Klein-Brand Mischief: How I Got a Free Trip to Finland
In 2011, I was on the agent team for the Canadian Indie pop band Hollerado.
They were having a moment.
Not massive. Not industry-breaking. But enough buzz, enough radio, enough chaotic charm that people were starting to pay attention.
At one point, we decided it would be a good idea for them to play every night for nearly a month.
Different rooms, Same band.
Which felt less like a strategy and more like a dare.
It worked.
They landed a slot at the Indie Awards during Canadian Music Week, held at the Fairmont Royal York, which is the very definition of “big fancy hotel”.
I was backstage. Not working. Not needed. Just… there.
Orbiting.
That’s when singer/guitarist Menno Versteeg pulled me aside.
“Hey man, we need your help during the set. During “ Juliette“ stomp this trigger and fire the confetti cannon.”
He pointed to a paper cannon mounted on a monitor.
I nodded.
Of course.
Half an hour later, I’m in position, waiting for my cue while full-on awards show chaos hums around me.
The opening riff hits.
A roadie rushes over, trying to jam the confetti stack into place.
And then—
a stagehand grabs my arm.
“You are NOT firing that off in here.”
Firm. Final.
I shrug.
My cue is coming.
The roadie looks at me. The stagehand looks at me.
I reset the cannon. Listen.
The cue hits.
I go to stomp—
The roadie grabs my shoulder.
“Do. Not.”
I shrug again,
Stepping around him.
STOMP.
An explosion of coloured paper blasts into the front row.
The crowd erupts.
Immediate joy. Immediate chaos. Immediate regret.
I look up.
The stagehand is already coming for me.
So, I run.
Backstage turns into a maze. Bodies, cables, curtains. I’m weaving, dodging, trying not to get tackled by someone whose entire job is preventing exactly what I just did.
I round a corner—
—and run straight into a guy who has clearly just watched all of it.
Full collision.
I apologize, grab him, pull him aside in that “sorry but also, who are you?” way.
We start talking.
His name is Tuomo Tähtinen.
Head of Music Finland.
Which, at the time, meant nothing to me.
He was on his way to see Seattle grunge metal legends the Melvins, who I’ve loved for years, too.
I have nothing better to do.
So I went with him.
The Melvins are his favourite band.
Ever.
And it’s his first time seeing them.
He is lit TF up.
We watched the set together. Hung out after. Talked music, talked industry, talked about life.
At some point, casually, like it’s nothing, he says:
“I run a conference in Finland. It’s Like Canadian Music Week. You should come. I can make you a delegate.”
I say yes.
Of course I will.
Tuomo kept his word.
Six months later, I’m in Tampere, Finland.
Tuomo and I are sitting down to a full Finnish spread.
Blood sausage. Pickled Herring & eggs. Dark rye bread. Vodka . Local specialties. The works.
I’m jet-lagged, slightly disoriented, and very aware that this entire chain of events started with me being told not to press a button.
I spent the next few days wandering the city, playing tourist, existing in a version of my life that shouldn’t have happened.
I’ve learned that in life, there’s a certain kind of momentum you can tap into if you’re willing to risk saying yes at the right moments. If you’ve read my first book, The Shape of After, you’ll recognize that this risk is one I’ve taken many times before.
Not blindly.
Not recklessly.
Just… one step further than you’re “supposed to.” It’s kind of a core philosophy of my life, if I step back and look at it.
Sometimes that means hitting the button and then getting chased backstage at the Fairmont Royal York.
Sometimes it means eating blood sausage in Tampere with a man you met thirty seconds after detonating a confetti cannon.
And sometimes,
if you time it just right…
it means the world might open a door you didn’t even know was there.
All because you chose to stomp.