“He’s really tall,” I told my buddy when we spotted Erlend Øye at the lobby of the hotel he’s billeted in. I know that’s a dumb way to start a feature on Norwegian neo-folk marvels Kings of Convenience, but that’s the first thing I saw. After all, if you want to remain incognito in the foreign city you’re playing a show in, the last thing you’d want to be is that: really tall. KoC has obviously surpassed “cult” status, but I’ll bet money that several people still can’t pronounce their last names properly. This is the romantic irony of the success of the band who, in some circles, have started getting paradoxically categorized as belonging to the “pop underground.” We watched Øye lazily strut out of the hotel and into the consumerist wilderness that is the Greenbelt-Glorietta-SM perimeter. His creative other half, Eirik Glambek Bøe, remained in a sort of self-enforced quarantine (he got sick en route from Jakarta to Manila). Jens Lekman fans will be treated to a sort of KoC teaser when, later that night, Øye will play backing guitar for the Swedish singer-songwriter on a couple of songs. He’d be so into it he’ll even improv on the kick-drum on faster, dancier Lekman numbers (and even participate in an impromptu Café saGuijo parking-lot set).

The idea of a major foreign act of KoC’s caliber (i.e., may not be boyband-popular, but high on the critical scorecards) has been the farthest from the minds of Pinoy music fans. Incidentally, it has also been the farthest from the mind of KoC’s booking agency. Øye will quip to a wildly appreciative NBC Tent crowd, “Our booking agent in England, he has worked with many countries but he has never worked with the Philippines. I said, ‘I’m quite sure there are people there.’” Bøe would echo the same sentiment, but more proactively. He would whip out a camera and go, “I will take pictures of you to prove [to him] that there are people in the Philippines.” Cheers and jeers. Funny how our habitability has been, to one Englishman at least, under suspicion. On the evening of March 31, 2010, Øye and Bøe will prove that, indeed, there are carbon-based life forms in the P.I.

And Kings of Convenience will sing sixteen songs for them.

Lekman will grace the stage as KoC’s opener (glorious, once more), and the duo from Bergen, Norway will start their set with a non-album track called “Until You Understand”: a good early portent for hardcore fans, if you ask me. Up next are two of the most recognizable from the duo’s catalogue: Riot on an Empty Street’s “Cayman Islands” and “Love is No Big Truth.” By this time, if one’s experience of KoC had been limited to disc form, he or she would have already been confirming the bits that were Erlend’s and Eirik’s. The KoC gig dynamic is like a good marriage. They harmonize like generous adults, not grabby children; often, Eirik’s more stylized, more fragile register will be punctuated by the whispery, willowy hush of Erlend (and vice versa). On guitar, they take turns on steel and classical acoustics: Bøe mostly dabbles in practical fingerpicking, while Øye provides the licks and solos. Bøe will also do some interesting staccato picking on “I Don’t Know What I Can Save You From,” while, on a couple of numbers (most notably on Declaration of Dependence’s “Renegade”), Øye will trip out on the organ.

KoC’s quiet protest against loneliness (phrase from “My Ship isn’t Pretty”) was warm and cozy, but with a few minor lapses, such as Øye’s protests about the audibility of the airconditioning and the chatter of some audience members. “Those people who came here not to watch Kings of Convenience, please take your talking outside. If you’re on the guestlist and you’re a celebrity, shut up,” came the challenge. This short bout of awkwardness would be countered by a loving audience sing-along on the outro of “Peacetime Resistance,” where the duo would split the audience into two halves singing distinct harmony parts. On crowd favorite “I’d Rather Dance with You,” meanwhile, the duo will be joined by Lekman and his bongo player onstage, sporting tambourines and dance-addled dispositions. Øye will also rip it on the dance floor: very, very fun to watch. It was also big (and awesome) of Bøe to not be missing any beats and notes, considering he was under the weather pretty much the whole time he was here. He was particularly heartbreaking on “Mrs. Cold” and “Boat Behind,” both off their latest record.

They will encore with a funny cover called “What if Justin Timberlake” (apparently written by some Norway friends of theirs known as Kakkamaddafakka), and, more aptly, with the first track off their first record, “Homesick.” At one point, the taller one will ask, “So, how is it living in the Philippines?” Some people yelled something about the almost-fatal heat, to which he responded, “How can we keep each other cool?” “Take off your clothes!” some people screamed. “No, take off your clothes.”

Thoughtful pause.

“After this, let’s hang out in the streets, enjoy the warm night, and make friends.”

You just feel, somehow, that they were able to do just that, making them a little less homesick at least. (Aldus Santos)

Kings of Convenience was brought to Manila by Intercept. Acknowledgements go to Kathy Gener and Amadeus Cobangbang for helping settle some factual loose ends. Photography by Amadeus Cobangbang (images 1, 2, 4, and 5) and Gabby Cantero (images 3, 6, and 7). Amadeus Cobangbang runs The Printing Place and his graphic design work can be accessed here. Gabby Cantero’s photo-cycle “These Portraits” may be accessed here.