Ok, so they’re not a household name in the States. Not even in Helsinki, Finland where I bumped into them while staking out nightclubs on my way to Russia to fish the world’s most prolific Atlantic salmon stream. What else are you supposed to do with a 20-hour layover? Certainly not what my recently divorced friend did.
The boys enjoying fruits of labor.
“Why it?” I asked in what was supposed to be an upstanding strip club that happened to be running a solid side business. “It might not even be a woman.” He replied the same way he would a week later in Amsterdam. “Hang onto my wallet for me, ok.” So I left him to his shenanigans and cruised to a bar near the train station to learn that the lower level held 500 people and lured solid bands. “Yea, I’ll pay the cover,” I told the bouncer. “And by the way,” I added, “when a guilty looking, pasty-white dude comes in, send him downstairs.” An hour later there he was, tequila shots in hand, guilt pasted to his face, a couple Heinekens in the other hand. I pulled a shot from his mitt and said, “How was he?”
A band was playing and we got close to the stage, which was a major mistake—those four dudes weren’t wearing clothes and the only thing covering their junk (and not very well I have to say) were guitars. Awful! Just awful. When the band approached their microphones in unison and chanted, “Satan, Satan, Satan,” I turned to my friend and said, “That’s not attractive! Let’s move to the back.” We’d recently completed our relocation when somehow, for some odd reason, some stringy but muscular guy picks me out of the 500-person crowd. “Dude,” he yells, “got any weed?” I glanced behind, saw nobody paying attention, and realized he was talking to me. I turned toward the skinny guy and said, “No, you got any Visine. You need it.”
Sneaky D prepping for the Power Spray show.
Moments later I asked, “Do you know if another band is playing after these jokers?” and he replied, “Yea, it’s my band. We’re on in 15 minutes.” That was my introduction to Frederik Valentin and Rock Hard Power Spray, a Danish-based band that gets the hell after it, characterized by low-hanging instruments and maximum attitude. By the end of the night, meaning six in the morning after being invited backstage, I counted Fred and his cohorts as some cool dudes. In fact I envied them in a lot of ways, minus their monthly tab for prescription itch cream and shampoo. Rock Hard toured with The Blood Hound Gang in 2006, then spent the summer playing Vans’ Warped Tour. These days they’re playing in far-fetched places, such as China, roadies in tow.
Obviously, you’re not going to travel half way around the world to see these guys … unless, of course, you’re headed that way for Atlantic salmon and just bump into them like I did. However, if you’re into some stomping rock and heavy-duty, Fred-a-lishish guitar riffs, ala Stone Temple Pilots, you may want to check out Rock Hard on i Tunes. Play the trailers for Can’t Seem to Get Old, Las P**as Revinu, and Catch the Fruit. Or better yet, get online and check out these links: http://www. youtube.com/watch?v=ve8tAbTgtcU&feature=related or http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CDfRorPkGbA I know: Bad, bad, very bad. Want to give it a go and order online? Visit Fred and the boys at www.rockhardpowerspray.com