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KOLLEKTIVET ANNOUNCE WORLD TOUR
They’ve taken Europe by storm, and now they’re conquering the rest of the world! Hit Norwegian boy band Kollektivet have announced the first leg of a three part world tour, releasing 42 concert dates spread across North America and teasing more to come in Europe and Asia. This tour is a first for the boy band, an ambitious start to what we know will be an illustrious career. Kicking off in Miami, Florida at Marlins Park and finishing the US portion in the world famous Madison Square Garden, we’re so excited to see Kollektivet take over the US.
Their debut album Oslo Shotgun is available to stream on Spotify, Apple Music and Tidal. Find Kollektivet’s tour dates below.
-
From the first day that Isak met Jonas, he knew that the boy would wind up famous.
It was clear from the determination in his eyes when he spoke of being a singer—the way he never cared about teachers calling his dreams unrealistic and impractical. He took skepticism on as a challenge, and worked even harder to prove doubters wrong.
Jonas has a star quality about him. The kind of natural born charisma that draws every eye to him the moment he enters a room. Whereas Isak was content to linger in the background and go about his business, Jonas strived for the spotlight.
When they met Magnus in middle school, Isak recognized the potential there immediately. It was the start of something great, but not yet complete. It wasn’t until high school—when Mahdi joined their friend group and later, the band—that Isak truly realized his friends’ potential.
Jonas, Magnus, and Mahdi were undeniably talented. They clicked in ways that’s some bands could only dream of, and they each brought something unique to their little band. Which wasn’t so little anymore.
Isak has no idea how Jonas got lucky enough to find two other losers with the same dream as him, but now here the three of them are, nearly famous and getting ready to take on the world.
Following a successful mini-tour around Europe (and at the high demand of fans) they were going on a world tour. It was everything they had been working toward since their first year at Nissen, and it was finally happening.
But for the life of him, Isak could not comprehend why they wanted him to come along.
“We’re going to have a tour bus, man!”
“Okay?” Isak sighs. He’s had the same conversation too many times now. “I’m still not going with you guys.”
“But it won’t be the boys without you Is!” Magnus pleads, flopping down next to him on the couch. Isak shuts his textbook dramatically and looks up, glaring over his glasses.
“I am not a part of your band. I have no musical talent whatsoever. The tour will be completely fine without me.” It’s a sentence he’s repeated countless times since they initially offered, but for some reason, none of his friends seem to understand.
“But the fans love you!” Magnus sing-songs again, making Isak roll his eyes.
“The fans love you , because they’re your fans.” There’s a rustling in the kitchen, and the sound of pans clanging together, which means the last member of their apartment is now awake. “Mahdi, talk some sense into them please.”
“If you actually got on twitter, you would see that Magnus is right,” Mahdi replies diplomatically. Isak contemplates slamming his textbook into his head. Maybe a concussion would be enough to convince them he would not be going on tour.
“I have shit to do here. I have a life outside of you boys, you know,” Isak says, not bothering to mask his annoyance.
“Yeah,” Jonas snorts into his beer. “Sure you do.”
“I do!” Isak defends.“I have my courses. And—and Linn just bought that new plant! I need to make sure she doesn’t kill it.”
His protests sound a bit desperate even to him, but something in them must work, because after that the boys drop the subject—resigned to grumbles about the ridiculously expensive airline fares and Isak being the worst.
And yes, he would love to come along and support his best friends doing what they love and pursuing their dreams. He just has a life here now, he’s been putting down roots here with them and someone has to stay behind and hold down the fort while they’re gone.
“Have you ever been on a tour bus?” Jonas asks, redirecting the conversation.
“No,” Isak says slowly.
Jonas sends him a grin. “You’re going to love it, man.”
“I won’t,” Isak gives his friend a stern look. “Because—for the final fucking time—I’m not coming.”
“Sure,” Jonas shrugs. The word is simple, but the tone of his voice lets Isak know that this is an argument he’s not likely to win. It doesn’t stop him from trying though.
-
@jonas9000: Miami!!! we’re here!! so excited to be back on tour with ALL of the boys @reggismeggis @mahahahadi @isakwhodoesnthavetwitter
@jonaslover26 replied to @jonas9000: OMG ISAK IS COMING I CAN’T BREATHE ADSJJSKSKSKJ
@lovevasquez replied to @jonas9000: SEE YOU AT MSG LOML
@happymags replied to @jonas9000: when is isak going to get twitter??
@jonas9000: @happymags we’re working on it
-
Isak fucking hates the tour bus.
Maybe hate is too strong of a word—because sleeping in the basement of the kollektiv was significantly worse—but he can’t pretend to be happy.
He wakes up every morning and whacks his head on the ceiling. The bunk is so small that he can’t sprawl out on his stomach the way he likes (he has to curl his feet up a little to fit properly) which has only amplified his normal issues with insomnia.
Not to mention the lack of privacy that comes with being on tour. There’s always someone bursting into the bathroom while he’s trying to take a shower, or demanding to see his badge when they literally just saw him walk off the bus. They’re only two days in, and he’s already been called a groupie by one of the techie dudes at a gas station.
And he knows he’s being ridiculous. He’s traveling Europe with his best friends, free of cost, and gets to experience VIP concerts every single night. There’s certainly bigger problems to have.
It’s just that this lifestyle has never been for Isak. He would have been content to stay in Oslo for the rest of his life—maybe traveling to Bergen one day if he had the wanderlust itch. He doesn’t care about screaming girls (or screaming boys, or screaming anyone for that matter) and fame, or any of the other things that people call him crazy for wishing away.
And Magnus wasn’t kidding when he said he had fans.
He searches himself up on Google one night when the driver seems determined to hit every pothole on the road, and he finds a whole world he really wishes could have been left undiscovered. There’s fanart, and fanfiction, and entire accounts dedicated to him, which would be sweet if he had actually done anything to deserve it.
Isak has no idea why people would even give a shit about a 20 year old astrology major from Oslo who has done nothing remarkable and will do nothing remarkable with his life. Vilde, the public relations manager, has been just as on to him as the boys are about making a Twitter account. Apparently it would really help with tour promotion.
He likes Vilde, admires her for being able to manage three incompetent boys when their first instinct is to post every single thing they ever do to social media, but if she mentions “the benefits of social media” just one more time, he might go insane.
Which is why the moment the bus pulls into the sketchy rest stop, he doesn’t waste any time in getting the hell off. While the boys have to wait for their security guards to escort them, Isak walks himself into the gas station.
His stomach rumbles as he walks in, and he suddenly realizes that he hasn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. He cautiously approaches a display case with a few sketchy looking pizzas, eyeing them warily.
“Can I help you, kid?” The man at the counter asks, scratching his thick beard.
“Um,” Isak nods slowly, gesturing toward the case. “Can I get a slice of pizza?”
The man snorts but doesn’t comment, slapping a greasy slice onto a paper plate. “Did you get off of that fancy tour bus out there?”
“I did,” Isak confirms, cheeks heating up. “I’m not famous though. I’m more—part of the crew.”
He’s met with a humph, and Isak suddenly feels very small. “Can I pay for that now?”
“It’s on me,” the man eyes him up. “It’s not everyday that I get to serve a celebrity.”
“I’m not—” Isak sighs deeply, biting the inside of his cheek. After a moment, he simply nods, picking up his pizza. “Thanks, I guess.”
He doesn’t linger in the store any longer, heading back outside. The bus has been moved around to the back now, so he starts to walk toward them, all the while cursing its very existence.
“Isak!”
Isak is in the middle of cramming a giant bite of pizza into his mouth when he hears the shrill shriek. He turns toward the source like a deer in headlights, only to find a girl (and he means girl; she can’t be older than twelve) with tear stained cheeks and starry eyes.
He swallows harshly, haphazardly wiping the residual grease from his mouth. “Um,” he says, because what the fuck. “Hi?”
“It’s really you!” The girl apparently only knows one volume level: loud. “I told my friend I saw you, but she said I was crazy! Oh my gosh—can I get a picture? Please? I love you!”
Isak blinks dubiously. “You want a picture? With me?”
The girl nods eagerly.
“I’m not part of the band, you know,” he adds slowly. “I’m really no one important.”
“You’re best friends with the boys,” the girls says, grinning triumphantly. She looks as if she passed some important test that Isak wasn’t even aware he was giving. “So… picture?”
“I guess,” Isak murmurs. He doesn’t understand it, but he figures it’s an over excited fangirl taking what she can get.
So he poses for the selfie and beelines back toward the bus.
He turns around the corner as quickly as possible, but he doesn’t anticipate nearly trampling over three additional girls. They’re around the same age the other had been, and they have that same awful expression written onto their faces. This time, there is a parent with them though, and Isak thanks his lucky stars that there is at least one person here who will have some common sense. Maybe she’ll even understand that he’s not a famous person and usher the three girls away.
Today is not his day.
The mum beckons to someone that he can’t see and then even more people come running. Which, Alright. Fuck you too, lady.
Isak stumbles back from the forming crowd uselessly, holding both his free hand and slice of pizza up in the air. He’s trying to surrender to a group of pre-teens, which is entirely pathetic and he knows it.
But they’re frightening, is the thing. They’re staring at him like he’s a piece of meat, and he swears he sees himself posing with Jonas on one of their phone cases.
“I am not in the band!” He calls to them desperately. “I think Mahdi went to the bathroom, though! You should wait for him.” Mahdi will at least have a security guard or two with him. Isak is entirely alone.
“We love you Isak!” A group of them chime together, and simultaneous screams follow.
“Okay,” Isak replies uneasily. “I’m gonna go eat my lunch now.”
One of the mums walks tentatively up to him, a bit more reserved than the rest of the crowd. “Our daughters would just like a photo, if that’s okay. They’re going to the concert tonight, and it would make the day even better.”
“Maybe you could all just… line up?” It’s the world’s most awkward suggestion, but almost instantly the girls have assembled in a neat single file line in front of him.
The next ten minutes are the most uncomfortable of his life. Girl after girl approaches him, giggling about something or another. One plays with his hair like he’s a Ken doll, and another actually kisses his cheek without asking him. To top it all off, his knees are killing from having to bend down enough to even fit in the selfies in the first place.
“I need to go,” he announces when the final girl gets her picture. She was actually the nicest of them all; timid, polite, and generally respectful. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder toward the bus, clearing his throat. “Have fun tonight at the show.”
He doesn’t give them long to react before he is darting rapidly back towards the safety of the bus, a place free of twelve year old girls. He doesn’t think he’ll ever love the fucking bus this much again.
-
“How the fuck do you three deal with fans? How can you stand just standing there and being poked and prodded at like a fucking zoo animal!”
“Bro,” Jonas raises his brows. “They’re just excited sometimes.”
“Excited,” Isak nearly scoffs.
“Most of them aren’t like that,” Magnus contributes unhelpfully. “They’re usually pretty shy.”
“Wait, you saw it and did nothing to help me?” Isak narrows his eyes at his supposed friend. “What the fuck?”
“It was cute!” Magnus says back, a shit-eating grin on his face. “They love you, I’ve told you that all along. You should be flattered—they’re not that excited about any of our other friends.”
“You don’t have any other friends,” Isak deadpans.
“Anyway, Isak. Now that you’re in such a good mood, the opening act has arrived and we want you to meet him.”
“Great,” Isak says dryly. He openly pouts as he eyes his cold, soggy pizza, which is becoming more unappealing the more he looks at it, overly aware of the fact that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast.
“He’s coming on now,” Jonas knocks their knees together. “Play nice. I think you’ll like him.”
-
It turns out, liking him was the understatement of the century. Because the opening act is none other than Even fucking Bech Næsheim. Isak doesn’t like him—he loves him. He’s had his music on Spotify for two years, since before he was signed with a proper label. It’s the sort of music that makes you think, deep but not overly so, and totally different to the 90s hip-hop that Isak says he likes whenever someone asks him what his favourite type of music is.
And Isak will never admit this, not to anyone, but it’s the only music that’s been able to help him get to sleep at night.
So Isak is standing in front of Even, gaping like one of the twelve-year-olds he was just ranting about. He’s a hypocrite, but he can’t do anything about it, because Even Bech Næsheim is right in front of him.
He’s blank on anything to say, but luckily that doesn’t prove to be an issue. He might be starstruck, but Even doesn’t so much as glance his way.
“You’re Jonas, right?” Even grins. “I recognize the hair.”
Jonas laughs, pulling Even in for a quick hug. “Yeah, man. The obnoxious blonde one was is Magnus, and the one rummaging through the mini fridge for a drink is Mahdi.”
“I’m trying to be a good host,” Mahdi defends, offering Even a beer. “Want one?”
Even shakes his head. “I try not to drink when I’m doing shows.”
Isak can’t quite tell if the comment is meant to be passive aggressive, so although he raises his brows, he doesn’t call Even out on it. Besides, he doesn’t want to come off as a douche within the first few seconds of meeting his idol.
“Oh!” Jonas’ eyes widen when he realizes Isak is still in the room. He steps toward his friend, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “This is Isak, by the way.”
“Isak,” Even repeats. Isak tries to keep a neutral face, like his heart isn’t threatening to beat out of his chest. “Do you handle sound or something?”
“I—” Isak blinks, mildly affronted. “No? I mean… no. I don’t.”
Jonas grins at Even like there’s nothing wrong with this interaction. “Isak is our best friend. He’s tagging along on the tour.”
“Yeah, for moral support and shit!” Magnus chimes in. Isak wants to slap him.
Even shoots the rest of the boys a look, half confused and half something else, his eyebrows furrowing. “Moral support. Right…?”
None of the boys have seemingly picked up on the frankly rude tone of voice and the implication that Even just made that Isak doesn’t deserve to be here. And he knows as well that he isn’t part of the band, so Even is right in saying there’s no reason for him to be here, but still. It stings a little coming from some stranger who’s just walked in.
Even though he’s not on social media, it’s never been easy to ignore the comments and articles calling him a leech. Leech. Like he wasn’t the one who told the boys they could make a name for themselves in the first place. He’s taken his fair share of criticism for a spotlight he never wanted, and frankly, doesn’t deserve.
Hearing those same ideas being implied by someone he looked up to, though? That feels like a sucker punch to the gut.
“I’ve known Jonas since we were seven,” Isak adds. He hates that he feels the need to prove himself now. “We’ve been best friends for ages, and we met Mags and Mahdi in high school.”
“Okay?” Even says with a quirk of his head.
An awkward silence settles over the room, where no one really knows what to say.
“Anyway,” Even says, standing up and moving over to the door of the bus. “Do you guys wanna see where we’ll be performing tonight?”
“Fuck yeah!” Magnus grins wildly. Jonas and Mahdi—both with beers in hand—share equally enthusiastic expressions.
The three of them trail after Even, chatting happily about how excited they are for this tour and everything that’s about to come. They don’t notice that Isak isn’t following them.
-
@kollektivetofficial: excited to announce @ebnaesheim as our opening act for tour USA!
@ebnaesheim: so grateful to have the opportunity to go on tour with kollektivet!
@faennaesheim: holy fuck is this real???? even bech næsheim, kollektivet and isak fucking valtersen????? this tour has killed me before its even started
-
“Jonas, this was a fucking mistake.”
“Isak, I’m in the shower.”
Since the arrival of Even on the tour bus, there has not been a moment where Even has not been in his purview, meaning that he hasn’t been alone with one of his best friends for just one moment in order to tell them about what’s on his mind. He learned not to bottle everything up a long time ago, and never wants to repeat that particular time of his life. Interrupting Jonas mid-shower in their temporary hotel room is his last resort to catch his best friend for a moment alone.
“You don’t even want to know why I’m upset?”
Jonas sighs loudly. “You’re not exactly subtle. It’s pretty obvious.”
“I’m totally subtle,” Isak says, but something in his tone of voice must give it away as to how much this is affecting him, because the water turns off and the towel hanging over the railing at the top disappears. Jonas emerges a second later, a towel wrapped around his waist. He moves over to where Isak is sitting up on the bathroom counter, leaning against the wall in front of him.d
“Why are you upset?” He finally asks.
Isak blows out a long breath. “Because of Even.”
“Right,” Jonas flips his wet hair back off his forehead. “What has he done?”
“He thinks I’m leeching off of you guys,” Isak makes a gesture. “That I’m just riding your fame or whatever.”
“Did he say that?” Jonas frowns.
“No,” Isak admits, “not in so many words. But he implied it. Didn’t you hear him the other day?”
Jonas pauses for a moment, enough that Isak can see the memory in the front of his head as he replays it to remember what Even said.
“Honestly?” Jonas says after a while, shaking his head. “I don’t think he’s like that. I haven’t picked up on anything. Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding.”
“It’s not,” Isak grumbles. “He was a dick.”
“Alright,” Jonas just shrugs. “If you think he was a dick, then he was a dick.”
“You’re not even going to try and change my mind?”
“Isak,” Jonas says, shoving him lightly. “It’s you. When have I ever been able to change your mind?”
“Never,” Isak agrees.
“Exactly,” Jonas maneuvers around him, grabbing his boxers. He slips them on under the towel with practiced skill, and proceeds to chuck his sopping wet towel at his head. “I gave up trying to change your mind a long time ago. You’re a big boy, and you’ll figure this out on your own. I’ve got your back no matter what.”
“Thanks, man,” Isak pulls the towel off, making a face.
“Now if you don’t mind,” Jonas shakes his head, purposefully flicking water onto Isak. “I need to get ready for the show tonight. I’m kind of a big deal.”
“Drittsekk,” Isak snorts, pushing himself down off the counter.
-
Backstage is chaos.
Isak watches various people primp and prod at his friends—from the man shoving inears into their hands, to the intense woman with a can of hairspray in either hand. It makes him uncomfortable just to watch it, but it seems that they’re too high on adrenaline to care.
“We’re fucking do this, boys!” Magnus cheers, slinging an arm around Mahdi’s shoulders. He glances around, and when he spots Isak, quickly pulls him in too. Jonas steps over, and soon they’re in some sort of group huddle. Isak tries to step back, but Magnus’ grip purposefully tightens to keep him in place.
“Let’s kill it,” Mahdi grins. “We’re going to give them the best show of our lives.”
Jonas puts his hand into the empty space in the middle, raising his brows with a smirk on his face.
“If we’re doing that fucking cheer from middle school…” Isak says, rolling his eyes.
“We are—” Jonas starts in a dramatically deep voice.
“The boys!” Mahdi and Magnus yell in synch.
“You need a better fucking cheer,” Isak shakes his head.
“ We need a better fucking cheer, dipshit!” Jonas replies, clapping him on the back. “You’re one of the boys, too.”
“And you’re on,” someone calls, interrupting them.
“Break a leg,” Isak tells them, “and some hearts, while you’re at it.”
“You know it, bro,” Mahdi nods, pulling the microphone out.
The three of them give him a quick goodbye before running on from backstage to hide behind a curtain and wait for their introduction to be finished. Isak stands off to the side, with a perfect view of the stage.
-
Five minutes into Kollektivet’s first show of their USA tour, Isak reminds himself to buy earplugs. All the earplugs he can find. Because their fans are fucking loud , and while he’s happy for his friends, he likes being able to hear.
It’s captivating watching them, the energy and the passion that they have. He smiles despite himself, watching his best friends do what they love most in front of people that love them.
“They’re good,” comes a voice from behind him, and Isak turns abruptly to see Even standing behind him, sweaty and grinning. He has to force himself to keep a neutral expression, fighting the emotions that boil up inside him.
“They’re fucking amazing,” Isak corrects, refocusing his gaze back toward the stage.
“They deserve this,” Even says.
Isak doesn’t respond, his jaw tightening. He can feel the implication, that they’ve put in the effort to deserve this and Isak hasn’t. When he looks over his shoulder a few minutes later, Even is gone.
-
@mahahahadi: thanks for a killer first show miami!
@reggismeggis: WE JUST PLAYED THE FIRST SHOW OF OUR NORTH AMERICAN TOUR WHAT
jonas9000 posted on instagram: friend burrito with friend burritos [][][] #getisaksocialmedia
-
For the rest of the boys, attending the concert after parties have never been a chore. For them it means free alcohol and a fun night, with a hook up at the end maybe. Isak, on the other hand, hates the sweaty clump of people that find themselves pressed together.
He liked it better in the old days, before they were famous, where the four of them would sneak off somewhere and get high together. Now, the moment they get into the club they all scatter, leaving Isak at the bar trying to avoid getting hit on by girls who recognise him.
Plus, his stomach is fucking killing him. He thinks he finally understands why the man at the gas station had given him that pizza for free—and it wasn’t because he was a celebrity.
After a while, he finds himself out in the alleyway behind the club, leaning up against the wall with his eyes shut, taking deep breaths to try and center himself. Nausea overwhelms him, the awful sensation of bile stinging the back of his throat.
“Do you want a hit?”
Isak cracks one eye open, scowling at the source of the offer. “The last thing I need is weed right now. Fuck.”
“Aren’t you used to this by now?” Even asks, casually standing beside him. He takes a hit from the joint between his fingers, blowing out the smoke slowly. “You must do this a lot.”
“No. I can safely say that I don’t make a habit out of loitering in strange American alleyways,” Isak mutters. He’s not in the mood to deal with this—with Even and his fucking passive aggressive comments.
“Well, thank fuck for that,” Even drops the bud, stomping it out with his shoe. “Come on.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Isak says quickly. He tries to take a step back, but the sudden movement sends another wave of nausea rushing over him.
“Isak,” Even gives him a look. “Don’t be ridiculous. You couldn’t get yourself back to the bus if you tried.”
“I’m not drunk,” Isak mumbles. “It’s that fucking pizza I ate from the rest stop.”
“From the rest stop?” Even lets out a small laugh. He sobers up when Isak sends him a glare, but the corners of his mouth still twitch upward. “Sorry, it’s just—never get food from a place that heats it with light bulb.”
“Noted,” Isak groans, wrapping his arms around his torso. He wants nothing more than to curl up in bed, or at the very least, his tiny bunk. He weighs his options, and finally sighs. “Can you help me get back to the bus?”
Even nods wordlessly, carefully looping an arm around Isak so that he can guide them. They walk in silence, and for a few minutes, Isak doesn’t feel that boiling anger anymore.
He reminds himself that Even is still a dick—this doesn’t change anything. It only shows that Isak isn’t as stubborn as everyone seems to think, and knows when he needs to accept help.
When they finally reach the bus, Even carefully help him into his bunk. Isak expects him to leave, maybe head right back to the party, but instead he grabs a small trash can and places it on the ground beside Isak.
“Thanks,” Isak manages.
“Sure,” Even clears his throat. He stands there awkwardly for a few moments, before gesturing at the bunk. “This must be new to you, huh?”
Isak turns his face into his pillow, biting his lip to refrain from screaming. Definitely still a dick.