Rats, Bands and Blow Jobs: This is the Story Behind Pumpehuset

Pumpehuset, 1856-58

When it comes to venues, Pumpehuset boasts a pretty enviable spot in Copenhagen. Situated in between the nesting grounds for the culturally radical around Studiestræde and the tacky cinema Palads, the house thrives on contrasts—which makes sense considering its history. Pumpehuset got its name a whopping 30 years ago, when the old pump station was revamped as a music venue. Today, it still holds the container of Copenhagen’s first water drainage site—but it also holds a reputation for curating both the crowd-pleasers and the oddjobs of the music world. Since it reopened in 2011, Pumpehuset has seen a change of pace, powering through over 250 shows a year from every corner of the music world. We had a chat with venue chief Kristoffer and main booker, Jeff, about the idea behind Pumpehuset.

NOISEY: Hey, guys. What's the deal with Pumpehuset?
Kristoffer: Before we came along, Pumpehuset was a venue for 25 years. That's when the old pumping station was redesigned to be a music spot after the old punk venue Saltlageretwas demolished. However, when I got it back in 2011, it was literally a rat cage. Crazy things lived in here back then. Pearl Jam, Rage Against the Machine and even Björk used to play here but the last ten years were pure shit. I started doing events and concerts in 2002 and not once did we consider doing anything here—that's how bad it was.

Why did you get involved, then?
Kristoffer: I wanted to have a place where all the small, gritty subcultures would feel at home; black metal, grindcore, streetwise hip hop—doesn’t matter. It should be a place with cheap drinks. It shouldn’t be too shiny, either—you should be allowed to puke in the corner without getting thrown out, that kind of thing. Anyone with a great idea should be able to call and we should facilitate that idea. If some act is cool but only 300 people dig it, we’re down.

The founders of Pumpehuset, 1856-58

How do you get such a broad span of bands to play here?
Kristoffer: That's the trick. We're experienced organizers who know what’s needed for a good show. We know that the best things don’t come from people who know everything about KODA, taxes and VAT. We let other types of people have their say in what they think is the 411 right now. It's about creating a toolbox to help people who know what’s happening on the streets. So, it's a combination between someone making the call and someone listening to what the 19 year-old, bong-smoking hip-hop dudes have to say. They know their stuff and the artists but we take care of the press and exposure—and of course, the professional production.

So you see yourselves as the facilitators?
Kristoffer: Yes, but our prime function is to take people’s ideas seriously and help them out. It's easy to tell if people have what it takes to do these shows: if they have their network set and the spirit to build something from scratch. Of course, mistakes are allowed, but for me it's important not to brush someone off—even if some organizer is not as professional as hoped. They’ll do some shows and learn their stuff.

The Psyke Project at Pumpehuset. Photo by Peter Troest

So people become well-respected organizers after being in here?
Jeff: Sometimes we seek out the small ideas and help them out. That idea grows in the process of realizing it. For example, The Psyke Project wanted to do their final show ever in here. They only asked for a small fee and low entrance. We had a ton of meetings where the ambitions started out severely low but were steadily built upon. We ended up selling out the venue with people queuing all the way down the street.

Kristoffer: We rarely, if ever, book the Danish acts ourselves. More often, it's bands themselves who contact us asking for a low fee and an easy show. That doesn’t work. If you want to do anything here, you are the organizers yourselves.
It's the artists who create the events themselves—they are the faces outwards. It would be so damn untrustworthy if we were the faces for the subcultural stuff. We're just a big bar with a stage and a good sound system—run by people who also happen to know a bit about music. For us, the goal is to support cultures so they can throw their own shows. It's about discovering the organizers who have the talent to do more.

Pumpehuset, October 1995. Photo by Lars Blackmore

How does that differ from before you took over the place?
Kristoffer: You take over a heritage with a place like this. The last ten years were all Johnny Madsen and Sweet Hearts Christmas Special; here were 50-60 shows a year compared to the 250 we had our first year. I'd dare to say that no one under 30 had been to a concert at the old Pumpehuset.
The change is visible because Copenhagen as a cultural city has changed. There's an abundance of festivals every summer. There's Kødbyen with DJs and live shows every weekend. When I started out, there was none of that. It was Vegas Natklub and Rust—that's it. If you wanted to do an underground show, it was bound to be in abandoned factory buildings. The fact that subcultures are now welcome in the big venues is a new thing. Before, you could call a record company to ask how many records a band sold and then calculate the amount of tickets you would sell for a show. It doesn't work like that anymore. You have to brand your stuff in a completely different way. That's where we are different ‘cause we don't book a lot of shows ourselves.

What is your role as the house booker then, Jeff?
Jeff: It's my job to make our vast program accessible for concertgoers. I like to categorize the things in our pallet of concerts and cater them towards certain segments of people. The program is so immensely huge and fragmented, it’s impossible to send out one big calendar for everyone.

Kristoffer: We create nights, not shows. We figure out what people like to drink to certain music, how the whole setup should be… We make sure it's an experience.

Jeff: After encore, people want to stay at Pumephuset rather than run off to the nearest bar.

Kendrick Lamar at Pumpehuset, 2012. Photo by Frederik Münchow

So what makes a good show?
Kristoffer: When people drink a lot.
Just kidding! If people had a fun night, then we did our job.

Any crazy stories from your time here?
Jeff: We've had a ton of people screwing here. Out in the yard with their trousers down in the midst of a blowjob—that kind of thing. I kind of just have to politely tell them to go ‘cause I have to sweep and shut the gates. Also, the backstage rider can be out of this world. Black metal band Gorgoroth needed their room to be a chilling 17 degrees. It's funny when you receive the piece of paper with demands, but it's worse when a band is here and they ask if you forgot their 5 litres of theater blood.

Kristoffer: Who were those guys throwing maggots and organs again?

Jeff: Denial of God! They didn't tell us about it, you know, with maintenance and cleaning and all that. They had this cooler with maggots and intestines from a pig that they threw in the audience’s faces. Good stuff.

Thanks a lot, guys.

Pumpehuset's Byhaven, 2015. Photo by Peter Troest