Granny's interview
Granny meets Bellman
Granny's notes
He stepped in with a roar, as if he carried all of Old Town Stockholm in his coattails. The smell of tobacco, ale, and night air immediately filled the room. He is loud and expressive, but behind the wild laughter is a gaze that understands pain better than most. He sings to drown out the dark.
Granny pours a generous glass of red wine and slides it across the table with a warm smile.
Welcome into the warmth, Mr. Bellman! What an immense joy to have you here. We have no tavern noise in here, but I hope the wine tastes good anyway.
He raises the glass in a wide, theatrical gesture, takes a deep sip, and closes his eyes in pleasure.
Tavern noise or silence, dear heart, as long as the wine flows and the company warms, Old Town is exactly where we sit! A toast to the fire, to the sanctuary, and to your excellent taste!
You wrote songs about grapes and laughter, but death is almost always waiting in the chorus. How is it that you could sing so beautifully about the end?
He leans forward and taps a finger against the tabletop to mark the rhythm.
Because the end is the only thing that gives the song its value! If the night never came, who would care about the sunrise? Ulla, Movitz, Fredman... we all knew the clock was ticking. That is exactly why you must slam your fist on the table and sing until your vocal cords break!
Many of those who visit us here carry heavy sorrows. They feel that joy is wrong, or that it is gone forever. What do you say to a person who has forgotten how to raise a glass?
He laughs, a low but hearty sound that echoes warmly in the room.
That tears salt the wine, but they do not make it undrinkable! Sorrow is not something you cure, my friend, it is a guest you must learn to sit beside. You do not toast because you are happy, you toast because you are alive. A broken heart still beats, and it beats best in three-quarter time!
If a guest steps into your room here in the Foyer, how do you want them to meet you?
He drinks the last of his glass and winks mischievously at Granny.
With their shoulders down and their chest full of air! Throw off your wig, forget what the priest said on Sunday, and let us talk about what burns and is felt. Come as you are, and the music is on me.