We hosted the radio show “Midnight Magic” together for 3,5 years back in the late eighties. We made radio history with “Role-Playing” on the air and managed to become the second most popular local radio show in Norway (after Coca-Cola Top 30). It was a blast. Check out a website with many recorded episodes: Midnight Magic

In the beginning we spent a whole Sunday creating the program. There had to be a background story, like “You are a valiant knight called upon by the King to rescue the fair Princess from the fire-breathing dragon. The monster will toast her and have her for evening snack in 10 minutes. After picking two items out of a choice of 5 (a sword, a shield, a horse, a pouch of gold pieces and a rope with a grappling hook), you head for the hill with the dragon cave.”

Four different people would get a chance to pit their wit against different sets of obstacles on the way to the dragon – “Tidemann” the troll under the bridge, elves in the forest, thieving leprechauns, an old witch, a hostage situation where two soldiers have kidnapped another beautiful woman, etc. Each player would be on the air trying to talk/fight/outwit their obstacles and rescue the princess in the dragon cave before she was turned into an over-sized French fry.

Stein or I would take turns as the narrator or “Games Master”, while the other would play the various encpunters. Stein was excellent as “Tidemann”, I was great as the goblin “Ole”.

With Steins total chill and ItWillBeOK-attitude, it went from much planning and hoopla-hoo to much better improvisation and better experience for the thousands of listeners. Stein infused and inspired in me a confidence in improvisation, in always being able to land on my feet in a public situation. Midnight Magic is the only show in Norwegian radio history that had a black trading market of recorded cassettes – with the usual street price of USD 70 per tape. Every show was a crazy storm of listeners – from ages 13 to 55 – that wanted to get on the air and play a crazy adventure. The adventures ranged from Fantasy and Sci-fi to 1500’s pirate settings, James Bond and cartoon’ish adventures. Anything that we could come up with.

Toward the end, we spent less than 10 minutes putting the background story together – usually while the audience listened to a couple of Eurobeat songs. We had perhaps Norway’s most technically advanced show at the time – with two turn-tables, CD players, three reel-to-reels, one cart-machine, an Amiga effects machine and often the “double-trouble” where two players tagged in the adventure. All this mixed at a fast pace. There were only two or three technicians that managed to handle the running of the show. While Stein was as relaxed as always and inspiring me to be the same in the cozy studio.

We went on inter-rail together in the summers of ’89 and ’90. Great fun all through Europe. We traveled neatly dressed and with suitcases. Without looking like backpackers, we received much better service wherever we went – Istanbul, Paris, Zürich, Milan, Venice, Budapest, Ibiza, Madrid… I miss the times 🙂

Maybe, just maybe, in the future there may be a reunion and a come-back for Midnight Magic.

His brother aimed for the spot a few inches from his foot. He was good at throwing the knife in this game of narrowing the opponent’s territory by chipping it away after securing the blade to the ground. But not today. His aim was off by those few inches. I saw it cut straight through Dag’s shoe, through his foot, up between the bones of the bog toe and the next. Through the sole of the shoe and into the ground. A solid Bowie knife stood vibrating through Dag’s foot. He looked annoyingly at his brother, reached down, pulled the knife straight out, handed it to his older brother and said “Stay right there“. He limped down the hill, into the house, up on the second floor, got treated with lots of band aid, and then he was back out again. To resume the game.

Another day, Dag was playing in the stairs where he lived. He was never really careful and managed to trip over the railing and fall two floors down only to hit the concrete with his head and shoulder first. He got up after a short while, staggering up the stairs. When his mother opened the door, he said in a daze “Mommy, I’m tired, I wanna go to bed“.

We were sitting in a slope making small boats out of pine bark. Dag suddenly said “Geir, could you hand me that big leaf over there and those branches“. I reached for the items he requested while I looked at him. His knee! Holy crap! His knee was hemorrhaging. He had cut the knife deep into the flesh just above his right knee. And now he was asking me for some stuff to limit the bleeding and cover the wound. I fumbled some leafs and twigs over to him and he got going with some first aid. After a minute or two he said “Could you help me up the slope, it’s a bit difficult to move now.”

The warriors from the red apartment buildings came toward us. They must have been two, maybe three years older than us, in native American war paint, carrying bows and arrows. We knew we wouldn’t stand a chance. Quick on our feet, we ran as fast as we could to the stairs beside our white apartment building. Dag was a few yards in front of me. Even so, the arrow hit him. It went an inch or so into the side of his right knee. Dag kept running. Faster than me, while he reached down with his right hand and pulled the arrow out. I was still a few yards behind him, puffing, while he shouted “Come on!”

It was winter. We were in our usual adventurous mood and decided to walk down the forest slope and explore the industrial area down there. On the other side of the mechanical repair shops and whatnot, there was a heavily polluted river trying to run its course. There was sheets of ice on the river, thick enough to hold a young boy or two. Dag got the bright idea to get onto a floating sheet of ice and try to surf slowly down the molasses. He jumped the long yard and… the sheet flipped and Dag went straight down into the liquid. And he was gone. And gone. And I felt the pangs of panic. Took off my right glove and swirled my arm around down there to see if I could grab him somehow. I got hold of some hair and pulled as hard as I could with both hands. I managed to get Dag out of the chemical stream even though his boots were still stuck down there. He gasped for air and said “Thank you“. And we walked home.

It was my idea. I had seen in one of those cowboy and Indians cartoons – this white man becoming a blood brother with his redskin friend. Time for Geir and Dag to take the big leap. Dag first. No sweat. He simply took the big knife and sliced his right index finger and it started bleeding in a steady small stream. My turn. Shit! What had I gotten myself into. Sissy as I was, I kept at it for several minutes trying to puncture the skin on my right index finger. The skin was too thick, the knife too dull, or the action just too damn painful. Dag looked kinda irritated at me and said “Need some help?” “NO-NO, I got this!“, I lied right back.

“What’s that“, I asked, looking at two big packs of sandwiches. “Lunch and dinner“, he replied, “Time to get that elevator fear of yours handled once and for all“. Dag commanded me into the elevator of the first of three tall buildings not far from where we lived. I was terrified, sweaty like a pig and protesty. Dag would have none of it. He took us to the thirteenth floor. Down to the basement, stopped between floors, down to the basement again, handed me a sandwich and drowe that elevator like there was no tomorrow. After a few hours we got kicked out of that building. No problem, We had two other identical buildings were Dag could push my elevator button until it was no more. For thirteen hours. It took freakin’ thirteen hours to cure my stupid fear of a lift. But I got cured. Thanks to the amazing Dag Øynes.

It all happened around the time when I was 10. He was 8.