If It's May, It's Soup

The way you can most safely predict the first real summery weekend of May in Budapest is by checking the date of the soup day held at the Finnish embassy-  the method has been working wonderfully in the past four years, it worked just as splendidly this time, and will hopefully stick to the trend in the future.

This year’s menu included the now classic (and classically excellent) salmon soup alongside what was described as a Finnish apple-oat-dessert, a culinary phenomenon which met with mixed reviews- I personally loved it and would recommend it to anyone, but then again, I am a liquorice fiend, so my tastes might not be the best indicator of how palatable Finnish food is to the wider public.

Given the previous incidences of what Finns would call insufferably hot weather, lemonade was also on offer, alongside karelian piirakka and coffee from fekete. The latter two are of course welcome irrespective of weather.

It’s also noteworthy that, unlike many undertakings happening in the wild East, the organizers of the event actually strive to improve every year: as the number of people in attendance grows exponentially, this year the payment was made separately at two counters, and you only needed to hand over your coupons once you got in the food queue- which was nevertheless longish, but absolutely bearable.

Other snippets of entertainment included a DJ, chalk drawing, treasure fishing and mölkky (one of those throwing stuff at stuff games for which the Finns quite naturally use small logs)- of these activities we cannot say much, however, because they were either age inappropriate or deemed to be too tiring after a serving of soup and dessert. I was however on the verge of buying an Angry Birds booklet, but I decided that collecting Panini stickers has exhausted my infantile quota for some time to come.

Tripping in Suburbia

I don’t know about you, but I have always longed to discover my spirit animal- it might have begun with those hard fought battles deciding which Winnie the Pooh character I wished to resemble more. Yes, those tragic days before Buzzfeed tests, when you had to make up your own mind instead of just clicking on your favourite colour and favourite ice cream flavour to get the answer to basically any question you ever had in life. I would teeter indecisively between Rabbit, who was outgoing, fluffy, industrious and Owl, who was immensely wise and could correctly spell his name, Wol. Somewhere at the back of my mind another though was also nagging- yes, most probably, I was Eeyore.

Lately I have however come to the conclusion that in all likelihood I am a hamster. These thoughts are most enveloping during my Margit island jogging sessions- you see, I am running around in circles, just as if I were running in a, you guessed right, hamster wheel. And generally, one gets accustomed to the same old haunts in town, and you can successfully navigate a day going to exactly the same shops, restaurants, bars or parks you always go to.  Another hamster wheel, then.

Therefore I got suddenly energized when a friend suggested a hiking tour in the hills near Budapest, and got in touch with some free roaming hawk or whatever I have hidden inside my hamster. I know it sounds wrong, but fresh air sometimes has weird effects on people. So on a fine Sunday morning we set out on a track that would take us from Hűvösvölgy to Solymár. It might not sound like Frodo et co setting out for Mordor, but we had adventures aplenty.

First of all, we had to find the forest itself, which seemed pretty hopeless in the first phase, when we were rambling through the otherwise very picturesque suburbs. What we found was a small store, where we could stock up on the most essential ingredient of any successful trek- Coke. Simple as that might sound too, we had to patiently wait until two inhabitants of this alien land haggled over lettuce.

When we finally made it to the thick of it, more dangers awaited us- the rumble in the foliage proved to be a wild boar. Well, not really, that was only for effect- the creature erupting from the forest was a slobbery and agitated, but otherwise fully domesticated Hungarian pointer. Finding our way around the set of a possibly Danish movie which was being shot in the hills above Solymár proved trickier, as the premises were guarded by a less slobbery but much more agitated, and decidedly less domesticated Hungarian security warden.

Other highlights of the trip included the Devil’s stream, known to the less initiated as a small suburban ditch, a holy fountain with no water and a hermit’s cave which, sadly, came unequipped with hermits. But the whole thing was loads of fun- and since we have friends in high places (namely, the hills of Solymár), we got rewarded with home made cherry brandy and beer.  And truly, who needs a ring of power when you have pálinka.

The whole point of this being- yes the whole thing does have a point- that if you want to spend some pleasant outdoorsy time come summer, you should head out to the suburbs, find a trail and follow it- should you get lost, worry not, a pointer will most likely erupt from the forest at some point, and it’s owner will then point you in the right direction.

Of Musical Contests and Village Fairs

As I am a person who always gets her priorities right, I spent quite a considerable chunk of my time a few days ago musing over why can't I get the Eurovision vibe this year. For I must confess to being a total Eurovision fiend, and a proud one at that. The idea of guilty pleasures is overused and overrated- Eurovision is wonderful and I could think of dozens of reasons why it is so. But that is another matter altogether- for I have by now identified what's been nagging me this time around. The bastards expelled us. Yes, admittedly, the Romanian state television owed them some money, which is something Romanian organizations do every now and then, but depriving the continent of any of the spectacularly silly contestants lined up for this superb yearly camp fest is intolerable cruelty.

To avenge this affront brought upon me by the European Broadcasting Union (I won't ever be able to look at the musically named Norwegian superviser, Jon Ola Sand, with the same childish sympathy ever again), I decided that instead of peering at the line up as kitten thrown out into the snow peers into a hot living room, I might as well investigate the names lined up for this year's Romanian Sziget talent competition. The first result of my endeavour was, quite naturally, the discovery of actual music. (As I am writing this I did actually overcome my frustration and started the Eurovision playlist, only to chance upon the Polish contestant, and wish I were a small amoeba without any sense of hearing and knowledge of what is good and beautiful. Though maybe the song can even qualify as cruelty against amoebas.)

But enough useless splutter about irrelevant contests, here's what I think you should listen to instead: White Mahala, because they'd rock Sziget's world music stage anytime.(Also, they don't use wind machines and rhyme fire with desire.) Mouse'n Monkeyz , because they wish to find their banana and their banana is most likely not inside a wind machine. The Kryptonite Sparks, because they sound a lot like the Arctic Monkeys, and while that might not be overly innovative it's still devastatingly better than sounding like 99% of bands which are not the Arctic Monkeys. I like them so much they could actually get away with a wind machine as well. Fine, It's Pink- because they're so relaxing that for a while I became one with the vibrations of the universe and forgot that those bastards kicked us out of Eurovision. Tomma Alistar- because their video looks like actual wind was also involved. Actual. Wind. Palma Hills- because you know your country is evolving musically when they start having bands that sound like pretty obscure British bands. ApresKeyz- because, apparently, there's electronic dance music you can listen to. And it's not Dutch. Since I must ride this bandwagon to the end, the Dutch Eurovision song begins with the line I'm going nowhere and I'm going fast. There jury is still out on whether that's better or worse than rhyming fire with desire.

Speaking of juries, the winner of the Romanian Sziget Talent selection will be decided on the 18th of May, and will probably be one of the bands I didn't mention, because I always back the less fashionable choices at the Eurovision contest as well, like that time I thought the Irish chicken puppet was quite alright. ( I know it was technically a turkey, but it will forever be a chicken in my heart.)

And to end on a truly weird and wonderful note, I must touch upon my weekend experience of visiting the prestigious Budaörs Fesztivál, now in it's 19th year of relentless activity. Alright, time to be frank: the thing is a village fair, minus the bearded woman. But for some non apparent reason the organizers thought it was nice to squeeze a foreign, Romanian, no less, act in the Saturday night programme, playing electronic music which to the inhabitants of the fair city, or rather, tiny town of Budaörs must have sounded like the starship Enterprise making first contact with an alien world. Golan, representative footage below, for their part, sound pretty good. They sound promising. They sound like in a world where even the Irish are desperate enough to send a former boy band member past his expiry date to the big Euro bash, we might rest on the sideline a little and make some pretty fine music. 

PS:Yes, I am still awfully cross and I actually like the Irish song. Though I am not sure what's with the lyrics spelled out in the video trend. Was the competition aimed at the deaf all along? Also. Moldova avenged us. They have intensive wind machine action and go tantalizingly close to rhyming fire with desire. And lastly, to get this out of my system, my douze points goes to Latvia. A small hard working nation who pay their debts to the EBU. What's not to like?

I Was The Sziget Guinea Pig- So You Don't Have to Be

Since I am working super scientifically here, I will start alphabetically, with the suspiciously named Afrojack. I’ll also be honest- he was dead and buried as soon as I saw that most of his Youtube output is shared with Martin Garrix. I did give another song a go, also a collab, with someone named Fais, the video of which starts ominously with a vibrating mobile, so you automatically reach for yours, just in case, drop the headphones for a few seconds and those prove to be the best seconds of the song. The genre should be electro, but it’s boring and forgettable. Next please.

And as a next step, we might as well sink into the murky waters of national stereotypes: I immediately felt better about Boys Noize, given that he hails from Germany, and German electro always gives me pleasant Autobahn vibes. And indeed there is a brainy machine music whiff about his work, also mostly collabs and remixes- Starchild feat Poliça being particularly enjoyable. He will definitely not become my next playlist staple, but a pass nevertheless.

I was secretly hoping Carnage are the miraculously reformed Swedish death metal act, but then again, the presence of such heavy genres belongs to a foregone era of Sziget- and indeed, Carnage is seemingly, obviously, a Guatemalan DJ. I immediately sensed a Latino disturbance in the force when, instead of the sounds of doom and gloom, as I’d hoped, I was greeted by somebody rapping like Pitbull. And Pibull has absolutely maxed out the number of people allowed to rap like Pibull who should co-exist on this planet, so the farther I am from Carnage (DJ) the better.

All things are delicately interconnected: the most popular Dillon Francis song on Youtube is a duet with DJ Snake (can’t anybody make music on their own these days?!), which sounds like a bad version of everything Diplo ever stole from MIA, and oh yes indeed, DJ Snake collaborated with Diplo on Lean On. There is also profuse twerking in the video, much high art, such fun, next please. (Youtube promptly obliged and skipped to, yup, Lean on. Which I listened to as I was making my tea.) DJ Sliink is not even on Wikipedia, which I took to be a bad omen, and he then proceeded to thump my brain into a pulp. The unworthy of mentioning category indeed.

DVBBS sound exactly like an ad for Canadian toothpaste, in which the protagonists wash their teeth frolicking around the house and then drive out into the sunset with major grins, with the wind caressing their golden locks. In an amazing development, the video for Never Leave looks exactly like that, minus the toothpaste, which is a shame.

This is a conspiracy, and my brain will burst, Dyro is Dutch and sounds exactly like Hardwell, Tiesto and/or Martin Garrix. In a meditative take on the state of things in the world, is Dutch, erm, music so internationally beloved, or are we inflicted these people because the Dutch nation, bless their hearts, loves Sziget and moves in hordes from one end of the continent to the other come August? I am almost afraid to know the answer.

At this point I was starting to lose hope of ever being a sensible human being again, since I basically knew none of the acts coming up in the alphabetical list. And then Excision dropped the base in the most vicious Skrillex-like manner, and when evil of such proportion comes from the loveliest of lands, Canada, you know all hope is indeed and truly lost.

I was therefore absolutely delighted to discover that FIDLAR are Californian skate punkers and sing about pivotal stuff such as cocaine, Chinese weed and most importantly, cheap beer.Order of the universe restored to some degree- skate punk is normally pretty low on my list of priorities, but there comes a point when it turns into the sweet sound of redemption, and this is it.

JAIN (you guys, we get it even if it’s not capitalized) is a French singer-songwriter, which is indeed another gust of fresh air in our playlist. Some African vibes are added to the basic French guitar serenade type music- she’s lived in the Congo (which, let’s be honest, is something totally exotic to add to your biography) and is partially of Malagasy descent, so we’ll say she’s entitled to ride the African bandwagon.

It seems we’ve finally totally escaped the Dutch electro hell, which is a blessing, but there’s something decidedly mind bending in Movits! delighting us with swing in Swedish. Somehow a voice deep inside me insists Swedish was thought up more for organizing the landing of a marauding ship on foreign shores or halfheartedly explaining IKEA catalogues (or perhaps halfheartedly explaining the structure of a marauding ship.) Nevertheless, in the scorching heat and with a glass of cold cider the whole endeavour might seem like the most natural thing in the world, as opposed to assembling the LACK coffee table, let’s say.

The lead singer of Oscar and the Wolf seemingly had a rather unsuccessful stint at the Belgian Eurovision Junior preselection, and the first song Youtube threw at me sounds exactly like the entry finishing 17th in the competition. He’s sure to have some starry eyed fans with ages ranging 7 to 12, so here’s to parents chaperoning their kids on Sziget having a good time at a safe distance from wherever Oscar and the Wolf are belting out their teenage angst.

Tourist is a Brit doing a rather minimalist electro, which could be borderline pleasant if I weren’t on the comedown from a wild ride of oomphs and bass dropped randomly for the heck of it. In a totally random connection, Travis Scott has a song called Tourist, but I definitely felt better about him before I found out he sometimes writes his name with a dollar sign, which is being totally groundbreaking and unique, isn’t it. He’s probably someone’s cup of tea, and that someone is  a hip hop fan, and therefore not me.

And back to hell we are- Troyboi is one of Diplo’s many cronies, and true to form, he has some slightly oriental beats going on. The most exciting thing about him seems to be the collaboration with someone or something called Flosstradamus, which made me chuckle for two seconds, those being two more seconds of emotion than what Troyboi could elicit from me.

Vinai sound Dutch but are Italian- I don’t know whether that makes them better or worse, but they helped me in identifying the axis of evil which is Spinnin’ Records, a Dutch label which has harboured at some point almost all of the vile knob fiddlers on the festival circuit. In a more objective take, that kind of makes them wonderful at what they are doing, but they’d better do it out of my earshot.

I always go more easily on Brits- they’ve produced enough guitar music right up my alley to compensate for weirder meanderings, and Wilkinson has a pretty cool video for Afterglow. I mean, it involves a CAT, what more do you want from life these days, really.

And thus we’ve reached Zedd, whom I wish had a Pulp Fiction connection, but doesn’t. He’s Russian-German though, which is some sort of scary, come to think of it, and you won’t guess it, but he produces electronic music and collaborates with basically everyone. This round of guinea pigging being done, please excuse me while I go and, well, in the state I am, I might even ponder kissing the sky, but maybe I’ll just listen to The Last Shadow Puppets instead.