The Good Life – 20

Twenty years ago the trajectory of my life was massively altered by the release of The Good Life by Kashmir. I had worked with this tornado of a (then still) trio both live and in the studio and it was the joy and pride of my career to be associated with this band. I grew up with them and they allowed me to become infinitely better at my job. They let me tag along with them in the studio when recording with other producers and when they finally ventured out on their own creative path, they graciously let me tag along.

The journey took us into uncharted territory for all of us and with a combination of heartache, passion, ambition and newly found energy, the foundation of the work was laid around the country in several sessions trying to define what Kashmir was going to be.

I’m not afraid to admit (now) that I was WAAAAY out of my depth – But I was willing to learn on the spot and support these guys as much as I could.

My forte was (then, as now) a combination of technical abilities, fast learning, arrogant self belief and burning love for the Artist. I put all of that into the work that we did together and some of it worked. Well.

Really Well.

The intensity, effort and intention came screaming out of the speakers when we played the songs to people – Kasper had found his voice and no one around the time would dare dispute that the power and sophistication Mads and Asger put down was second to none. It was obvious to anyone that this was something special.

It still is.

Like a lot of other things I’ve been a part of in my life, the finished product isn’t necessarily how I most fondly remember the journey. I listen now and immediately my petty objections or little niggles float to the surface, like how a good stir brings up small bitter leaves in an otherwise delicious cup of tea.

But – with age I’ve also realised a bunch of my own shortcomings as a producer, engineer, colleague and maybe even friend – leaving room for post natal frustration and petty emotional pressure points to dominate the aftermath of what should have been a victory lap for the collective that I was such a proud member of.

The experience shaped me profoundly. Laid the foundation for a better and more malleable me. Opened my eyes more to the struggles and frustration of artists trying to get something off their chest, and allowed me the time to learn how to be a more sensitive partner. (My obnoxious cocksure, almost comical, arrogance is fully intact – but it has found a home behind a mixing desk at concerts)

Ultimately, this is an incredible album by a band that I would STILL claim was Denmark’s best shot at a real worldwide super group. No disrespect to all of the other awesome bands that came after, but if you had seen what I saw in the late 90’s and early 00’s all over the world, you would have agreed.

The Good Life introduced me to amazing artists.

The Good Life introduced me to my wife.

Kashmir and The Good Life will be an inevitable part of my eulogy one day and I couldn’t be more proud.

Happy Birthday, Ol’ Sport,


JOn ScHUmAnn


A Strong Man

I wrote this one year ago, exactly one month before what was going to be Josephine (my daughter)’s birthday.

I don’t post it for any other reason than my own reflection on a truly horrific day at work and I needed to write it more than you need to read it.

Norwegian Pearl, somewhere in the Caribbean Ocean

Heading for Miami

14 November 2015

I consider myself a man. I try to be all the things a Man should be. Honest in emotions and clear in heart. Direct in communication and nuanced in world view. Free from prejudice and open to change. Thoughtful and compassionate. Warm and loving. Able to apologise and quick to forgive. Idealistic to a fault, yet able to bend for the complexities of the human condition.

I considered myself a Strong Man.

Yet I am now sitting here in the middle of the Caribbean Ocean on a cruise ship heading back to Miami after a terrible tragedy occurred two nights ago and the atrocities of Paris ticked in on my newsfeed all day yesterday – And my reaction is only intense fear and sorrow. Gone is my resolve. My nuanced world views. My perspective.

When the news about the poor girl that went overboard here on the cruise ship hit us, I was filled with self righteous gusto. “If only I had witnessed her going over, I would have jumped in and saved her – like a real Man.” I thought.

I scoured the internet for my goto crutch: Facts.

“Under these conditions she can probably survive approximately 6 hours, based on a similar accident on the QE2 some years back when a chef went overboard.”

“About 12 years ago, I read, a cargo ship lost a crew member in the Indian Ocean and even with the colossal 1 hour braking time of this ship, it managed to calculate the currents and winds and navigate right back to the person and fish him out – cold, but safe.”

But as the hours came and went and even with the formidable rescue operation that we all witnessed from the balcony, the facts started working against this poor soul. Someones daughter – out there in the endless ocean. We stared into the deepest dark blue and followed the searchlights of all the vessels that came out of nowhere to help. Like we, by some Hollywood-esque miracle would see with our own eyes, something that the trained professionals had missed. I then realised that the 6th hour had come.. and all too quickly gone.

Reality is a cruel and heartless teacher.

I started lashing out at the innocent party goers aboard this ship. Started hating on some of the more unfortunate kids and their seemingly endless disdain for this person, this human being that messed up their party and ruined their high. Someones daughter. I blamed them for this feeling I had brewing in my belly – I wanted it to be their fault. Raged at the insensitive comments, the inevitable poor taste tweets that started filling up the Twittersphere. In a bid for what I believed to be my moral obligation to stand up for decency and respectfulness, I decided to fight back and started tweeting facts. Things that were actually happening and not rumours, rampant speculation or hate. ‘A way to drown out the trolls,’ I thought to myself as I polished my halo and propped up my ego. A way to process the sadness and helpnessness I felt – like Twitter was some sort of twisted therapeutic tool. I wanted the story of what happened to be a respectful, fact based story regardless of whether she fell or jumped, was drunk or sober, a party girl or a nun. She was someones daughter, for goodness’ sake.

Waking up yesterday, it was announced that the ship was going to leave the search (now classified as a recovery operation) to the US Coast Guard and head back to Miami. The promoters had decided, wisely, to start shows again while we make our way back to port at reduced speed. The artists were clearly having a rough time with this sad incident, but they also wanted the opportunity to show some love and respect. And the show, as we all know, must go on.

10 minutes before we start setting up stage for our show, my wife texts me that there is shootings ongoing at a show in Paris. The band is Eagles Of Death Metal and apparently there are already fatalities. And while I calmly, but robotically, put things on top of other things and plugs into holes, start computers and go “1-2-1-2” into microphones, the ferocity and full scope of the horror that is unfolding at the legendary venue in Paris ticks into my newsfeed like play-by-play tweets from the devil about his latest idea.

We play – Well.

I don’t really remember packing up that clearly – I think I packed everything in the right box, but it’s a bit of a blur.

A rock show. The Bataclan.

These are my people.

They are me and I am them.

The Man in me starts firing on all adrenaline and testosterone cylinders: ‘If only I had been there, I would have wrestled the AK-47 from a terrorist, shot the others and been heroically flesh wounded and hailed as a hero in my time’ my brain thinks. All men know this little John McClane voice in their heads – it’s the same voice that makes us think that we can jump that gorge, climb that mountain or get with that hot girl in spite of all evidence to the contrary.

But the fact is this: If I had been there I would have been lying on the floor. Dead.

That is the statistical probability. In spite of action film logic, no heroism outruns 4 guys with AK-47s.

The Man in me is convinced that he can make a difference wherever he goes. The Man in me thinks that I can just show up somewhere and instantly make that place better. But another version of that man is bleeding out on the floor behind the mixing desk at a venue in Paris. Someone who probably looks like me – in a black t-shirt and a backstage pass tied to his belt (because only noobs carry their passes around their necks) probably spent his last seconds thinking about how to get out of this situation.

The floor at the Bataclan is now littered with people that will not put the keys in their front doors anymore. Countless parents are waiting for a call that will not come or a “I’m home!” that is not going to happen. Someones daughters and sons.

For the first time in my life I am afraid of turning my back to the emergency exits.

For the first time in my life I cannot see a safe way forward.

I’ve been to places in the world that are considered dangerous, but it always felt like a calculated risk. I cannot begin to calculate this risk, because this is too close to home.

You can call me a hypocrite all you want – I am not and have never been blind or insensitive to the horror and violence that puts permanent scars our planet every day, like chicken pox on a small child. I am aware of the atrocities that are committed every day in the name of countless “One True God”(s), profit, territory, revenge or political power. I understand that the concert, a gathering of people, was always a juicy target for those who wish to prey on the weak or punish the infidels. But deep in my heart I always tried to tell myself that at least music had universal appeal and maybe even the lost souls in IS liked to tap toes to a rock song.

Now I battle, like probably every other rational thinker in the world, with the conflicting emotions of love, anger, intellectual reasoning, compassion and balls-out primal hate. But The Strong Man has gone – never to return. Strength is now going to be a useless tool that I will hang in the garage next to the flathead screwdriver – a tool of days gone by. Stuck on a boat in the middle of the ocean and surrounded by strangers, I have but one thought in my head:

I want to go home.

I want to be with my budding family.

My strength evaporated as the Man in me gave way to a stronger force in my heart/brain-combo: The Family Man. The only tool I can now use is Love. The only Weapon I have in my possession is love.

In the belly of my beloved wife is the reason that my focus has changed.

Someone’s Daughter.



What I Love.

If you are one of my lovely Facebook friends or you have happened across my tweets in the years gone by, you probably think I am a bit of a grumpy bastard.
I assure you, this isn’t true. My heart swells at the sight of a beautiful sunset, a good meal or an awesome show, my eyes well up when watching “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition” or “Long Lost Family” and I get all giddy at the prospect of a free update to my favourite audio software.

To try and convince you, Dear Unknown Friend, that I am indeed made of softer stuff, I have decided to try and put into words just a small sampling of the things that make me feel joy, giddiness, excitement and good old fashioned happiness.

I love my family and friends.
I love the sound of a good PA in a great venue.
I love a short soundcheck.
I love cooking for my wife. Mostly versions of Spaghetti Bolognese.
I love new technology and manuals.
I love (most) Apple Products.
I love installing software updates with exciting new features that will eventually crash my system and force me to do a full reinstall. I love doing full reinstalls.
I reluctantly love Amazon Prime (although I hate Amazon’s business ethics and how they treat their staff and I will participate in any effort to force them to change their ways. Even cancelling my beloved Prime if need be. (Actually – just did)) 
I love synthesizers – All of them. Oberheim. ARP. Yamaha. Sequential Circuits. Roland. Ensoniq. Emulator. Moog. Korg. (Mostly Korg.)

I love Facebook.
Anyone who doesn’t have a regular office or works around the world will recognise the need to stay in touch with people in a casual but friendly way. Facebook is that way. Now, invite me to play Farmville again and I will hide your toothbrush in my ass, but like every other passtime it’s best enjoyed responsibly. I owe a lot of good things to FB (also, a lot of Cat videos.)

I love bands.
There is something about the inherent dysfunction that exists within a band that solo artists will never experience, I think. The joy of having someone to agree/disagree with, to fight and make up with over petty things. Someone to share both the limelight and late night load outs with equally. I could never be a solo artist – but I could have been in a band.
Back in the day, that is.
Now I’m waaaaay too comfortable.

I love a great gig.
It’s the main reason I went back on the road.
I love it when the crowd gets what the band is doing. When the band is running at max potential. When the crew are good, relaxed and happy. When you have that rare moment in a show where you actually get to enjoy your work. I could list an almost infinite amount of things I hate about touring, but somehow The Great Gig resets my loathing for airports, invoicing, logistics and waiting. I suspect that most of my Road Warrior friends feel the same way. (Also, that’s another list.)

I love a great festival.
With a comfortable backstage, great catering, old friends in the offices, great tech, a joyous crowd and a beautiful setting.

I love a good Tour Bus.
Something with great aircon that doesn’t make me cough my lungs out. A bus with a functioning WIFI connection to call home, a decent toilet, a popcorn maker, a cool fridge, good bunks with plenty of fresh air and somewhere where you can relax in silence when the party is raging elsewhere. I love a quiet Tour Bus with an excellent driver.

I love early mornings. Reluctantly.
But there is something about getting ahead of the world before it descends on you like a hungry eagle and tears you limb from limb. Like getting the best position on a surfboard before the wave strikes. (I would imagine – the thought of being on a board in the surf frightens the bejeezus out of me.)

I love people who are good at their jobs.
I had an epiphany when we played Coachella with earlier this year:
The world is absolutely jam packed with beautiful people.
It’s no wonder, really – Naturally, most people will try their hardest to be attractive and confident and make pretty babies, using all the knowledge and technologies at their disposal, forged by centuries of research to make our brains believe that this particular girl/boy is just the picture of perfection and a worthy mate for the procreation of the species.
But “beautiful” as a singular attribute is useless. Beauty should be a coincidental attribute, not a life goal.
People who are good at their jobs rock my world. (That these people are also beautiful, is just an evolutionary stroke of good fortune.) The list is a lot longer.

I love manual labour.
Actual work, you know, with your hands. My fondest memories are always centered around actually doing things. With my parents, with friends, in my in-law’s garden, repointing a wall, painting a door, making a new fence, reassembling my bike, soldering cables and packing up FOH after a sold out show.
You can have the backstage party to yourselves, if I can just have a quiet arena and two hours to carefully wipe down the desk and pack my boxes in an almost ceremonial way, maybe with a good colleague for nice conversation. If you think I long for the executive corner office, you know me very little.

I love landing at Gatwick Airport.
This one’s a no-brainer. It means that I am less than 60 minutes away from what has become my home, Eastbourne. And then predictably:

I love Eastbourne.
Who’d have thunk it ? From the burned down pier and the corny seafront hotels to the downs and the freaky abundance of churches, I dig this place so much. It holds a large chunk of my family and so many places and people that bring me a slice of happiness. Dave Lynch and the amazing Electric Zoo studios, Jal The Hair Dresser, Nelson Coffee, Camilla’s Books, The Towner, the old fashioned station building and Harry Ramsdens Fish & Chips. Paul The Editor & Christine The Jeweller, Brother Bjarke/ Sister Mary and little Nephew Benjamin, Neil The Electro Wizard and Rachel The Florist/Cellist. I am even fond of the recurring characters around Eastbourne Town Centre. Like the 6’8″ 70’s Gerard Depardieu look-alike who wanders around the Andale Center in his tight bell bottoms and belly-overhang boheme shirt. And the fact that Eastbourne has a yearly cross dressing gentlemens gathering that no one really talks about.
I love Eastbourne because it has no relevance for my career. Moving here was purely driven by love and nothing to do with expanding the business.
A move that all of us self employed people rarely get to make.

I love letting people know how I feel about them. (usually only in a positive way)
If you, like I, believe that there is only one round on this rollercoaster, then you’ll start to get a sense that professions of great affect and appreciation for other people should be an integral part of your life and not saved for retirement speeches and eulogies. The back of that medal is that the opposite then also applies, but with a bit of perspective you start to realise that “people who annoy you” usually don’t set out to do so and as such, appreciation can take on many forms. I have a lot of love for people I don’t even like, because I understand the urge to be yourself. I understand the responsibility that comes with this. Honesty and hard work.

But most of all – I love Catherine and all that comes with her.


Jon Boston Glasses

Vi ses, Mormor

For Roma,

1 year ago today our grandmother passed away as she finally lost her battle with Alzheimer’s Disease.

This was the disease that started by making her forget that she had already bought milk, then it made her forget where she was, our names, who we were, who she was. She forgot to sleep, wake up, eat and drink.

In the end  she forgot to breathe.

I got the news as a text message in a small apartment in Stockholm. Alone and far away from my loved ones I felt powerless and guilty. I cried and regretted not having seen her and spent more time with her in her final days.

But I know exactly why I didn’t.

The last time I saw Grandma, was at her birthday in the wonderful nursing home that our mother had effectively bullied everyone in the health care system to get her. People were there to celebrate her, even if they don’t necessarily get along outside those walls – they put their differences aside, petty or otherwise and sat there with Grandma Roma. Or rather what was left of her… I talked to her and she would reply – random words in random order to no end, glazed look in her now grey eyes with not a hint of recognition. And I realized then and there, that my grandmother, our grandmother and all she was, had died.

Roma didn’t have an easy start on life – She was kicked out of her home and sent off to the big city at age 14. She fell into one marriage and had a child (something my generation only found out much later) and after a very short time left this family behind and started another – Ours. With Valdemar (Granddad) she had another two children – Diana (whom I call mum) and Walther. Many years after the passing of granddad and, I believe, the passing of her first husband, she manned up herself and got in touch with Kurt, her son of the first marriage. Something that became a joy for us all as Kurt, mild mannered and with a heart the size of a whale, just welcomed her back into his life as had she never left.

Kurt fell to cancer in March 2010.

Like all parents, I am sure, Roma could be a pain in the ass. She was hard headed, stubborn and had her opinions ready for anyone who would listen (and for a few that wouldn’t, too) – I fondly remember that whenever she used the terms: “Og så sagde jeg til hende – Nu skal jeg sige dig en ting, sagde jeg:” –   (and then I said to her – I’ll tell you this, I said:) – I always felt that it probably meant: “I didn’t say anything, I bit my tongue and nodded politely, but what I should have said was:” and that would be followed by an imaginary ass-kicking for the subject in question, whether it be the guy down the shops, the lady at the bus stop or indeed anyone who had crossed her path wrongly. It still makes me smile.

She made the best frikadeller the world has ever seen. She would make them for us, our friends and she would even make them for bands that I worked with. The taste of Rødgrød med Fløde is the taste of Roma’s kitchen, odd spoons, wax table cloth and half’n’half milk. She entered me into Wheel Of Fortune on TV once. (I won a petangue set, chocolates and an Anaïs Anaïs perfume series). She would walk my Sunday paper route with me when I was 11 years old. She would ride her bicycle way into her seventies. She tried valiantly to remember all the names of all the band members that I dragged through our kitchen – The band that she never forgot ? The Burning Primitive. “Such nice boys..” – Her favourite musician-friend of mine: Las Nissen. “Oooh, he is such a handsome man!” She took up learning English – not really to learn English as much as to have her grandsons teach her. She adored Freddie Mercury and Montserrat Caballé’s “Barcelona” album. She believed what the tabloids said about muslims taking all our jobs, but at the same time she was best buddies with Abdul in the corner shop. “He’s not like the others!” – proving again that xenophobia is best fought up close with coffee and falafel.
She had a laugh that sounded like someone tickled a baboon with an icepick.

But most important of all – she loved us all and we loved her.

All this, all that character and all that life, was drained from her by this soul-sucking disease that robs us of the one thing that makes us who we are – Our memories. And as her memories faded into a grey thick fog of uncertainty and mood swings, so did Roma Selma Graakjær.
I want to believe that she was in there, at least some of the way. I really do.
I want to feel that she was clinging on for dear life to stay with us in body and mind. Even though I know that the pure nature of the affliction made it impossible. So I do regret not being there for her. I am not proud of my absence.

But I also understand our mother’s final mercy on us children.
She felt that we should remember grandma for who she was and not for what she had become – and for that I am eternally grateful.

Cause I do remember. And I hope you all do to.

Grandma loved my girlfriend Catherine even though she never understood a word she said (says something about the quality of English teachers you can get with frikadeller and rødgrød).

In Catherine’s family it is tradition for everyone to meet once a year on the day of passing of the most recent elder. You eat, drink, pray and remember.
We don’t do that – We go on with our lives and sometime get this sinking feeling that something isn’t what it used to be and then, when they sing that song around the christmas tree that reminds us of the ones we lost, we shed a tear and get on with it. We tell ourselves that family snapshots and christmas cards is enough to keep them with us or, alternatively, we put our faith in the belief that they are still here or indeed in heaven or somewhere else where their memory is kept forever. The truth is that they live on in our memories and only there. It is ironic that the thing that was taken from grandma is also the only thing that will ever truly erase Roma, Grandfather Jørgen who left us in February and Kurt from this world. It is us not remembering them and talking about them and their stories.

This is my feeble first attempt. Feel free to join in.

One of the first things Catherine ever learnt to say in Danish is something she said to our grandma. It has since become the sign-off for my brother Frederik, my sister Anja, Catherine and I when we hang up the phone or part ways at an airport. It embodies my feelings for Roma, Jørgen, Kurt, Evelyn, Valdemar and all those those who left anyone of you – and it is not because I believe in an afterlife where we will all meet and play bingo. It is because we will eventually all just be an anecdote in someone else’s arsenal of stories about people who aren’t here anymore. And if we are lucky, it’s a good story with an awesome ending and some funny bits to keep the great-great grandkids entertained.

See you around, Grandma.


Vi ses, Mormor.

My completely pointless list of important music… (Repost)

Alright people,

The new year has come and this always makes people all gooey and sentimental. I must admit that the following list started life after a few schnapses with my brother and a couple of good friends.

I know that this list TOTALLY sells me out and I don’t care. I am proud of my choices. Also, I will add to this list whenever I please, dammit!

– So here goes, in no particular order:

My Favourite Albums Of All Time (Work In Eternal Progress)

Depeche Mode – Violator/A Broken Frame
The Cure – Disintegration
Tool – Aenima/Lateralus
The Human League – Dare
Gang Of Four – Entertainment
The Clash – London Calling
Alice In Chains – Dirt
Faith No More – Angel Dust
Billy Joel – The Stranger
Daft Punk – Homework
Nirvana – Nevermind
Portishead – Dummy
Massive Attack – Mezzanine
Dr. Dre – 2001
Snoop Doggy Dogg – Doggystyle
The Flaming Lips – The Soft Bulletin
Michael Jackson – Off The Wall/Thriller
Jeff Buckley – Grace
K.L.F. – The White Room
Prodigy – Music For The Jilted Generation
Kent – Isola/Hagnesta Hill/V&A/Tillbaka Til Samtiden
Kraftwerk – Everything!
Led Zeppelin – Everything!
Metallica – Master Of Puppets
Mew – A Triumph For Man/Half The World Is Watching Me.
Pantera – Vulgar Display Of Power/Far Beyond Driven.
Prince – Sign ‘O’ The Times/1999/Purple Rain/Symbol
Queens Of The Stone Age – Songs For The Deaf
Radiohead – The Bends
Rage Against The Machine – RATM
Red Hot Chili Peppers – Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magik
Smashing Pumpkins – Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness.
Spleen United – Godspeed Into The Mainstream.
Stevie Wonder – Songs In The Key Of Life.
Talk Talk – Colour Of Spring
Tears For Fears – Songs From The Big Chair.
U2 – Joshua Tree/Achtung Baby
Soul 2 Soul – Keep On Movin’
Fleetwood Mac – Tango In The Night
A-ha – Hunting High And Low/Scoundrel Days
The Ark – We Are The Ark/In Lust We Trust
David Bowie – Let’s Dance.
No Doubt – Rock Steady
Unkle – Psyence Fiction
Blackalicious – NIA.
Bruce Springsteen – Born In The U.S.A.
Queen – Live Killers.
Foo Fighters – The Colour And The Shape.
INXS – Kick
Seal – Seal
Madonna – Like A Virgin
Duran Duran – Rio/Arena
Justin Timberlake – FutureSexLoveSounds
Beastie Boys – Licensed To Ill/Ill Communication/The In Sound From Way Out
C.V. Jørgensen – Tidens Tern
Rugsted & Kreutzfeldt – Everything!
Laid Back – Keep Smiling
TV-2 – Fri Som Fuglen
Gasolin – Gas 5
Sort Sol – Flow My Firetear/Glamourpuss
ABC – Lexicon Of Love
Frankie Goes To Hollywood – Welcome To The Pleasuredome
A Perfect Circle – Thirteenth Step
Pet Shop Boys – Disco
Elliot Smith – XO

Most Overlooked Albums (for whatever reason) in Recent Memory:

Kashmir – The Good Life. This album should have been the biggest export success in Danish music history.
Fielfraz – Slick. World Class Songs – Production gone mad. Best Singer in Denmark.
Cactus Circle – Cactus Circle. Before there was anything called Swan Lee, there was this magnificent band. One album – An unknown Classic.
Cartridge – Enfant Terrible. My most overlooked work of 2006. This band is brilliant.
Dial Zero – Dial Zero. Just about the most brilliant band I have ever seen play. Fuck people’s expectations when the debut album came out. These guys were not gonna save Indie. They are just here to make incredible music. A Force Of Nature and the best guitar player I have ever known.
Oh No Ono – Yes. I never thought that the teenybopper image that was pushed onto this great band was deserved. This is a awesome debut album with power, hits and sound. The fact that they look great shouldn’t hurt them.
Span – Mass Distraction. Norwegian Aerosmith (Pre-Walk This Way) – Oh, my god I miss this band… They ALMOST made it. If they reformed, I would produce for 2 pennies and a pack of gum. (and 5% of PPD with a $25k advance, but I digress..)
Ibens – Ufornuft. This is a controversial one. Danish girly-man pop by a bunch of whimps – On the surface. They strongest danish lyricist in this generation. Humor, intelligence, emotions and the ability to get to the fuckin point without dissappearing up his own ass. I absolutely love most of these songs for their content. IMHO Carsten outshines all the recent “Syng Dansk”-lyricists.
The Fashion – The Fashion. The best Danish album of 2007. Time will prove me right.

My Personal Hitlist:

New Order – Blue Monday
Patrick Hernandez – Born To Be Alive
John Lennon – Woman
Imagination – Just An Illusion
Kraftwerk – The Model
Erasure – Oh L’Amour
Yazoo – Don’t Go
Smashing Pumpkins – Bullet With Butterfly Wings
Rolling Stones – Paint It Black
The Prodigy – Breathe
Frankie Goes To Hollywood – Relax
Radiohead – Street Spirit (Fade Out)
The Human League – Don’t You Want Me
Cypress Hill – Insane In The Brain
Foo Fighters – Everlong
Nirvana – Smells Like Teen Spirit
Usher – You Make Me Wanna…
Depeche Mode – Personal Jesus
Soft Cell – Tainted Love
Metallica – Enter Sandman
Alliyah -Try Again
Mötörhëad – Ace Of Spades
Eagles Of Death Metal – I Want You So Hard (Boy’s Bad News)
Alice In Chains – Rooster
Pet Shop Boys – It’s A Sin
The Cure – Why Can’t I Be You ?
The Cure – Lullaby
Sean Paul – Get Busy
Marilyn Manson – The Beautiful People
Queens Of The Stone Age – No One Knows
Alphaville – Sounds Like A Melody
Justin Timberlake – My Love
Rihanna – Umbrella
The Streets – Fit But You Know It
Kent – Musik Non Stop
Kent – Kärleken Väntar
Kent – Sundance Kid
Kent – Mannen I Den Vita Hatten
Daft Punk – Around The World
Bronski Beat -Smalltown Boy
The Ark – Echo Chamber
N.E.R.D – Lapdance
50 Cent – In The Club
The Clash – Guns Of Brixton
The Specials – Ghost Town
Michael Jackson – Rock With You
Coldplay – Yellow
Talk Talk – Life’s What You Make It
Kings Of Convenience – I’d Rather Dance With You
Mannfred MannÕs Earth Band – Blinded By The Light
Bee Gees – You Should Be Dancing
Madness – Our House
Limp Bizkit – Nookie
Tears For Fears – Head Over Heels
Gnarls Barkley – Crazy
Red Hot Chili Peppers – Californication
Billy Joel – Just The Way You Are
Bill Withers – Use Me
Dr. Dre / Eminem – Forgot About Dre
W.A.R. – Low Rider
Hashim – Al Naafiysh (The Soul)
Don Henley – The Boys Of Summer
Jan Hammer – CrockettÕs Theme
Snow – Informer
Eels – Novocaine (For The Soul)
Daft Punk – Around The World
Les Rhytmes Digitales – (Hey You) What’s That Sound ?
L.L. Cool J. – Mama Said Knock You Out.
Span – Found
The Cure – Lovesong
Snoop Dogg – Gin & Juice
Sean Paul – Get Busy
Dwarves – FEFU
Kaiser Chiefs – I Predict A Riot
Gang Of Four – I Found That Essence Rare
Pantera – Walk
Metallica – Master Of Puppets
Slayer – Angel Of Death
Marvin Gaye – Sexual Healing
The Streets – Fit But You Know It
Bronski Beat – Smalltown Boy
Bruce Springsteen – Dancing In The Dark
Fun Lovin’ Criminals – Scooby Snacks
Fun Lovin’ Criminals – Bump
Outkast – Roses
Xzibit – Multiply
Busta Rhymes – Whoohaa!! (Got You All In Check)
Beck – Sexx Laws
Mute Math – Typical
Iron Maiden – Hallowed Be Thy Name
Type O Negative – My Girlfriend’s Girlfriend
E.L.O. – Yours Truly, 2095
Rage Against The Machine – Killing In The Name / Bomb Track
Snoop Dogg/Pharell – Drop It Like It’s Hot
Glen Campbell – By The Time I Get To Phoenix
Neil Diamond – Red, Red Wine
Ace Of Base – All That She Wants
Kylie Minogue – Can’t Get You Out Of My Head
R.E.M. – Everybody Hurts
Dr. Dre – What’s The Difference.
INXS – Orginal Sin
Icehouse – Hey Little Girl
Eddy Grant – Electric Avenue
LCD Soundsystem – Daft Punk Is Playing At My House (Soulwax Shibuya Mix)
Prince – I Wanna Be Your Lover
Prince – Little Red Corvette
Prince – When Doves Cry
Prince – Girls & Boys
Prince – Kiss
Prince – Sexy M.F.
Prince – Gett Off

Danish Singles Par Excellence:

Dieters Lieder – Dig Og Mig.
Anne Linnet & Marquis De Sade – Glor På Vinduer.
TV-2 – Bag Duggede Ruder.
Laid Back – White Horse.
Superheroes – Someone Else.
Carpark North – Transparent & Glasslike.
Carpark North – Human.
D.A.D. – Sleeping My Day Away.
Saybia – The Second You Sleep.
Junior Senior – Move Your Feet.
Aqua – Barbie Girl.
Outlandish – Guantanamo
Tim Christensen – Love Is A Matter Of…
Danseorkesteret – Kom Tilbage Nu.
Tue West – En Sang Om Kærlighed.
Spleen United – She Falls In Love With Machines.
The Fashion – Roller Disco Inferno.
Mew – Special.
Kashmir – Mom In Love (Daddy In Space).
Dial Zero – I Wanna Go All The Way (To Have Some Fun).
Bikstok Røgsystem – Cigar.
Rugsted & Kreutzfeldt – Jeg Ved Det Godt (Men Det Er For Sent Nu).
Rugsted & Kreutzfeldt – Da Du Var Min Helt Alene.
VETO – You Are A Knife.
Gasolin – Kvinde Min.
Gasolin – Joanna.
Den Gale Pose – Spændt Op Til Lir.
Nanna – Buster.
Sebastian – Du er ikke alene.
Back To Back – Jonathan.

I Was Lucky Enough To Attend: (the exact years are a bit blurry and I can’t be bothered looking it up – If you want to, drop me a line!)
Marilyn Manson – Store Vega.
Eels – Pumpehuset x 2
Queens Of The Stone Age/Eagles Of Death Metal – Vega
G-Love & Special Sauce – Loppen
Dial Zero – Loppen
Beastie Boys – Orange Scene
Prodigy – Orange Scene
Prodigy – Store Vega
Prince – Lovesexy Tour in Gl. Idrætspark.
Michael Jackson – Dangerous Tour at Gentofte Stadion.
AIR – Store Vega x 2
Kent – DJOD – K.B. Hallen.
No Doubt – Gul Scene, Roskilde.
Life Of Agony – Pumpehuset x 2

Queens Of The Stone Age at Loppen.
Rage Against The Machine, Tool, Fishbone e.t.c. Den Grå Hal.
Rage Against The Machine – Pumpehuset.
Depeche Mode at Forum – Devotional Tour.
Xzibit at Vega.
Faith No More – Anywhere!
Prince – O2 Arena London.

With The Raveonettes

Melt 2012