A Childhood Full of Music
I was born in Qullissat and raised in Uummannaq. Our house was filled with music - tape recordings, guitars, and a piano. My dad played guitar and organ, my mom had been taught piano as a child, and my sister played all the pop hits of the 70s. We had a vinyl player like most families back then - the Beatles, Sinatra, Streisand, and many others spun through our speakers.
I can’t recall my first record, but I do remember the day my mom returned from Denmark with two cassettes that changed everything - Thin Lizzy’s Live & Dangerous and Boston’s Don’t Look Back. Those tapes became the soundtrack of my youth. Even before then, I had a tiny out-of-tune toy piano where I started creating music. I dreamed of becoming a musician one day - and in some way, I did.
Friendships, Music - and Dividing Lines
I wrote songs with childhood friends Peter Leibhardt and Frederik Nielsen. We were in the same class. Frederik came from Qullissat like me. His father was a baker, which made him popular - he brought sweet treats none of us could resist. Peter was incredibly talented, and we all learned advanced chords from his older brother Karl.
I also had family who were local legends - like Peter B. Johansen, a poet and troubadour with an endless well of songs. On the surface, everything seemed bright, but there were dark undercurrents. Greenland was changing - politically, socially, and emotionally.
The Political Divide and Its Toll
As politics took over adult lives, our community fractured. The “extreme left”, the “other left”, and the “centre” - people began to label each other and take sides. Youth returning from schools were fired up about political identity. As a half-Dane, I became a target in this game of misplaced frustration. My dad entered politics and even became the mayor. So did Peter’s dad. But politics wasn’t the real enemy.
Alcohol was. It seeped into every household, into every adult. It turned warmth into chaos. I saw it firsthand. My dad, like many others, lost himself in drink. We learned to lock ourselves in bathrooms when he erupted. Every home had hunting weapons - for seals and whales - so every outburst carried real danger.
Trauma That No One Spoke About
I saw things no child should see. I watched a friend die from a gunshot wound - we tried to hold in his entrails, but he was already gone. I saw another friend crushed under a tower of pallets - his eyes burst, blood poured from his ears. We pulled the wood off his body and I threw up from the horror. We lived with these images.
But no adult ever stepped in. Teachers, principals, local leaders - none of them asked, none offered help. We were left to grow up fast or not at all. I will never forgive them for that silence.
Defiance and Survival
We were beaten by older kids, hunted by drunk men with rifles - but they couldn’t scare us. I didn’t care if I died. That’s how numb we were from everything the adults failed to protect us from. And when threatened even today, that same fire returns - it’s not for show, it’s survival instinct.
The Music They Tried to Ignore
Music was my escape. I played in many bands, some now considered legendary. But nobody noticed my solo work - the side projects I kept hidden for years. Those are the songs you can hear now. I released them decades later, after surviving long enough to do it. For my daughter. For my 92-year-old mom, who started it all.
Still, no one from my music past came back. Not one. It’s as if I never existed. But I did. I do. And my catalog is too big to be buried. Let them deny it. When I’m gone, they don’t get to rewrite my legacy. My family knows. The music knows. And it’s out there - permanently.