Jante – 8:33
Photography by Sam Ashley
Words by Axel Lindquist
Times change as time changes.
In 1818 Sweden got a Queen from Marseille. In fact, her husband was also French, hence our present-day king being a direct descendant of France. This always makes Filip slightly uneasy going to France, having to show his passport with its many royal crowns makes him anxious about being ridiculed by the airport staff, knowing that Sweden found a French king to be the most fit to rule the country. But this time Filip had other stuff to think about.
We had a big crew this trip: Gustav Tønnesen, Simon Hallberg, Marius Syvanen, Nisse Ingemarsson, Tyler Surrey, Axel Berggren, Tom Snape, Vincent Huhta-Hasselberg, Martin Sandberg, Eric Hedberg and Filip Almqvist. For the first time a crew big enough for Jante to deserve a TM, with Fritte being the only dedicated filmer. Sam Ashley showed up in his best swagger, literally having girls running after him.
Gustav Tønnesen, switch ollie
“Marseille is the best city of France, because it’s the least French of French cities,” the cab driver greeted me with, leaving the airport. The city was blooming, late spring, early summer. A wind strong enough to relocate the Sahara Desert was blowing, and had decorated the neighbourhood where we stayed with line-dried underwear. “Keep an eye out,” we were told. “Things are on the move, and they’re moving fast.” And though the thieves of La Plaine might really have been our biggest concern, our lives were actually at risk dodging flower pots falling off the windows in the alleyways. At night the mosquitos sucked our blood and at day the pollen of the trees kept attacking our eyes. Flies flew into our mouths, and dogs put us in theirs. The whining of pigeons and the moaning of cats. The menacing company of rats.
Filip Almqvist, switch backside tailslide
Hôtel de ville de Marseille, the city’s Town Hall, is one of a few buildings in the area that managed to be saved from destruction in 1943. But the surroundings had to be rebuilt, hence today we skate Place Villeneuve-Bargemon.
While Fritte was getting overworked filming in the sun the crew took shade under the tree, Tyler playing chess, Martin reading his lecture notes and Filip constantly on a phone call. The previous night Axel Berggren had decided to amputate one of his toes with a pan, so now he pushed through the heat with his heel like an elephant. When suddenly the local mayor and his colleagues showed up to the spot, Fritte and Axel were so exhausted they spoke in half sentences. But so do the French of course, hence soon they all skated and filmed together.
Nisse Ingemarsson, gap to noseslide
Skateboarding: an experience both transnational and transgenerational. The locals we skated with, who we at first only knew by their Insta-names, were so hip and cool that Nisse got all nervous, rocking their Holden Caulfield-hats and ironic attitude. But the kids are alright, and the kids have been alright. Two decades earlier we had Tony Trujillo skate Marseille rocking corpse paint, and back then it felt only rad and nothing else. Further, Tony apparently did this as a homage to Mayhem, his favourite band at the time, after reading about the Norwegian black metal scene in Lords of Chaos. This comes to show why Filip should not stress this national identity thing, as it is completely arbitrary anyway, with for example Norwegian influence being both church-burning metal and Gustav’s soft approach to art. Apparently.
Gustav Tønnesen, one-foot frontside boardslide
Up the hills on our way back to the apartment in the evening everyone showed off their original limping, what they are willing to pay to skate. Reynolds was only 32 when he finished filming for Stay Gold. One might think that the older guard would be limping worse. After all, Marius and Tyler have been skating together since before Simon and Axel could even walk in the first place. But in reality there seems to be a process of bodily consolidation happening when skateboarding long enough. As if the body is not broken down, but rebuilt to do skateboarding. Homo Cylindro. This would explain the level of skateboarding taking place looking more natural than walking. When you are watching the clip from this trip then don’t be fooled into thinking you also could ollie up that little staircase.
Nisse Ingemarsson, wallride
Even though blood and sweat was shed by everyone, the tears were left behind. “It is important to have fun,” Vincent said, and took a day off from work to go skate. And if you have not been skating there
are still ways to make yourself limp. You can for example consume whatever is offered over the counter at the back alley Reggae bar. Back at the apartment at night we heard some strange noises from the kitchen, and it turns out that someone puked and slipped in his own vomit. They say not to meet your heroes, but if you are going to act like that then maybe don’t let your heroes meet you.
Simon Hallberg, crooked grind
In the 13th century, before Reggae bars and knowing each other by Insta-names, the space of what is today the local square and skate spot of ‘La Plaine’, or Place Jean-Jaurès as it is actually named, was used as an encampment for the crusaders on their way to the Holy Land. One can play with the thought of how these crusaders would have reacted if someone had told them that 800 years later people would do something called ‘nollie heel nosegrind’, and that it is significant if it’s done on the middle part of the bench or not. Either way the spot has a long-standing tradition of hosting foreign, self-entitled, fanatics. But instead of mapping out land grabbing, today they’re skating handrails and freestyling instead. I’m biased of course, but I beg the latter to be the better option.
Tyler Surrey, frontside hurricane
While filming at La Plaine some kids wanted to get in on the spot, climbing up on the ledge. Though we managed to keep the thieves away, suddenly I was approached by a dad who tried to get into our wallets.
“Share the space – share the money!” he shouts.
“What?”
He approached us rubbing his fingers, reading my usual disconcerted face.
“You make money doing this right? And you tell my daughter not to play here. Share the space or share the money.”
I could shut his argument with good conscience. “Sorry. There is no money being made doing this, if that matters.” – thinking of Erik Hedberg who charmed his better half to treat them to a weekend in Marseille. Just so he could get his clips.
“I just asked her to watch out,” I tried again.
Martin Sandberg, ride-on backside nosegrind
Meanwhile, Filip was getting nervous by all this. He stressed about getting his line, but then again, the dad had a point. This is also marketing content done in a public space. It’s just a dad looking out for the rights of his kid. The question is just if he would rather have us rent and close off the whole plaza. The dad obviously didn’t know that you can’t beat the enterprise.
“Where’s the fucking hype!?” Marius added to the discussion, Filip growing all the more quiet. He really needed to get his line, then rush back to the apartment, pack his bags and go home early. By the time you’ll be reading this, he’ll have his own kid to look after.
Marius Syvanen, frontside 5-0
