Denmark

Haldana

mandy — Tue, 08 Feb 2011 08:00:00 +0000

What does one do when far away from home? What if you never had a real home to begin with? Feelings of homesickness, uprooting one's life, and moving to a new location is considered one of the most stressful events a person can endure. Settling in another country where people speak a different language and abide by the parameters of a culture one is not accustomed to is just icing on an already challenging cake. In Haldana, Brittany Shoot shares with the reader the storm of feelings inside her during just this time of tumult.

After moving to Denmark, Shoot experienced isolation and disappointment. She witnessed racism, sexism, and downright absurdity; there are photos in the zine to prove this. The author also faced financial challenges, as well as issues with family and acquaintances. Competition for jobs is overwhelming; even a basic cleaning job received over 500 applicants. The stress of communicating with one's in-laws seems even hairier with an added language barrier, and the process of making friends with the locals seems doomed when they cannot imagine their beloved country making life stressful for an immigrant.

Reading Haldana was a learning experience for me. I had heard stories of fortunate Americans traveling through Europe, backpacking and carefree, going from one job to the next and acquiring experiences and stories to share later. However, Shoot's zine shows that this can be more of a myth than reality. Employment is not always so readily available to travelers, and attitudes can grow cold for those who do not speak a country's native language (outside of the designated tourist areas). Even though she has a master's degree and legally lives within the country, Shoot cannot find a steady job in Denmark.

I related to Shoot in many ways. We both moved from our home states to our partner's home areas (though I only moved a few states over), and weathered a rough transition. Her experience was much harder than mine. Along with the usual emotional roller coaster rides that come with replanting oneself, Shoot had to navigate language and cultural barriers. She talks about personal space, and how people often love to crowd into it, both smothering and draining the person at hand. It seems she and I both have difficulty creating and upholding boundaries from needy people.

My favorite part of Haldana was Brittany's writing style. It's rare to find an author with such a distinct voice. Usually, I find myself gritting my teeth after reading too much from a writer with a persistent style; however, Brittany's voice was skilled and I felt like dipping my feet into the pool of words, exploring and grabbing syllables, contemplating ideas and usage; this is similar to how Margaret Atwood's work makes me feel.

Written by: Jacquie Piasta, February 8th 2011

The Danish Girl

admin — Tue, 25 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By David Ebershoff

Penguin Books

The Danish Girl is like a multilayered Flemish painting or tapestry. On the surface, it’s the story of the marriage of two painters, Clara and Einar. However, Einar Wegener was the first male to undergo successful gender affirming surgery. And The Danish Girl is also the story of a search for one’s true identity, and how one navigates that struggle within the boundaries of a relationship.

The novel opens in Copenhagen in the 1920s and the author has painted a rich landscape of the country and culture at the time, which I found almost as interesting as the storyline. We meet Clara and Einar after they have settled into a domestic routine, of sorts: two painters living in Copenhagen trying to make a living through their art. Known for his landscapes, Einar is the more acclaimed and successful of the two, while Clara finds herself painting portraits of well-known businessmen and society types. Clara is a young, willful, and wealthy California heiress who fell in love with Einar while enrolled in art classes at the Royal Academy, where he is a teacher. Despite being six years her senior, Einer was shy and awkward, and Clara pursued him somewhat relentlessly.

As the novel progresses, we discover that Einar has been encouraged by Clara to occasionally dress in women’s clothes when her female subjects are delayed or unable to make their sitting appointments. Einar is a slender, pretty man who is described as "beautiful" in the novel. Clara senses that Einar has a love of all things feminine, and starts to encourage him to dress as a woman, who they start introducing as Einar's distant cousin Lili to their friends. At first, this is a secret game between the pair, but as Einar needs to dress as Lili more and more, the dynamic in the marriage changes, making Clara increasingly uncomfortable. Clara believes that part of loving someone is doing whatever you can do to make them happy, and although she is ambivalent about Einar’s need to dress as Lili, her paintings of Lili start to garner her praise and acclaim in the art world.

The subject matter of The Danish Girl could have been treated as a spectacle, or voyeuristic experience, but it is treated sensitively by the author. The author sensitively renders Einar’s sometimes painful experiences with his changing identity, and we experience the distinct worlds of these two separate individuals. I was surprised to discover that this novel was first published in 2000. The story is especially topical given that transgender experiences are now being discussed on shows like Oprah, which signifies that the issue has become mainstream, or at least an acknowledged part of our cultural dialogue.

The Danish Girl is being made into a movie that is scheduled for release in the United States in 2011. Nicole Kidman will star as Lili. If reading is supposed to take you on a journey of the mind and expand your understanding of the world, The Danish Girl is certainly deserving of high praise.

Written by: Gita Tewari, May 25th 2010

The Beat Is...

admin — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 21:40:00 +0000

Alphabeat

Polydor

For the same reason I celebrate my own existence—the idea of “getting out” of whatever dead-end birth town you once inhabited—Alphabeat make me cheer. Born and raised way off the major highway on Denmark’s lone peninsula (the country is otherwise fully comprised of islands), these young folks not only have the same Jutland accent as my partner; they took off for London after their first album, This Is Alphabeat, created a substantial buzz in the UK. As well it should have. Six friends from a small town who “made it” is admittedly an easy narrative to enjoy. Most Danish guys I know are named Anders, Rasmus, or Morten, and of the five guys in Alphabeat, three are named Anders (and the other two are Troels and, yes, a guy named Rasmus). That all six band members—including lone female Stine—are absolutely adorable and make joyously happy music that appeals to the Danish queer community makes it that much easier to get in their corner.

The Spell—the album, not just the single—has been out in Denmark since October, and as always, the country-specific release varies from the wider released UK version of the album, which is named for the album’s second single, The Beat Is.... Admittedly, as This Is Alphabeat was a sleeper hit made up of cutesy, tambourine- and hand clap-heavy songs about boyfriends, there has been backlash against the band’s more manufactured, mainstream pop sound. Not every track on the album is a winner, but the good ones make up for the lackluster efforts. My testament is this: with “The Spell” showing up everywhere from television commercials to ring tones in the past six months, I have yet to tire of it. What can I say? I like hearing about magical love in a Jutlandish Danish accent. The video will also charm your socks off.

The album’s third song “DJ” is the kind of song that makes me literally leap onto my bike and pedal twice as fast down to the grocery store. Infectious pop at its best, it makes the most mundane chores seem like a total party under a sturdy set of earbuds. I admittedly have a soft spot for pop tracks that pay homage to the often under-appreciated DJ, and the Alphabeat tribute is a cold Danish winter inspiration as much as it’s a club-ready hit.

“Heatwave,” one of my dancey favorites, includes Stine’s guttural vocals in a Britney Spears-esque series of “woah-oh-oh”s. This is a compliment, as the band members are big Brit-Brit fans.

“Heart Failure,” a syncopated single waiting to emerge, questions whether a new lover can handle—or even heal—his pursuit’s broken heart, previously damaged by another. It also includes the catchy line: “I sit on fences/with my/defenses.” When you consider sitting on a fence, do you immediately think someone means they are indecisive, or do you conjure images of cowboys, sitting on the split rail, gazing into the distance? I once asked a friend what she would think about if she had a fence to sit on. “I’d just stare,” she said. “That’s what you do on the fence.” Indeed.

If you’re stateside and need a fun '80s pop fix, pay to download the import or ask a friendly local record store clerk to put in an order. They might shake their heads at your Wonky Pop request, but you’re the one who gets to go home and shake something else.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, March 2nd 2010

Dunya and Desie

admin — Thu, 28 May 2009 17:11:00 +0000

Directed by Dana Nachushtan

Lemming Film

Dunya and Desie is a 2006 Dutch film with English subtitles from director Dana Nachushtan. In the same vein as The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, Dunya and Desie is the fun story of two best friends from opposite upbringings and how they find what they are looking for in life. The film begins with Dunya in the back seat of a car that is going through a carwash, while her friend Desie is in the front seat, making out with her driving instructor. Dunya then lists all of the things that are automatic in life: the weather, automatic pilot, automatic car washes, breathing, Desie's boyfriends, and the dumping of Desie's boyfriends. This is the perfect introduction to the two girls, as Desie’s world focuses around boys and her best friend Dunya, while Dunya’s life revolves around her parent’s expectations of her. Dunya being Danish Muslim, her parents expect her to adhere to family traditions, one of which includes an arranged marriage.

Desie is the complete aesthetic opposite of Dunya. Defined by her huge blonde perm and affinity for boys, she loves to have fun and is impossible not to like with her huge smile and wild antics. The film takes a turn when Desie gets pregnant unexpectedly, while Dunya’s parents are taking her to Morocco to meet her future husband. Desie, not knowing if she should terminate her pregnancy or not, travels to Morocco to see Dunya, and they embark on a journey to Casablanca in hopes of finding Desie’s father, who she hasn’t seen since she was young.

Dunya and Desie is a smart teen comedy. It's light-hearted and fun, but still opens a dialogue on larger issues like women's rights, cultural identity, and friendship. This film doesn’t throw any curve balls, but keeps to the heart of the story: the lives of two best friends. The characters are played well by the two actresses and never feel over-acted. The only complaint I have is with the subtitles. There were times when I didn’t feel that everything was being said in the subtitles that was being said on screen.

Written by: Chrissie Thornburg, May 28th 2009

The Marcelle

admin — Mon, 25 May 2009 17:47:00 +0000

By Dansko

Apparently Danish feminists demand, “Respect, equal wages, and orgasms.” Fortunately, they don't have to demand comfortable shoes, as Denmark is where Danskos come from. Full disclosure: I have been a Dansko fan for years. When I finally met the right podiatrist, after repeatedly having fractures misdiagnosed as neuromas, he told me that I was permitted to wear one of two brands for the remainder of my days. One of them is Dansko. I wear a pair—fun red fake-fur clogs with black leopard spots—as I type.

Dansko wearers form a secret society—we nod at one another upon recognition. These sturdy Danish clogs are endorsed by doctors, nurses, teachers, food servers—anyone who has to spend significant time on their feet. Seeing that I have been medically forbidden stilettos, it is a delight that there are attractive orthpoedically sound shoes available in addition to clogs and walking sandals, and Dansko provides just these. The Marcelle is charming, and there are also designs available with a taller chunk heel. The Trixie looks positively evening-worthy—quite an evolution from the stapled clogs first carried over in their luggage by Mandy Cabot and Peter Kjellerup from Peter's hometown in the late 1980s. Their friends and family became recipients: the shoes were so popular that retail purchase and suitcase shipping were no longer viable. Tak for bringing Danskos to the States.

Written by: Erika Mikkalo, May 25th 2009

Loney Dear (4/5/2009)

admin — Thu, 14 May 2009 00:09:00 +0000

Lille Vega

Copenhagen, Denmark

It is so ridiculously obvious why the kids are flipping out about this impressively under-the-radar Nordic crooner. It doesn’t matter if gnat-attention-span hipsters can’t name his influences, the history that brought us to now. It doesn’t matter if they forget the album tomorrow (though it’s clearly their loss). What does matter is when amazing music comes forth. What matters is keeping it in our hearts once the fair-weather fans have moved onto the next big college radio hit.

When I was coming up, Polyvinyl was a key player among emo purveyors. These days, the nice Illinois-based label folk have expanded to include distant cousins of the much-co-opted genre. Loney Dear, alternately known as Swedish multi-instrumental Emil Svanängen, plays a strange mix of heartfelt crooning and synth. On Dear John, his second major U.S. release, following Sub Pop-released 2007 Loney, Noir, Loney Dear is in top recorded form.

In person, Loney Dear is a more handsome, thinner, sufficiently Aryan Perez Hilton, thankfully also missing the boorish manners and cum jokes. Lille Vega—conjoined twin of the larger Vega next door—is not a hidden club with no sign, for in a city the size of Copenhagen, that doesn’t usually work for very long when everyone who is anyone knows everyone else. Despite being along one of the city’s main drags, Vega brings some of the best shows in town. I flashed my passport and was in the door, camera tucked in back pocket of my partner’s not-so-skinny jeans. My partner and I did not wear the requisite faux Keffiyehs and high tops, but thankfully my man was on hand to translate the bands’ Swedish mumblings between songs.

Opener Marching Band—whose MySpace made me a believer before they took the stage—stole the show as duo Erik Sunbring and Jacob Lind had turned quintet with a backing band for the affair. Bearing no resemblance to kids in matching uniforms who like to feel each other up at sleep away camp, the two did make a visually unlikely pair. Erik, in a sports jacket and tight pants, bounced to his own music on one side of the stage. With shoulder-length hair grazing the top of his wolf-emblazoned brown sweatshirt, Jacob did his own whistling while vigorously tapping various sound machines.

As they packed up after an incredibly short set, the room filled up in anticipation of the headliner. There are two ways this can go, I thought, for it is what I always think. The band will either mimic their own album with eerie precision, or the man about to take the stage will in no way resemble the crooner on the CD. The latter isn’t generally a problem for me, since why show up to hear the same tracks you have at home? Live versions are passed via bootleg for a reason. And yet, if it were ever possible to mangle a live performance of one of the year’s most celebrated releases, I believe it happened before my eyes.

Loney Dear, much as I hate to admit it, was a disjointed, confusing mess. Svanängen staggered onto the stage as the volume was cranked so high that even the most seasoned concert-goer began stuffing plugs into their ears. Perhaps I should not blame Svanängen as much as the folks in the sound booth. Has your face ever vibrated, independent of your body, from being too close to an amp? Have you ever felt as though your teeth and brain might shake loose and end up lying next to the empty Tuborg bottles at your feet? When an acoustic song began, I sat down on a bench to try to calm my nerves, frazzled by the shift in sound, praying this coherence was not temporary. But after one verse, the bass and pounding drums rejoined, and any semblance of listenable music was gone. Unless you’re following the Dead in a van, one should never feel as though being high for a concert would make it a better experience. If I smoked, I’ve have sought refuge in the lobby’s eight-dollar-a-pack machine.

It didn’t help that the only female among the ten-plus men that took the stage all evening was relegated to playing a tambourine and, occasionally, hitting a cymbal. “They can’t even give her a full drum set? All she can do is play the theme from Shaft.” To make things worse for our lone lady musician, by song two, the crazed Loney Dear front man had stolen her tambourine and would pound on her keyboard from his upside-down vantage point while she was forced to merely stand there and watch. I get that the dude is a “multi-instrumentalist,” but could he try to focus instead of meandering around, stealing the other kids’ toys? Straining to hear vocals behind the deafening bass, I could barely make out the album’s best track, “Airport Surroundings.” My head was starting to hurt. Badly.

I will admit that my partner and I exchanged nods before exiting the building, long before anyone else had considered doing the same. Danes are a reserved bunch, and I saw no disgruntled stares as many stayed to hear the band finish. I wondered how they really felt as I breathed in the cool spring air, away from the shaky mania of the club. My headache started to lift; safely on the streets, not a moment too soon.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, May 13th 2009