Люди пишут, а время стирает,
Все стирает, что может стереть.
Но скажи, - если слух умирает,
Разве должен и звук умереть?Волки
прощаются с ушедшим Торе и мне хочется репостнуть текст целиком:
IN MEMORIAM TORE YLVISAKER (1970–2024)
Where to even begin? Our friend for the better part of our adult lives is gone. He chose to leave life on what would be his 54th birthday, 16 August. It is excruciating.
Rewind: We – Kris and Jørn – met Tore in 1997, Endless Sound Studio, 3rd floor, Grønlandsleiret 14. Immediate bonds were formed, and Ulver began metamorphosing into the bastard it has become. First with the Blake album, a process that took well over a year, with Tore and Kris living in the studio, literally, and growing ever closer. Then came Perdition City, soundtracks and silence. When Endless ended, we moved up to Tore’s apartment on the 5th floor. Blood, sweat and tears.
After Shadows – a eulogy in itself – we headed from Grønlandsleiret to Crystal Canyon, 2nd floor, Gøteborggata 27B, and the band became bigger. Different. A collective, as many call it. This was, in retrospect, maybe a sign that we had been churning down the rabbit hole for so long, a decade in the machines, we needed some air and new impulses. We started to play live, we travelled, we had lots of fun under the sun. We also had some problems around this time, but we got through.
Since Canyon the constellation has been more mercurial, involving more people, all stars in their own right: Ole Alexander Halstensgård, Anders Møller, Tomas Pettersen, Daniel O’Sullivan, Ivar Thormodsæter, Stian Westerhus, Chris Fullard, Kristin Bøyesen and countless others. It has felt like one big family, and now one of its elders is gone.
Tore was always there, either with the vacuum cleaner or some vintage synth, patching or programming things. The wizard, the caretaker. He cared so much for the processes and mechanics of it all, and his technical expertise was and is unsurpassed, both studio and stage. He was a pro, and we are so glad to have been around him when he was in his element, happy and sparkly. Full of zest, and with this big grin that could make anyone feel like you were his best buddy, just like that.
So many have been touched – blessed – by Tore’s presence, his enthusiasm and knowledge. In more recent years also through GOBS, Gamle Oslo Backline Service, which he established around the time we assassinated Caesar. Polishing drum skins, rigging up and down hardware, driving around Oslo with gear and equipment to various venues or festivals. Self-sacrificing, down-to-earth, a man of the people!
Easy to love. One of a kind. And endlessly kind.
But there have been hard times too, of course. Differences. Wear and tear. Friction. Sadly – and it makes this hurt even more, and may come as a surprise to many – we did not have much contact these last few years. We only bring this up because, well, people be complicated, and bands even more so.
In the end we are human, all too human. Marked by age and ennui, family and duty, love and loss. Where did the good times go? Ouch, my back! Where are my glasses?
It is not easy.
Autumn falls.
We were relieved when we heard Tore had moved up north, to spend time with and take care of his old folks, and to find space and focus on making music again, music that would be “just him”. This is something he had talked about for years, and we thought – perhaps naively – that maybe this was exactly what he needed at this point. We always figured we would find together again, like we have before, and, with time, become those old morons sitting on the porch of the retirement home, sipping sherry and pretending it’s a tour bus.
Oh, how we will remember our insane jargon, the parties, the places, the people. The shared life, as brothers in arms. Just thinking about all the weird shit we’ve been through together, through thick and thin, for 25 years as close friends, companions and co-conspirators.
