The Carillonist, the Mayor and the Christmas Tree

Oslo is covered in a thin fog. It’s December, yet there seems to be no end to the rain. We hurry through the cobblestone streets in the city centre, even though we are well ahead of time. There’s something about appointments you know demand punctuality, you don’t want to arrive a second too late.

That’s certainly the case with the Oslo City Hall carillon, it's always precise. Every hour on the dot between 7am and midnight, the 40 bells play beautiful pieces of music, of all different kinds. The people of Oslo know the sound well. It’s something we can trust, like the city’s own heartbeat. We may even take the beauty of it for granted; it is pre-programmed for the most part. But once in a while a real carillonist sits all the way up there, playing for all of us.

And today, we have the honour of accompanying her in the bell tower while she performs live Christmas music for the whole city.

On our way up the stairs to the City Hall, we pass a bridal couple having their photos taken. They stand there, like two lanterns in the dark. Normally, the place would be swarming with people on this particular day. They'd all eat gingerbread cookies and drink glögg. But today, there’s only us and the radiant couple. As so many other places, the City Hall is closed to visitors at the moment.

A security guard lets us into the stately building. The walls carry precious art, beautiful lamps hang from the ceiling. This is where the Nobel Peace Prize is handed out. And somewhere in these halls, the Carillonist and the Mayor are walking around.

What a magical place!

We walk through security doors and into elevators, up several flights of stairs and through deep hallways, until we suddenly stand at the bottom of an old-fashioned winding staircase leading up to the bell tower. Two little Christmas mice look at us from a windowsill, and we can hear someone rummaging around above us.

This feels quite special and secret. As if we went through the wardrobe and have entered Narnia.

The Carillonist comes walking down the stairs with light steps, carrying some papers and her keys. She wears a blue eye shadow, a fluffy white sweater and glittering pants. She looks like a true star.

We were notified beforehand that she is very focused when she's preparing to play, but she smiles and nods to us as she passes, before she disappears through a small door.

We look at each other with excitement, something’s about to happen!

Suddenly a bell rings twice, as if we were in a church. This is it!
The Carillonist comes back out through the small door and runs up the narrow stairs with her sheets.

We follow her.

At the top floor of the tower, in a rectangular room, something that looks like a piano stands along the wall. Except the keys are made of wood and sticks out in mid-air. A silver-coloured garland rests on the music rack, underneath the sheets she was carrying earlier. The Carillonist sits down on the organ stool in front of the keys, wearing only small pirouette shoes on her feet.

It is quiet.

She raises her arms, completely focused, before she releases the music. She pushes down the keys and steps on the pedals, making the bells chime right above our heads. We can almost feel how heavy they are.
We are right here backstage with her, but she’s playing as if she was all alone.

We hear the sound of her hands against the massive instrument, and the sound of "Angels We Have Heard on High" spreads out across the whole capital.

After a while we go back down the staircase to give her some space. She nods goodbye, politely, while she’s still playing. The sound of the pressing of the keys resonate down the staircase, as we stop to eavesdrop a little more next to old dumbwaiters that were painted shut a long time ago.

Between the strikes of the carillon, we can hear water running through the City Hall’s old pipes.

We are allowed out on the roof, only a few metres away from the massive bells that are still chiming through the air. Through a small window in the tower, we can see the Carillonist on her stool. She’s sitting there like a tiny Christmas fairly playing for a whole city, and almost no one knows she’s here.

It’s raining, it’s completely grey outside and the wind is chilling, but it’s all so perfectly magical. The city is below us, and the carillon sprinkles it with comforting harmonies.

We can feel the tones fly away and out to the buildings.

Down towards the Royal Palace

And the luminous letters that spell "Grand Hotel".

Towards the Christmas market.

And out across the waves on the fjord. 

This is all so incredible, we almost have to pinch ourselves.

We head back in and down the stairs to the elevator. The official lighting of the Christmas tree is only a few minutes away, and we’d rather not miss the moment when the Major herself flips the switch.

We exit the elevator and walk into the reception hall, noting that we can barely hear the carillon from down here. Only faintly, when the doors occasionally open.

Right in the middle of the hall, guarded by the City Hall’s iconic murals, is the Christmas tree. It is beautifully decorated with garlands, waiting only to be lit.

It’s almost two o’clock, and the Mayor enters the hall. Her shoes clack against the floor, and she greets the nine people who are attending this event. It’s a sparse crowd, a bit saddening, but that’s how things are in this topsy-turvy year.

The show must go on.

The Mayor is getting ready to speak to the people of Oslo through a camera. Attendance is digital this year. No gingerbread cookies. She talks into the lens for a while, before she bends down and pushes the switch. The large, majestic tree is lit, and we all applaud. This is truly beautiful and a much needed moment of joy. 

The Mayor walks across the floor, and to our surprise, she comes over to talk to us. She greets us with a warm smile, curious to know what we're doing here. Apparently, there has been some whispering in the hallways.

We tell her that we’re searching for some Christmas magic.

She lights up.

– That’s wonderful!

Her voice is warm and soothing.

She tells us she’s in the middle of a digital city council meeting, but she took a break to come up and light the tree.

She looks at us and smiles.

– When I got up the stairs I saw no one, and then I thought, yikes, wasn’t it supposed to be at two o’clock?

She laughs.

– Usually there are quite a few people here, we all stand around the tree. Sometimes we’ll sing a traditional Christmas song together, getting into the holiday spirit.

We nod, sombrely.

She tries to cheer us up a little.

– To me, it has been very important to get the Christmas tree in here this year as well, so people can see that some traditions carry on.

– Traditions are important in and of themselves, they give us hope for the future. And they tell us something about the value of community, of facing challenges together.

The Christmas tree glitters.

– And there’s something special about lights, of course. Lights affect us, in a positive way. They give us faith and hope that things will become different. And better.

She tells us that since September, they have been working to preserve another important holiday tradition: That the people of Oslo sends the Londoners a Christmas tree. It started back in 1947 as a thank you for to the British for their help during World War 2. The tree is lit on Trafalgar Square on the first Thursday of December every year, and stand there until 6 January.

– It’s OK that Lord Mayor of Westminster couldn’t make it over here to cut the tree down this year, and that I couldn’t go to London to deliver it. But not sending a tree was never an option. It’s so important! So last Thursday, a tree from Oslo was lit in London in a digital ceremony, and I’m very grateful.

– It’s about being able to create a sense of unity, togetherness and solidarity. I think people need that right now.

She chuckles to herself.

– Afterwards I’ve received many letters from British citizens who have thanked me for the gift. That’s really wonderful, I think.

That’s the thing about lighting ceremonies. The joy spreads.

We talk a bit more about traditions, and the beautiful tree that stands right in front of us. A tradition that has lasted for hundreds of years.

– When they literally ran the tree in here the other day, I noticed the scent. You can smell the spruce, right?

She takes a deep whiff.

– When I come in here, in this large hall, and smell the tree, I think, “Oh that’s wonderful”.

She excuses herself and tells us she needs to return to her meeting. She wishes us a happy holiday. The sound of her voice lingers in the hall, and her shoes are clacking again, away from us this time, down the stairs under beautiful chandeliers.

We remain next to the tree, watching her disappear out of sight. What a surreal experience. Had we only known that we would be talking to the Mayor herself today, we may not have put on the Christmas sweater with Bugs Bunny in a Santa hat.

The Carillonist comes out of the elevator and sits down next to us. Her pants glitter on a par with the Christmas tree.

We thank her for the live concert earlier, which was truly special.

She nods politely and a bit reserved.

She doesn’t look tired or sad, but dressed for Christmas with a lightness in her steps.

– I flourish during a crisis, I’m one of those people.

She straightens her back and looks into the room.

– I just go like: OK! This is going to be alright everyone! Let’s play something nice!

She laughs.

We smile at her.

She looks over at the Christmas tree.

– But I understand that a lot of people are having a really difficult time, so I play to give them some comfort.

She tells us that she has been experimenting with the music she plays, and the messages she conveys, since she started playing at in the City Hall back in 2013. She likes that the carillon’s repertoire reflects all aspects of life.

– But I feel that this is not the time to be experimental. Right now I play things that are nice, I’ve mostly played stuff related to joy and comfort this year.

She smiles.

– I play a lot of children’s songs and stuff that people have grown up with, which they recognise.

When asked what she likes the most about her job, she is very clear.

It’s the sound.

– I can play along with the architecture and the weather in a very literal way. This is a kind of sound that goes straight into people’s lives. And I like to offer random passer-bys truly great music. That they just get a concert, with no effort on their part.

She plays with the whole city as her audience.

– A lot of musicians like that the audience sits there, quietly. But I like how my music just sort of goes straight into the listeners' own space. Straight into whatever they are doing at that moment.

She tells us that even though she sits high up there in the tower and plays, she experiences a connection to her audiences that is very important to her.

– People are sending me songs they'd like me to play, and I can answer them directly, and be down to earth and ordinary, not too formal.

We look at her with big eyes.
So people send you songs they’d like to play?

– Yes! It's great! I’m so impressed with people’s taste in music. They are sending me really cool requests.

She laughs and smiles endearingly.

– No one asks me to turn the volume down.

It’s probably because the whole town roots for her.

Especially now.

We ask her if we can take a full body picture, since her pink sandals completes her outfit so perfectly. She looks like a true spreader of joy.

She poses modestly in front of the Christmas tree.

We say our goodbyes and wish each other a merry Christmas. The Carillonist walks softly across the City Hall floor and disappear around a corner, reminding us that lights do come in many forms.

Back out on the City Hall square, the rain is still falling. But now we know that somewhere up in the tower, the Carillonist is preparing to send more comforting sounds over the city. And somewhere inside the halls, the Mayor is walking around guarding the city’s Christmas trees and traditions.

We think it’s fair to call that Christmas magic.

You can say a lot about this past year, but we still have bright moments to share.

And Oslo’s City Hall carillon never stopped playing.