Lost in translation, oops
So, old John Fogerty is giving a concert here in a week or two and yesterday Fréttablaðið published a short article detailing his backstage requirements. Excerpt:
Forgerty has simple wishes regarding backstage accommodation. He wants two rooms for himself with tidy [!] showers, a sink and a water closet. Fogerty also wants good Internet access, two ivory-coloured bars of soap, a television and an X-box game console, in addition to a good selection of films and games. He asks for one medium-sized table, two smaller tables, eight comfortable chairs, two large mirrors and twelve dark towels. Fogerty does not want to see autograph-hungry fans and it is specially written in his contract in capital letters that he wants a large, clean [!] washing machine backstage, in addition to a dryer that he alone will have use of.
Ahem. Fogerty’s “simple wishes” notwithstanding, I must say that I tripped over the part about the two ivory-coloured bars of soap. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist [at least not a rocket scientist that has spent any length of time abroad] to figure out that John Fogerty has probably expressly requested two bars of IVORY SOAP.* A brand that, incidentally, is not available in Niceland. Pity the poor concert promoters. After scratching their heads in wonderment over Fogerty’s stipulation that the two bars of soap be ivory-coloured [like, aren’t 98.8 percent of all bars of soap ivory-coloured?] they will undoubtedly go out and buy the best ivory-coloured soap that they can find. Which, despite their best intentions, will not be IVORY SOAP.
Let’s just hope old Fogerty doesn’t throw a tantrum. Or - worse - refuse to wash himself.
HELLOOO SUMMER!
Today was a stupendous day, the first really superexcellent day of the season. Just an occasional hint of cloud cover in the sky - otherwise deliciously deliriously sunny. And warm - I was at the pool this afternoon [which was packed … overheard in the hot pot: ‘… seize any bit of sun - got to get that winter out … ‘] looked up and saw the thermostat was at 15°C, w00t! Plus there was hardly any wind. Flaked out on a sun bench and drifted away in spirit to sunnier climes. Ahhhh. We’re due for rain and storm during the upcoming long weekend, though. Right now 7°C [45F]. Sunrise last night was at 4.35 am and sunset was at 10.15.
* Clearly Fréttablaðið was a bit perplexed as well, for they saw reason to publish an excerpt with this very point on their front page. Ouch!
{ 15 comments… read them below or add one }
hahahahah
Spurning um að benda tónleikahöldurum á þetta, jafnvel gæti verið að Fogertyliðið gæti kippt með sér tveimur sápustykkjum…
Heldurðu að þeir lesi ekki örugglega bloggið mitt?
This is surely a spoof?
While John might be disappointed at not getting his favourite “99 44/100% pure” soap, this in and of itself isn’t the dealbreaker and they’ll probably laugh about the misunderstanding. Most of the silly crap in riders from experienced musicians — from soap brand specifications to demands there be no green olives on the deli tray or green M&Ms in the bowl — are there in order to determine whether the venue paid attention to detail. If they can’t get something stupid like that right then there’s no trusting them on the important stiff like electrical requirements and rigging. One roadie I know was electrocuted thanks to wiring not following specifications (he survived). The rider gives the band recourse to cancel the show or demand additional cash which they’ll spend on inspecting everything much more carefully.
His requests are minimal in comparison to other “stars.” You can see some hilarious riders at the Smoking Gun site, like one that required a private toiled with brand new toilet seat…
http://www.thesmokinggun.com/backstagetour/index.html
From his list of demands I’m guessing that refusing to wash himself is not an option, Ivory or not.
Dumdad - um, actually, I don’t think it is.
REC - interesting!
JD - thanks for the link. I’ve spent far too much time browsing when I should be doing other things …
andrea - phew, that’s a relief!
Ohh, maltranslations…
Our trade, it should have more clout. Those in our trade who KNOW THEIR FRIGGING LANGUAGES, I mean.
Could you write more articles about those?
They get wars going, they are EVERYWHERE, and unless one knows the origin language, they are rather hard to detect. Did you know that even Shakespeare in German is riddled with bogus translations of easy stuff? (”Du sollst die Akte selber sehn.”)
Imaginiere Grüße in Kursivschrift. Mein Netzteil hat strenge Ausgabemacht!
Ha ha ha. Fílabeinshvít sápa. Ha ha ha Þetta er algjör snilld.
Mér datt í hug í þessu samhengi ‘þýðingin´ á Njálu, þar sem Neil Young var ein söguhetjan. She married Neil Young.
How weird to see John Fogerty featured in your blog post. Just a few days ago, I was wondering what ever happened to him. I remembered that he’d embarked on a solo career back in the ’80s, but didn’t know if he’d then slipped into oblivion. I don’t know what made me pop into my head. Maybe I heard an old CCR song while I was in the grocery store or something.
Anyway, it sounds like he’s a bit of a clean freak. I hope he isn’t going the route of Howard Hughes.
And, yeah, most certainly his request was for Ivory soap.
Correction: I don’t know what made him pop into my head.
Sonja - who married Neil Young? Or was it Njál Young …?
Rozanne - very weird indeed. And lol at your correction!
Alda, to continue what Sonja wrote above, you probably recall the line from Njála where Bergþóra says “Ung var ég gefin Njáli”
Then try to give a direct translation of that in English.
Ah. I get it now. Thanks.
Thank you Sigvaldi. I couldn’t remember the line 100% so I just skipped it. See what happens when you are in a hurry
All I remembered was the english translation back to Icel. Hún var gefin Njáli ung, and it didn’t quite fit.
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