Friday, January 22, 2010

Ingebrigt Håker Flaten

Tonight I was told that Norwegian free-jazz bassist Ingebrigt Håker Flaten is my doppelgänger.

My girlfriend and I were at the Dusty Groove America record store in Chicago's Wicker Park neighborhood when a man to my left looked up from the soundtracks section (alphabetized by composer, not by movie title—Dusty Groove don't mess around, y'all) and said, "Ingebrigt?"

I wasn't sure at first what he'd said—I didn't recognize any English in the question he had posed.

He followed it up with "Håker Flaten?"

Again, confusion. I was wondering where the hidden camera was located.

"You're not Ingebrigt Håker Flaten?"

At that point I remembered the bassist's name from the five years I spent proofreading the music listings at the Chicago Reader. According to the gentleman at Dusty Groove, Håker Flaten doesn't live in Chicago anymore, so it's a good thing I'm still around for false sightings.

(This is my "actor" head shot. If I don't land the role of Ingebrigt Håker Flaten in The Ingebrigt Håker Flaten Story, I'll have to fire my agent. Of course, before I take that drastic step I'll have to find an agent, but why sweat the details?)

7 comments:

  1. That's awesome. You should learn to cuss in Norwegian for next time.

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  2. "Føkk deg, all you local jazz fans who wish to rob me of my own identity!"

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  3. They have as many different words for farting as the Eskimos do for snow. But why?

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  4. Maybe Norwegians are juvenile. And bored.

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  5. I can say with some authority that all that is written above is true.

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  6. You always talk about such inappropriate things, Terje.

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  7. To quote Eddie Money, I'm a stranger in a strange land, j-j-j-j-just a stranger, yeah.

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