Bill, if you're reading, I miss you gentlemen.

Later there were a group of rockers from Greenland, whose vibe I couldn't get with, and a high-profile Sami band who mixed their folk music with 80s romcom soundtrack stylings. These acts were followed by Narasirato, a band from the Solomon Islands, whose instruments were all made of bamboo. Wearing what looked like traditional tribal dress, they played a lively dance music in which all the notes came from different sized panpipes and tuned percussion. It rained while they played and at that point it was our job to watch the VIP bar, where I was given a dressing down from one of the organisers for not recognising a famous Sami singer who wanted to come in, but that job didn't require three people so I got to see half of the Narasirato performance. They had the crowd with them all the way. I felt happy that I had earlier let one of their members into the backstage area even though he'd forgotten his pass.

Mist settled over the valley for the last act of the night, a group called Totalteatret. I get the impression that these guys played Riddu Riddu around 10 years ago and this performance was something of a homecoming. They mixed storytelling with punk, rap and agitprop, something like an arctic Chumbawamba. Some years ago they had regional hit with a tune about people shooting holes in Sami street-signs. This reminded me of similar battles in Wales, so I guess street signage is often a major issue in areas where a language has been suppressed. The song shared its drum beat with Walk This Way by Aerosmith and Run DMC, and the audience liked it so much that the band played it twice. 

Totalteatret

After Totalteatret were finished there was an exodus from the main stage to the camping area and we were unlucky enough to be stuck on the gate checking wristbands for entry. Marthe was good at this because she's good at smiling, but I struggled somewhat. It's interesting to me that it was mostly older drunks, those of my own age and beyond, who needed to make a point of such mini acts of rebellion as refusing to show their pass and just scowling at me while walking on into the camping area. It was past 2am and I was beginning to get irritable. "Fine, ignore me," I shouted after one of them. "I don't know what you're so proud of. I've been to better gigs on a Tuesday."

But our night was still young and the sun doesn't set here, as you know. We were yet to go litter picking in the camping field, where people played drums and tried to make conversation. Later, around 5am, we were sent up the hill to check any coming cars for festival passes and watch people wandering lost, one foot at a time, out of the gate and down towards the village. Two people found themselves a car to make love in. One man called a taxi and when it arrived he climbed into the front seat and just said, "Drive me home." 

By this point time was like syrup we were swimming through. Minutes expanded while mosquitoes made endless attempts to suck our blood. The end of the final shift found everyone gathered in or around the lavvo, a large tent with a fire in the middle and smoke in the air. Marthe went to sleep and I wandered round in circles.

When it was all over I felt too tired to sleep. The music and festivities seemed a long time ago. On the bus home I tried to jot down a few images in my notebook, but the bus entered a tunnel, I lost my reading light, and that is as much as I recall of the journey.

Backstage Security