remembering mika vainio

I first met Mika and Ilpo in the winter of 1997. Panasonic were the poor unfortunates to support the Swans final tour throughout Europe. They were the perfect foils for the chaos surrounding the rest of the tour. Stoic and observant, and not without a few well aimed zingers, they quietly went about their job setting the table for the brutal onslaught that was to follow, often sound checking after doors opened, banished to some central European broom closet disguised as a dressing room, taking it all in. I did a run around the USA with them, chasing Trans Am and The fucking champs, if memory serves me correctly. That tour was a hoot, a music lovers dream, and something that doesn’t happen very often anymore- a well packaged tour of like minded individuals spelunking through the North American to the delight of discerning music fans for a respectable entry fee. The fellas seemed to love it, the vast open space and big sky, the miles and miles of nothingness at times, the hours of silence in the van on long drives punctuated abruptly by a heavily accented ‘turn that shit off”, as I listened to a minor league baseball game in the Dakotas, or an even darker request for cream soda, when a talk radio program revealed that it was the was drink of choice of the two columbine shooters, as we passed through wyoming heading west. I appreciated the Finns dark and dry wit, the breadth of their knowledge about the ways of the world, and their interest in culinary adventure. So naturally I was pleased when Paul Smith asked me to head out on a long talked about trip around the world in early 2001. It had been germinating for some time and almost happened before some adventurous locals absconded with all of the details a year or so prior in the shape of Paul’s laptop from his home in west Cork. Thanks to the Finnish Arts Council, or some entity as such, we were to head on out from Barcelona ,where the boys lived, and traverse the globe, playing essentially anywhere that agreed to billet, feed , and water us with some cash considerations- all booked through an ad in Wired magazine. Knowing the bands sense of adventure and highly evolved knowledge of culture, I felt we were in for a great ride. We met up with Paul in Barcelona to get an extended elevator pitch on the tour over some delicious Japanese food and fine beverages before fine tuning some logistics the following day or two. Mika did his best on more than one occasion to rid himself of his tour manager and sofa surfer at that time. Hey, I thought, he’s a private guy that likes his space. Who doesn/t? Leaving Barcelona with little fanfare for the lengthy trip to Singapore via London. We were 3 bon vivants out to traverse the world-they the artist and cultural ambassadors and me their minder and documentarian of sorts. We find out very quickly that there are sympathetic Finnish air hostesses everywhere. Sympathetic to airline anxiety and service patterns and insomnia and fear of flying and claustrophobia and solipsism. One or two Finnish air hostesses got us safely to Singapore some 20 odd hours later. We are greeted in the heat and humidity of equatorial asia by our lovely hosts who take us off to our hotel in what is clearly the red light district of some description where we can drop our bags and such and whisked off to a brisk dinner in one of the many food courts omnipresent in Singapore for some thoroughly adventurous fare. The show is not for a few days so we have some sight seeing and sleeping to do(which in some cases doesn’t really happen due to time change and climate and whatever other reasons), for hours we are all sequestered to our rooms- Ilpo racks up the room service, Mika with his headphones and insomnia. We meet the Finnish Ambassador and get photos with angry orangutans. They play a gig in the upstairs of a coffee house that is so loud and and with such low frequency that a window breaks and I have to expunge the poison from both ends simultaneously. We get drunk and go back to our rooms and don’t sleep. We fly to Australia. The guys are left to their own devices somewhat, as we are staying separately. We bus to Bondi Beach and we lose Mika to the rip currents and he is rescued by the life guards. We all get sunburned in the Sydney sun. They play a massive show at Newtown RSL. Onwards to Melbourne, they are part of an experimental music festival. There are a lot of days off for the band to acclimate and enjoy the experience. They spend their time wandering through Fitzroy shopping and eating and enjoying the cooler weather. The Melbourne show is also epic, I remember Oren Ambarachi playing- he was one of our hosts. Off to the overnite flight to Auckland, flight is delayed further and I was detained upon arrival for every reason under the sun. After 5-6 hours, they bring the band back in After they’ve worked their way through al of the duty free. Under continuous questioning, they do not speak any English whatsoever. The immigration officials ask me how I communicate with them. ‘point and gesticulate’. Did I mention that all of these shows are done under the radar? As the promoter has put the 3 of us in single room, we remind them of the ‘comfortably housed clause’. We scatter, New Zealand is our shortest stay, and my 8 hours in custody is not helping matters. There will be no sight seeing here. We all go to eat amazing food and drink incredible wine, there is an art opening. By the time I get back to the hotel the next morning there are piles of room service oyster platters outside of Ilpo’s room , and the sound of rockabilly from Mika’s. I wonder if any of us are sleeping. Gig goes great, in some repurposed Greek orthodox church. Next stop South America. Auckland/l.a./lima/Santiago for some steak ceviche and wine . We move to Easter Island, almost the whole purpose of the trip- turns out I have a friend who has a friend that worked for Lan Chile, and who is the daughter of the local archeological expert. We swim , eat fresh tuna 3 times per day, visit monuments, drink pisco in cowboy bars, and admire the scenery. The travelling seems to be getting Mika down, that and the fact that Ilpo and I are staying out all night and coming home with the roosters, probably making more noise too. After a week in paradise or so, we head to Buenos Aires. Pretty amazing to be in Buenos Aires, we are staying in centro cultural in recoleto- there is tango outside the window at all times. The guys meet some Russian artsist in residence, and we are hosted by a young model turned celebrity chef and fed and watered in her fine establishments until show day. Argentina is heaven, I can see us all relaxing a little bit with our own space and the Spanish language everywhere. The gig happens in the museum of wine- no one has been able to find this joint on each subsequent trip, I assume it is in Palermo. Buenos Aires to Mexico City to Tijuana. We stop in mexico city for some tequila and tacos and staring at the ceiling. The hotel is a real flop, and I remember being kinda scared for the first time travelling. We are merely spending the night before going to tj for a gig hosted by the Nortec collective folks. These people are the best, it is the beginning fo the Tijuana renaissance. We go to an artshow in a disused cinema whose marvelous deco foyer is intact and the whole cinema itself is roofless and floorless but for the back wall. It is somewhere between a parking lot and a drive in theatre without the cars. Just hundreds of beautiful people drinking and smoking and enjoying the night. The nortec folks take us to the beach and show us the stupid border wall that rus out to the ocean. We eat oysters and drink beer in preparation for the show. The gig is in the members bar of the old jai alai stadium. There are people from san diego across the border. The gig is so loud and droney that windows break again. Probaly one of the wildest shows I have ever been to. Off to the usa for traditional touring, we drive across the border to san diego airport and fly to san Francisco. I have to double as Mika for some photo shoots as we had the same haberdasher and barber at that point, I just merely turn my back to the cameras. I remember shows with Mogwai and driving across a cold and grey Canada and sleeping in Saskatoon. I remember driving 1200 miles in silence at 120 mph at times. They blew the p.a. at Lee’s Palace and stayed on mad dogging the promoter and drinking the rider whilst I watched shane mcgowan downstairs. They played in a type of frat house for tech folks at Princeton and blew the roof off of the mercury lounge in new york city. I remember going through immigration at Toronto and the band being recognized by a sympathetic guard. The American stuff all blended in together. It was the end of a very long time touring in pre 911 world. Off to reykjavik for my last stop, we were back in the cold , back to familiarity for the fellas maybe. We went to the blue lagoon and dined in the exclusive restaurant in Iceland , with photos of global luminaries and the chef, who was our hosts father. They visited with Barry Adamson and the kitchen motor choir, and played an epic show at the national gallery. It was a long haul, 75, 000 air miles in all. I only saw Mika a couple of times after that – once at a gig in Dublin a few weeks later, and at a gig in berlin a few years later when I was working with suicide. Pansonic stole the show that night