Takk, takk, takk, takk, takk (a short prelude to the writing of the Grammy speech).

The view outside the car window is slowly changing, from the endless, crowded stretches of the Autobahn, to a landscape full of hills, wooden houses and forests with trees so tall one might think they’ve been standing there forever, growing since the creation of Earth. We’re in the south of Germany, on our way from Munich to Heidelberg, and the quiet landscape makes a perfect setting for writing the thankyou speech for the Norwegian Grammy ceremony.

Yep, that’s right, your eyes didn’t fool you. For some reason, I’m nominated for not only one, but two Norwegian grammies, Spellemannsprisen: Male artist of the year and Newcomer of the year. Even better: In both categories you’ll find some of my favourite Norwegian artists, such as Thomas Dybdahl, Odd Nordstoga and Frida Ånnevik. Susanne Sundfør withdrew from her nomination for Female artist of the year, suggesting the removal of gender classes. After giving it a thought, I support her view, but also see the nomination as an overwhelmingly warm gesture towards all the people around me (whose genders are, when decidable, of a good blend). And just like Susanne feels that having an own woman’s class is somehow missing the point of music, I can’t really help to feel that judging me to be an artist sometimes is also only half of the truth.

Therefore, I’m scribbling on a speech that might never be read out loud, but will contain so many names I’d need a TV show of my own in order to go as deep as I want to. Chronologically, it starts at Radio Sjarken in 1992, and the list passes by Silje Iren (a girl I was so in love with that it made me start playing the trumpet at ten), family members and friends, various language teachers throughout high school, inspiring politicians, social workers, festivals, former and current band members, ex girlfriends, tons of other musicians, tour managers, technicians and the people that have fed us on tour, small and smaller music labels, studio owners, the listeners (in fact every single one of them), websites and blogs, a priest and a poet and nearly every single beating heart I’ve met along the way – they all own a piece of the nomination that is now written in my name.

In a couple of minutes, I’ll start writing that speech. For a little while, though, I’ll have to let my eyes wander through this beautiful, foggy landscape that provokes so many memories I almost get the sense of being born here. Just like Snusmumriken, I can carry the memories with me, and in that way always feel that returning somewhere is the same thing as coming home.