Fact #165686
When:
Short story:
The Undertones play at Tavastia Klubi, Helsinki, Finland, Europe.
Full article:
THE UNDERTONES IN FINLAND
By Johnny Black
In July in Finland the only darkness you can find is inside buildings with no windows. Helsinki’s Tavastia Klubi, where The Undertones are due onstage any second now, is one such edifice.
Finland is so far North that the sun dips behind the horizon for about four hours each night and, even at 3 a.m., the sky remains light. In the darkness of the Tavastia, vocalist Feargal Sharkey is almost invisible as he strolls onstage unannounced. A broad Irish grin creases his face as he says 'Hello'. The surprised crowd yells back and suddenly the place is a mass of dancing, writhing Finnpunks.
Two minutes later the strains of Fascination (from the latest album) die away and roars of approval make it clear that Finns ain't wot they used to be. I had linked up with The Undertones' in Heathrow Airport two days before as they slipped briefly into England en route from a festival in Brussels to a week of gigs in Finland, Europe. "Why did we do it? Because they asked us." says Mickey Bradley, gladly obliging three fans who've just asked for his autograph. "And because it makes a change."
Feargal joins us. "You the boy from Smash Hits then?" he asks. I nod. "Boy - you're gonna regret this - " he says with a gleam in his eye.
Finland isn't exactly a musical mecca but Dr. Feelgood, Bad Manners and others have preceded The Undertones' visit and the charts are dominated by rockabilly. Matchbox are huge, Shakin' Pyramids albums are everywhere and there's even a brand of bubble-gum called Rockabilly Chew.
For The Undertones, things are starting badly. Within minutes of arrival at the Hotel Academics, drummer Billy Doherty is asking for a better room. The beds are rock hard, the rooms tiny and the corridors resemble a maximum security wing in H-Block. Feargal is considering demanding political asylum status for the whole band, three of whom (himself - Billy and John) are recently married and have brought their wives along for the trip. The kind of conditions they used to grudgingly tolerate as single men are obviously unsuitable for them now. They clearly don't enjoy making a fuss but the hotel leaves them no choice.
Two hours later we've settled into the more acceptable Hotel Vaakuna in Helsinki's main square and the group's manager, Andy Ferguson, suggests a meal at a Russian restaurant. Finland is next door to Russia and, later in the tour, The Undertones will be playing dates within a few miles of the Iron Curtain.
After unsuccessful attempts to master the local bus system, we're forced to resort to taxis or "taksis" as the Finns call them "and eventually arrive at the Kazak Restaurant.
Reindeer steaks and bear soup lead to an evening of Bear Jokes - Dee (Damian) opening with "I'm only here for the bear", and Mickey complaining that his steak is "a bit grizzly". He then spends the rest of the meal teaching his new ‘musical’ pocket calculator to play Paranoid by Black Sabbath, then proceeds to strum it while pulling classic heavy metal poses. "Just think," he muses, sitting down again, "some day there might be thousands of heavy metal kids with cardboard calculators ..."
The sky is still bright as we lurch out of the Kazak and head for the Tavastia Klubi where the band will play the following night. A huge Finnish troll at the door eyes our party suspiciously, shakes his head and points at Dee's trousers. Eventually it becomes clear that we can't go in because we're wearing jeans. The walls are plastered with posters and pictures of The Undertones but he refuses to accept that this motley crew could possibly be that famous rock band and bars the way.
Accepting the situation philosophically ,we walk to another club where the band's Finnish connections with EMI Records work wonders. We stroll in to find a glittering palace of flashing lights, backgammon boards and white disco music.
Feargal's eyes roll. "Oh Jesus!" "he moans, expressing everyone's thoughts perfectly. Manager Andy comes to the rescue again. "What about the Alibi Club?" he suggests.
At this, our friends from EMI Finland throw up their hands with horror. "Oh - no! Not ze Ahlibi Club!!" they wail. Undertone eyes light up and we head rapidly for the Alibi only to find that the door-troll won't let Feargal's wife, Ellen, inside because she looks too young.
It takes ten minutes, but eventually we find ourselves inside something like a sleazy Woolworth's cafeteria with a dance-floor. Undertone heads nod approval and beers start to circulate. The music is still disco but at least it's black, which leads Feargal to contemplate the possibility of replacing Billy with a Yamaha computerised drum-machine. "They're much cheaper now - and they don't eat as much as you."
Billy wisely ignores this remark. A moment later, Feargal leaps from his chair, grabs Ellen's Instamatic and runs off to the dance-floor to capture for posterity a sight never seen before. Their manager Andy is dancing.
"We can blackmail him with this if he ever turns nasty, " explains Ellen sweetly. She's expecting a baby in November and Feargal spends much of the evening happily describing the work he's doing in their new house in Derry.
At 2.30 a.m., with the sky finally darkening slightly, we walk slowly back to the hotel, contemplating the boat-trip planned for tomorrow ...
Down by the waterfront - we're waiting to climb onto the boat. Mickey's wondering if the show will go well.
"We've played to - some small audiences in our time. Even in Derry - they sometimes don't bother to turn out for us because they've got used to us being there."
Feargal is probably as worried as Mickey but it doesn't show. "Remember that place we played in America? Just off the freeway? Where they could hold 3000 people and only about 300 tickets were sold?" As Mickey boards the boat, Feargal reveals, "He climbed up the front of the theatre and re-arranged all the letters in the sign so it said 'Rolling Stones' instead of 'Undertones'. Didn't make any difference. Nobody came!"
Their ability to laugh at themselves is a great asset. They behave, and treat each other, like ordinary people with no time for the posing that most bands seem to find essential. Billy grins as he tells me, "We always get shouted at by our publicist because he arranges photo sessions for us and can never get one decent picture out of five hundred. He always shows us pictures of Julian Cope from Teardrop and says, 'All Julian's pictures turn out great'. I suppose he's right in a way, but I don't see any sense in pretending to be something we're not."
Part of the joy of being with The Undertones is exactly that. They don't act like a band until they climb on stage. It's as if they've reserved all their energy, saved it for the vital moments of live performance when they can give it all away to the fans.
The purpose of the boat-trip along the coast near Helsinki is more than just pleasure. It's been arranged so the local press and radio people can meet the band in a ‘pleasantly informal atmosphere'. The Finnish journalists, much like journalists everywhere, appear more interested in the free food and drink than in The Undertones at first, but after a while everyone starts chatting.
Mickey explains to a top Finnish newshound that all the posters advertising the show are wrong. " Some of them say we're from England, some say we're from Ireland, some say we're from Belfast. In fact we're from Derry." The Finn has trouble following Mickey's accent. "So why did you leave Ireland?" he asks. "Well," explains Mickey helpfully, "it's very difficult to do a tour of England without leaving Ireland isn't it?"
Over on the starboard side John is being asked why he is normal and Feargal is trying to explain why English clubs are so dirty compared with Finnish ones, but the language barrier seems less penetrable than the Russian border.
All thoughts of interviews fade as a gigantic Russian tanker, the Anatoly Vasilyev, looms up, apparently heading directly for our frail craft. In the event it's a near miss and we're rocked in its wake. The Undertones wave and grin broadly at the Russian sailors, shouting cheery greetings like "Hands Off Afghanistan" and "Filthy Commies". The sort of slogans guaranteed to start an international incident if any of the sailors understand English which, luckily, they don't.
Later that evening, at the Tavastia Klubi, Feargal examines the dressing-room. "I see what the Finns mean. This place is spotless. Much better than England." Out in the hall, spotless blond kids in spotless striped T-shirts mill around restlessly to tapes being played through the band's PA system. The club has no sound system of its own, relying on incoming groups to provide music before and after the show.
Seeing the Finn fans on the street, they look a reserved lot. Cool as a Finnish winter. But when The Undertones start to play, the place explodes. Except for a few with fingers stuck deep in their ears as they dance, they barely seem to notice the abysmal sound quality which is sending anxious looks flying between band members. The solemn-faced bar staff notice nothing. They're all wearing ear-plugs.
After three numbers, Mickey apologises for the sound and asks, "Any of you play synthesisers? We've got one tonight." One reason for the Finnish trip is to introduce keyboards into The Undertones' show but, on this occasion, the synth objects violently to John's positive touches and emits only an extended raspberry. More anxious looks.
Feargal brightens the gloom by offering the offending keyboard to the crowd. "Anybody want a synthesiser? Only 50 marks." Derisory jeers from the crowd. "25 marks then?" he pleads.
Accepting that the sound isn't going to improve, the famous five battle on to the end, delivering rousing versions of My Perfect Cousin, Wednesday Week and even, during a three-song encore, thundering into the long-absent Teenage Kicks.
The crowd were great, the Undertones magnificent and, after another encore, Here Comes The Summer, the show came to a finish for the Finnish who came to the show. (that's enough of those. Black - Ed.)
Next morning at ten, The Undertones, wives, girlfriends, manager, road crew and sundry others pile into the tour bus. They're headed towards the Russian border and a midnight outdoor show in a Folk-Park aptly called Punkaharju. Regretting that I can stay no longer, I begin a round of good-byes, recalling Feargal's first words to me at Heathrow , "Boy, you're gonna regret this!" It makes me smile. At the airport I check the temperature in England, read about the riots in London and wonder if it's too late to catch the bus to Punkaharju.
(Source : Smash Hits, Aug 6, 1981)
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By Johnny Black
In July in Finland the only darkness you can find is inside buildings with no windows. Helsinki’s Tavastia Klubi, where The Undertones are due onstage any second now, is one such edifice.
Finland is so far North that the sun dips behind the horizon for about four hours each night and, even at 3 a.m., the sky remains light. In the darkness of the Tavastia, vocalist Feargal Sharkey is almost invisible as he strolls onstage unannounced. A broad Irish grin creases his face as he says 'Hello'. The surprised crowd yells back and suddenly the place is a mass of dancing, writhing Finnpunks.
Two minutes later the strains of Fascination (from the latest album) die away and roars of approval make it clear that Finns ain't wot they used to be. I had linked up with The Undertones' in Heathrow Airport two days before as they slipped briefly into England en route from a festival in Brussels to a week of gigs in Finland, Europe. "Why did we do it? Because they asked us." says Mickey Bradley, gladly obliging three fans who've just asked for his autograph. "And because it makes a change."
Feargal joins us. "You the boy from Smash Hits then?" he asks. I nod. "Boy - you're gonna regret this - " he says with a gleam in his eye.
Finland isn't exactly a musical mecca but Dr. Feelgood, Bad Manners and others have preceded The Undertones' visit and the charts are dominated by rockabilly. Matchbox are huge, Shakin' Pyramids albums are everywhere and there's even a brand of bubble-gum called Rockabilly Chew.
For The Undertones, things are starting badly. Within minutes of arrival at the Hotel Academics, drummer Billy Doherty is asking for a better room. The beds are rock hard, the rooms tiny and the corridors resemble a maximum security wing in H-Block. Feargal is considering demanding political asylum status for the whole band, three of whom (himself - Billy and John) are recently married and have brought their wives along for the trip. The kind of conditions they used to grudgingly tolerate as single men are obviously unsuitable for them now. They clearly don't enjoy making a fuss but the hotel leaves them no choice.
Two hours later we've settled into the more acceptable Hotel Vaakuna in Helsinki's main square and the group's manager, Andy Ferguson, suggests a meal at a Russian restaurant. Finland is next door to Russia and, later in the tour, The Undertones will be playing dates within a few miles of the Iron Curtain.
After unsuccessful attempts to master the local bus system, we're forced to resort to taxis or "taksis" as the Finns call them "and eventually arrive at the Kazak Restaurant.
Reindeer steaks and bear soup lead to an evening of Bear Jokes - Dee (Damian) opening with "I'm only here for the bear", and Mickey complaining that his steak is "a bit grizzly". He then spends the rest of the meal teaching his new ‘musical’ pocket calculator to play Paranoid by Black Sabbath, then proceeds to strum it while pulling classic heavy metal poses. "Just think," he muses, sitting down again, "some day there might be thousands of heavy metal kids with cardboard calculators ..."
The sky is still bright as we lurch out of the Kazak and head for the Tavastia Klubi where the band will play the following night. A huge Finnish troll at the door eyes our party suspiciously, shakes his head and points at Dee's trousers. Eventually it becomes clear that we can't go in because we're wearing jeans. The walls are plastered with posters and pictures of The Undertones but he refuses to accept that this motley crew could possibly be that famous rock band and bars the way.
Accepting the situation philosophically ,we walk to another club where the band's Finnish connections with EMI Records work wonders. We stroll in to find a glittering palace of flashing lights, backgammon boards and white disco music.
Feargal's eyes roll. "Oh Jesus!" "he moans, expressing everyone's thoughts perfectly. Manager Andy comes to the rescue again. "What about the Alibi Club?" he suggests.
At this, our friends from EMI Finland throw up their hands with horror. "Oh - no! Not ze Ahlibi Club!!" they wail. Undertone eyes light up and we head rapidly for the Alibi only to find that the door-troll won't let Feargal's wife, Ellen, inside because she looks too young.
It takes ten minutes, but eventually we find ourselves inside something like a sleazy Woolworth's cafeteria with a dance-floor. Undertone heads nod approval and beers start to circulate. The music is still disco but at least it's black, which leads Feargal to contemplate the possibility of replacing Billy with a Yamaha computerised drum-machine. "They're much cheaper now - and they don't eat as much as you."
Billy wisely ignores this remark. A moment later, Feargal leaps from his chair, grabs Ellen's Instamatic and runs off to the dance-floor to capture for posterity a sight never seen before. Their manager Andy is dancing.
"We can blackmail him with this if he ever turns nasty, " explains Ellen sweetly. She's expecting a baby in November and Feargal spends much of the evening happily describing the work he's doing in their new house in Derry.
At 2.30 a.m., with the sky finally darkening slightly, we walk slowly back to the hotel, contemplating the boat-trip planned for tomorrow ...
Down by the waterfront - we're waiting to climb onto the boat. Mickey's wondering if the show will go well.
"We've played to - some small audiences in our time. Even in Derry - they sometimes don't bother to turn out for us because they've got used to us being there."
Feargal is probably as worried as Mickey but it doesn't show. "Remember that place we played in America? Just off the freeway? Where they could hold 3000 people and only about 300 tickets were sold?" As Mickey boards the boat, Feargal reveals, "He climbed up the front of the theatre and re-arranged all the letters in the sign so it said 'Rolling Stones' instead of 'Undertones'. Didn't make any difference. Nobody came!"
Their ability to laugh at themselves is a great asset. They behave, and treat each other, like ordinary people with no time for the posing that most bands seem to find essential. Billy grins as he tells me, "We always get shouted at by our publicist because he arranges photo sessions for us and can never get one decent picture out of five hundred. He always shows us pictures of Julian Cope from Teardrop and says, 'All Julian's pictures turn out great'. I suppose he's right in a way, but I don't see any sense in pretending to be something we're not."
Part of the joy of being with The Undertones is exactly that. They don't act like a band until they climb on stage. It's as if they've reserved all their energy, saved it for the vital moments of live performance when they can give it all away to the fans.
The purpose of the boat-trip along the coast near Helsinki is more than just pleasure. It's been arranged so the local press and radio people can meet the band in a ‘pleasantly informal atmosphere'. The Finnish journalists, much like journalists everywhere, appear more interested in the free food and drink than in The Undertones at first, but after a while everyone starts chatting.
Mickey explains to a top Finnish newshound that all the posters advertising the show are wrong. " Some of them say we're from England, some say we're from Ireland, some say we're from Belfast. In fact we're from Derry." The Finn has trouble following Mickey's accent. "So why did you leave Ireland?" he asks. "Well," explains Mickey helpfully, "it's very difficult to do a tour of England without leaving Ireland isn't it?"
Over on the starboard side John is being asked why he is normal and Feargal is trying to explain why English clubs are so dirty compared with Finnish ones, but the language barrier seems less penetrable than the Russian border.
All thoughts of interviews fade as a gigantic Russian tanker, the Anatoly Vasilyev, looms up, apparently heading directly for our frail craft. In the event it's a near miss and we're rocked in its wake. The Undertones wave and grin broadly at the Russian sailors, shouting cheery greetings like "Hands Off Afghanistan" and "Filthy Commies". The sort of slogans guaranteed to start an international incident if any of the sailors understand English which, luckily, they don't.
Later that evening, at the Tavastia Klubi, Feargal examines the dressing-room. "I see what the Finns mean. This place is spotless. Much better than England." Out in the hall, spotless blond kids in spotless striped T-shirts mill around restlessly to tapes being played through the band's PA system. The club has no sound system of its own, relying on incoming groups to provide music before and after the show.
Seeing the Finn fans on the street, they look a reserved lot. Cool as a Finnish winter. But when The Undertones start to play, the place explodes. Except for a few with fingers stuck deep in their ears as they dance, they barely seem to notice the abysmal sound quality which is sending anxious looks flying between band members. The solemn-faced bar staff notice nothing. They're all wearing ear-plugs.
After three numbers, Mickey apologises for the sound and asks, "Any of you play synthesisers? We've got one tonight." One reason for the Finnish trip is to introduce keyboards into The Undertones' show but, on this occasion, the synth objects violently to John's positive touches and emits only an extended raspberry. More anxious looks.
Feargal brightens the gloom by offering the offending keyboard to the crowd. "Anybody want a synthesiser? Only 50 marks." Derisory jeers from the crowd. "25 marks then?" he pleads.
Accepting that the sound isn't going to improve, the famous five battle on to the end, delivering rousing versions of My Perfect Cousin, Wednesday Week and even, during a three-song encore, thundering into the long-absent Teenage Kicks.
The crowd were great, the Undertones magnificent and, after another encore, Here Comes The Summer, the show came to a finish for the Finnish who came to the show. (that's enough of those. Black - Ed.)
Next morning at ten, The Undertones, wives, girlfriends, manager, road crew and sundry others pile into the tour bus. They're headed towards the Russian border and a midnight outdoor show in a Folk-Park aptly called Punkaharju. Regretting that I can stay no longer, I begin a round of good-byes, recalling Feargal's first words to me at Heathrow , "Boy, you're gonna regret this!" It makes me smile. At the airport I check the temperature in England, read about the riots in London and wonder if it's too late to catch the bus to Punkaharju.
(Source : Smash Hits, Aug 6, 1981)