Once upon a time, in a galaxy far away – called the 1980’s – Geir approached me, asking if I would add some piano tracks on an album he was about to finish with his band MX5. Having recently returned from the US where I had spent a couple of months in a recording studio, finishing an LP with songs written with a former band mate who had tragically drowned just a few months before, I was more than ready for new challenges.

A little while after Geir had finished this project, he moved to Oslo (where I lived at the time), to study law. We hooked up again, this time in his home studio (a four-track Tascam cassette recording device in his and his wife’s bedroom), to write songs together. Although Geir and I were not in total sync in regards to musical taste, we shared a background as fans of early British punk (Clash, Jam, Pistols), ska (Specials, Madness), reggae (African Mombasa, Black Uhuru, Police), and Pink Floyd. This was more than enough to build on, and we went along.

We called ourselves The Lawyers (kind of an obvious choice, I guess…), and after a couple of months as a duo we were arrogant enough to enter a national contest for unsigned bands. As we expected (yes, we WERE arrogant!) we were picked out to perform on Norwegian National Radio (NRK), as one of ten finalist bands. Thinking back, it is interesting to note that we shared the stage with Lars Lillo-Stenberg and his band, which afterwards has had an enormously successful career in Scandinavia… (I believe we beat them, though I’m not sure. What I do know is that the band that won the contest had a couple of hits before they forever disappeared.) Anyway, our song, Shout Out, was released on a compilation record, and we were on our way to stardom.

A few months after all this took place, Johannes Bjerga arrived in Oslo to attend college. He’d brought with him his collection of guitars, and soon The Lawyers morphed into Crosstalk, the trio. So, as is the case with any “real" rock band, we got together thanks to a higher educational institution. And, not unlike other bands, we experienced a high ratio of “dropping out” in order to follow the Muse.

Crosstalk released one single – All in the Family/Dreamer – which got some airplay on local commercial radio. National radio (NRK), however, decided to “ban” All in the Family and played the B-side instead. We assume they either didn’t “get” the irony, or underestimated their audience, thinking people would think we promoted domestic violence… (Actually, we thought being banned so early in our career was kind of cool!)

One more thing regarding All in the Family; as the song was played on the radio we were approached by an acquaintance of ours whom we thought we knew rather well. He was not very happy, and he expressed his feelings quite clearly. “That was a nasty thing you guys did,” he said. “Uh, what thing,” we asked in all honesty. “Writing that song about me!” he answered. Both Geir and I were flabbergasted; neither of us had any idea he had a problem of that sort. We had actually “outed” the guy without knowing or trying! Years later, we have been approached by several women, thanking us for writing the song. There have been hugs mixed with tears, proving to us that touching upon certain socially important issues, even if our pulpit is nothing more than a pop/rock song, might affect people on a very personal level. And, if there’s anything we hope to be able to do, that’s it.

As Crosstalk, we had high ambitions. We signed with a management company in Los Angeles, and our songs were placed in made-for-TV movies and TV shows, both in Europe and in the US. While in Norway, our recording studio (now an eight track, half “/20 channel setup) was crammed into a six by nine foot cabin with little heat. Geir, Johannes, and I named it the Shed, which is what it actually was. Nevertheless, sweet music was made there, and due to the size of the place, we had no choice but staying friends… Our 8-track analog studio was enhanced by Geir’s wizardry on the computer; we spent long hours recording, and even longer hours "commuting" to LA. It didn’t take long before each of us was responsible for his own “department”. Geir did the programming of synth-pads, drums and the occasional bass guitar. Thus, he was usually responsible for setting the mood of the songs – the chords were often a bit jazzy, and he would decide on tempo and rhythm. Johannes was in charge of all the guitars, while I created most of the melody-lines, harmonies, and the lyrics. For us, it was a great way to work, and Geir and I still use that same model today.

In LA we recorded an alternative version of All in the Family with Bob Marlette, who at the time came straight from a successful collaboration with Wilson-Philips. Tom Whitlock, in who’s studio we worked, and who had been the lyricist for Georgio Moroder, demanded that we changed part of the lyric from “Little lady, close your eyes and take what comes” to “Little lady, you don’t have to take what comes,” which totally messed up the song – removing any trace of irony. Anyway, it ended up as a typical eighties mid-tempo dance tune, and it has remained “archived” ever since.

After a while, Johannes got tired of the long commute and decided to concentrate on a career in marketing. And so, Geir and I were back to being a song-writing duo. Responsible family men as we were, the only sensible choice was to pull our kids out of school and spend a year and a half in the United States (on six-months tourist visas), in order to be close to our manager and publishing company. We borrowed a friend’s recording studio from midnight to 06:00, recording demos. During the day we were husbands and fathers, periodically finding ourselves in a perpetual stage of sleep deprivation. This might be the reason why Geir and I, on one of our road trips through the Nevada desert, had our – now classic – UFO experience. We had stopped for a short break in the middle of nowhere. The sky was dark and covered with stars, and we were quite in awe by the sight. As we searched the dome above us for satellites – little points of light, moving slowly across the sky – we observed one, and began following its track. Suddenly the thing began zigzagging across the firmament in a way that defies all physical laws. I actually had to ask Geir if he saw it too, and he just nodded, gaping by amazement. To this day none of us can explain what we saw that night in the Nevada desert, but it was cool and exiting, and, if nothing else, it has given us something to talk about at parties (there are enough nerds out there to make such an account an instant success). Also, the experience may be a subconscious source for our song Cosmic People. Of this, however, I am not sure…

By the mid-nineties, our songs had been placed in an episode of Melrose Place, a made-for-TV movie titled A Matter of Justice, and in a number of minor TV programs all over Europe. This was enough to catch the interest of “super-producer” John Boylan, who, among other projects, had been behind Boston’s greatest albums. He invited us to his home in Hollywood Hills to record a handful of songs in his studio. We were quite exited, and prepared for the Big Time! However, just before we were about to leave for LA we received a phone call from another producer – Paul D Carlsen - who had heard two of our songs on a “Hot Tracks From Scandinavia” compilation (the songs were early versions of Streets of Napalm and Operator). He, too, invited us up to his studio in Topanga Canyon, and we all felt a little whiff of “fate” that day, since our duffel bags were already packed, and we were about to head for SoCal in just a couple of days.

For about a week we lived with Paul while recording with John Boylan. However, Boylan was not happy with the fact that we hung out with a “rival” producer, and gave us an ultimatum; either we break with Paul Carlsen, or he’d drop our collaboration. We stayed with Paul.

Actually, depresleys truly came to life the day we stepped into Paul’s recording studio in Topanga. With him at the board our sound became locked in, and our songs began to reach their true potential. He met us with a “my home is your home,” handed us the keys to his house and let us do our thing. Geir was especially impressed by Paul’s high-tech digital equipment, while I got sold by what I saw hanging on his studio wall: a multi-million platinum award for his digital editing on Nirvana’s Nevermind album. As a BIG Nirvana fan, I was in recording heaven!

Paul soon introduced us to Rick Shlosser, a guy who has recorded and toured with the “greatest of the great.” He was willing to lay down some drum tracks on our new songs; I have a suspicion that he didn’t know that there was no money in it – he is used to work with the stars – people who hire the best, and who pay what they’re worth. And Rick is worth a LOT. Oh well, whether he knew or not, he played on a few of our songs. Then he came back and played on some more. Finally, we didn’t have to ask him to come; he showed up and one morning in May (or maybe it was in July or November…) he had become a “depresleys,” a member of the band.

Personally, I found it somewhat intimidating to work with Rick and Paul. They had rubbed shoulders with people like Van Morrison, James Taylor, Rod Stewart, and Curt Cobain, and there I was, pretending to be on their level… Lucky for us, they treated us with such (mutual) respect that we overcame our self-consciousness. Rather than feeling inferior, these great and experienced guys made sure we reached beyond our comfort zone, and the level of our performance grew.

Not long after we were introduced to Rick, another musical “giant” entered our studio; Richard Hardy. Having spent years on the road with stars such as Carol King and Dave Mathews, he fit right in with our sound, and he is now an “associated” member of depresleys; one will find his saxes, flutes, and whatnot all over our tracks.

Topanga became our home-away-from-home. The main studio was on the upper floor, while Paul had a smaller, but totally compatible, 16 track room downstairs. Although we could freely use both rooms, Geir and I usually worked out our ideas and demos downstairs before we presented them to Paul in the main room. It was a perfect arrangement. What was not as perfect was the sewer! Without us noticing (I assume it happened very gradually), it began to leak, filling the whole house with a stench that, after a while, was beyond description. The funny (?) thing is that we had invited people from the local press to come over for interviews and a taste of our new songs. And, there we were, a bunch of guys in a typical Topanga pad (for the un-initiated: Topanga Canyon is where the hippies live – or, at least lived… now the big bucks rule there as well, and a house will cost you, uh… more than you can afford!), big smiles on our faces, draped in a cloud of ammonia and whatever else escaped from the deep, dark below. Nobody cared to tell us until a fellow musician happened to drop by. He refused to step inside, while almost hurling in the flowerbed – which, I guess, would have been appropriate, all things considered.

The last image I’ve brought with me from Topanga is the rat’s nest we discovered as we dissembled the studio. How many rodents there were, nobody knows (there were plenty!), but they had obviously lived there for a while, and had partied on Paul’s cables. Only a miracle had stopped them from making his recording facilities totally useless.