Hall of Flame
|Presented in alphabetical order:
Ok ladies, calm down! Coming straight from the 80’s, this saxomophone playing casanova blows red roses from his golden horn. Violets are blue, but who are you to resist the pomarańczowy smelling, chivalrous persona of Aplzn? With a firm background by colouring the red line, Aplzn’s savoir-faire handles everything from cutting a golonka to caressing the hair of beautiful women. Party in the back – business in the front ! Mjau !
Grandiose, spontaneous – a manic genius; when Carlos had entered the stage, nothing was ever the same! With a piano virtuoso’s unlimited knowledge of the fine arts, Carlos is bringing just the right amount of finkultur to the table. But don’t get mistaken by his sweet appearance. Carlos’ dubious contacts with the South American underworld makes it oh so clear: smärta är konstens pris! In the Swedish newspapers, Carlos has been described as a wandering performance art exhibition. However, that is clearly an euphémisme – Carlos is gargantuan and sans pitié! The world is his playground. Auctoritas non veritas facit legem.
Small bodi, big voice. Has anybody missed the blonde trainwreck holding the mic? This glimmering nymph is most likely to be found in the bar with a gin and campari in each hand (or even better: mixed!) Due to popular demand, we will release the most certain way to Emmas heart: be very young or very old, preferably dead, with the signed testament in your hand. Anyways, always the last to leave the party, there’s really just one way to describe this fucker: RIDE OR DIE !
As the rising star of Orkestermaskinen, 5a swirled onto the scene early summer of 2017. This sophisticated lady holds many specific interests including strong beer, a very healthy lifestyle and Soviet architecture. There is no smoke or drink in the whole of Poland that can stop this organic girl – nothing will bite! 5a brings a sincere air of Swedish folklore into the music; your heart will experience a sensational melancholy offbeat as the tiny hairs on your arms decide to take a dance break during 5a’s virtuose violin sessions. Enjoy!!!!
FQ/Ostkaka/Cheese the Cake
The Orkestermaskinen™ insane style-style definitely originates from inside the brain of Grotto – your problematic fave! You will soon realize that he is gifted with (dis-)associative super powers, being able to reinterpret reality in a way that far surpasses even the Age of Enlightenment or the most wicked dreams of Ken Kesey and his Merry Prankters. Grotto, the true Free Bird of the band, is keen to take it further. A famous Orkestermaskinen Trauma was when Grotto disappeared in the Kazimierz Kraków night. It’s really hard finding your way back from the suburbs, not knowing how to pronounce Polish writing (ł ę ą ó szcz ś ć ź ń … Jesus Christ …). Deepest thanks to the scared little boy letting him ride on the tuk tuk tourist-train home in the morning! Grotto embodies the true meaning of rumblr, and we do suggest that you take your time every morning saying your prayers that he is not your next door neighbour. Uwaga!!!
Put the Beluga caviar on the table and get redi for Kalashnikov Vodka shot race. From darkest parts of Soviet Russia, with musicality and a fine ear caliber, this Armenian beauty is always pushing the boundaries of the machine’s capacity. When he’s not writing notes or thinking about jazz, he probably frequents some suspicious neighbourhood looking for what local dish to try next. But wait a minute..? Nike shoes to the Adidas tracksuit?? Amerikański spy alert!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Dreamy, mysterious, always well dressed – there’s no doubt who’s both the poet and the fashionista of Orkestermaskinen. Indijański got his name from a grottfyllo in Wrocław who couldn’t see the difference between him and a Native American. Even though Indijański got some pretty serious tobacco start-up business going on, he is most likely to get in trouble with the Polish border police’s outdated views on gender identity (and “Fuck the police” has never had such delightfully queer undertones). Nie mówię po polsku ale smakuje jak zwierzęta!
Ever seen that Britney Spears video “Sometimes” and wondered what happened to that guy with the dog? He MUST have died and reincarnated to this perfect piece of man-ass also know as JöL! Not only good-looking hot mess, also strong and down for a ride – JöL carries all of your basses and then slices up a freshly picked mango for enjoyment. Ever wonder who Aljonka threw all that cash at? We can give you a hint that it starts with a J … and definitely ends with an öL. Skål!
Both brainz & looks – and always making sure everybody has eaten; Lex is the true Daddy of Orkestermaskinen. And honestly, who wouldn’t be down for adoption?? If it wasn’t for this man – fluent in the great Polish language – we would probably still be stuck somewhere between the zapiekanka joint at Plac Nowy and the WWII memorabilia stalls right next to it, arguing with the locals about the phonetic difference between “Fuck the police” and “Fuck the Polish”. Lars is not the one to let his friends sit with empty glasses. Party time? Your shot will be refilled with gin any second. Brunch time? Of course, Bloody Mary! But driving time??? Not even beer!!!!!!!!!!!
Nobody knew that the Skarsgaard-family had another brother. MjöL likes to keep his stardom to the low and is now focusing on maximizing the beat behind the drums. Sometimes shitfaced but always well-paced, stationed at the biggest nuclear power plant in Northern Europe, MjöLner’s obsession with snuff and Duolingo will certainly not be a problem for the national security. Even though we’ve lately been tracing some serious daddy-style life choices (anyone up for a morning jog??), we are perfectly sure that this post-bop beat will keep the party going 4 ever.
Qnückarn: Hide your shoes, hide your finservis – problem-solving, banjo-enthusiasmic, Fucker Supreme™ – Qnückarn is a natural center piece member of the Orkestermaskinen ongoing partylife. The roof is going a little bit higher (and some parts are mysteriously gone missing) when you put the finest mixer on the table. Bring the cigars and put a punch-pocketbottle under the tuxedo – there’s only one way of surely knowing if the night is going in the right direction and that’s when Qnückarn’s eyes are not! Javisst !!
Like an angel from jazz heaven RöB rescued a badly wounded machinery from severe bass-loss symptoms. His ragged goatee says it all: RöB’s house is tucked away somewhere deep in the forests of West Sweden, far from any trace of civilization (and Stockholm). Whereas in no time at all, RöB placed himself in the center of Orkestermaskinens affection, we are still not sure whether it’s actually bass or heartbeat we hear on stage when the RöB starts pounding. Long story short: RöB = LöVE, and it IS possible to love somebody from a distance! Claiming Bockstensmannen heritage, RöB is a living legend, and from now on always holds a place of honor in Orkestermaskinen’s Hall of Flame.
Hide yo wife hide yo kidz, this livin’ turbo legend is the center of every party chaos. With suit and shirt always on point, this mesmerizing synthesizer is the very backbone of the machinery. One hand on the keyboard, the other on Dagens Industri – corner of the mouth always reserved for dangerously sexi chainsmoking habits. Even though located in Hongkong, making business history on the bitcoin market, one question still remains: what hurt the most? When Benke fell from heaven or when he hit the floor?