This is the story of the PopSingle dressed to party, waving Glowstick, who sank into
darkness and disappeared.
Many years ago a band ware formed in Pajala, consisting of childhood friends, brothers, couples (former and future), neighbors and colleagues. Pajala Truck Co.
A toxic mix it would turn out.
Through great effort, by quarrels and viciousness and melancholy the band produced some of the best pop songs ever heard in the northern parts of Sweden and especially Pajala. Unfortunately, the villagers did not understand it and the band grew accustomed to being booed at on bear drenched stages. But, The world would turn out to be larger than the small village and all the great songs found their way out of it.
Suddenly, the band had a record deal. Instead of “no, let´s give in and start a cover band” teenage dreams unrolled before them, as a golden path to never ending glory. – Let´s make a record! The band naively exclaimed.
It would soon come to show that a record, is not something you just simply make. It requires, of course, that you can play right, to begin with. It also requires you to cope with corporate types who say you can not play right, or is too fat, or too lazy, or too
ambitious or too indie or mainstream, all whilst media proclaimes you to be the saviour of nordic pop .
It requires, finally, you to master the art of waiting. Not wait as in: We’ll record the guitars Tomorrow, we will not have time today. Not as in: It will probably take a month to mix this.
No, wait and wait and wait, all while your beard grows and years are added upon year, while corporate types asserts and swears on how much they believe in you and what super-high priority you have.
After some time, floating around in vacuum, it starts to creak at the seams of the success spaceship.
Quarrels, fights and gloom begins to seep into the bands formally air tight ties. Members drop out and jump back in, coffee cups thrown into walls, brother stands against brother, neighbor against neighbor, in a burgeoning civil war.
But suddenly. Almost imperceptibly out of nowhere. As a discreet hush angelic baby it now laid there. The first single. It was called “From One motherfucker to Another” and it was a loved child. It went straight onto the national playlists and charts.
(It lies there on the table, including beer and champagne. It is ready now. The next single is also ready, video and everything, we can release it in the fall. Then release the album. Our debut album. So why do you do this now? Why do you sit there and read aloud from a letter saying you don’t want to be a part of our spaceship anymore? Why, after all we have gone through to get here? Why?)
That´s how the band lost one of it´s singers. Now hell broke loose
Strangled by the tape on the finish line the band fell.
The brothers did not celebrate christmas together that year.
The next single, the single that the band, critics, music journalists and every corporate know-how who had heared the song predicted to be the really BIG break for the band and to be the song that would travel around Europe and across the Atlantic sea making the record company fortunes, slowly started drifting away, away, out of sight, down in the dark.
But now. Because the whole is greater than it´s bickering parts. Because when the dust settles it is about music. The fucking fantastic music. Because some things are too brilliant to be wasted. Because friction only occurs when surfaces are really touching each other. Because love begins with fraction, and because the very same friction that made us lesser friends also made some of the best, multilayered pop music in Sweden of the last decade.
Now Pajala Truck Co. is rising again. for the third time on the count of nine, with sealed seams and love like cement.
Now we pick it up from the darkness. The crown jewel of our collection.
Many years of our sweat and tears boiled down to 3 min and 44 sec.
Our second single predicted to travel the world.
Pajala Truck Co. gives you “Movements”.