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Bror Gunnar Jansson, Swedish Blues With Southern Fire

If it weren't for his name discreetly written on the cover of his new album, you'd think Bror Gunnar Jansson's Moan Snake Moan might be the lost recordings of a 1920's American delta bluesman. But no, it's 2014, Jansson is Swedish, and he's playing gigs around Europe.

With his raw, dark and diabolical blues, the Swede, suspenders over his bow-tied shirt, hair slicked back, seems to be possessed by the same devil that met up with Robert Johnson one night at a Mississippi crossroads.

But Jansson's music is in no way a sound of the past, quite the opposite.

Never has a one-man band with a guitar case for a bass drum been so relevant in a music industry that creates ready-made and plastic boy bands out of nothing every odd week. A cheap guitar and howling voice, stomping feet, and a healthy dash of talent and stage presence are a fresh relief indeed.

On his just-released second album, Bror Gunnar Jansson, who is described as "the missing link between Lightnin’ Hopkins and Kopparmarra a square known for its busking in Gothenburg, his hometown," covers Junior Parker"s "Mystery Train".

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Society

Parenthood And The Pressure Of Always Having To Be Doing Better

As a father myself, I'm now better able to understand the pressures my own dad faced. It's helped me face my own internal demands to constantly be more productive and do better.

Photo of a father with a son on his shoulders

Father and son in the streets of Madrid, Spain

Ignacio Pereyra*

-Essay-

When I was a child — I must have been around eight or so — whenever we headed with my mom and grandma to my aunt's country house in Don Torcuato, outside of Buenos Aires, there was the joy of summer plans. Spending the day outdoors, playing soccer in the field, being in the swimming pool and eating delicious food.

But when I focus on the moment, something like a painful thorn appears in the background: from the back window of the car I see my dad standing on the sidewalk waving us goodbye. Sometimes he would stay at home. “I have to work” was the line he used.

Maybe one of my older siblings would also stay behind with him, but I'm sure there were no children left around because we were all enthusiastic about going to my aunt’s. For a long time in his life, for my old man, those summer days must have been the closest he came to being alone, in silence (which he liked so much) and in calm, considering that he was the father of seven. But I can only see this and say it out loud today.

Over the years, the scene repeated itself: the destination changed — it could be a birthday or a family reunion. The thorn was no longer invisible but began to be uncomfortable as, being older, my interpretation of the events changed. When words were absent, I started to guess what might be happening — and we know how random guessing can be.

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