Gunar Live(s)

Yes, he’s still here! To me, Gunar is as much an institution in St. Anton as the KK and the Moose. Every other day, from 4pm, you’ll find him on stage in the Piccadilly, banging out his unique brand of U2 and Robbie Williams covers. God alone knows how long he’s been here. We’ve been coming here for the past four years, and the same faded poster – ‘Gunar Live’ – has been outside the Picadilly-Postkeller all that time. I’ve asked around, and no-one knows what he does in the summer. Hell, know one knows what he does when he’s not on stage, whether he heads back to his condo in Lech with a couple of busty groupies for a coke-fueled orgy, or maybe drives back to Innsbruck for another gig. Does he ski or snowboard? Maybe he can’t do either! He’s the working class hero of the Arlberg, and I’ve always thought there was something of the disaffected Northerner about him. This was confirmed for me when Dex said, apropos nothing, ‘I bet he’s an ex-coalminer’. I have no problem believing he was once on the pickets in the early eighties, after all, he looks somewhere between Robert Carlisle and Sean Bean.

Actually, I have a theory. I don’t think Gunar is human at all. In fact, I think he’s an ethereal manifestation, borne on the enthusiasm of cheesy Austrian skiers in day-glo all-in-one suits, and drunken snowboarders drinking black sambucca. Look at the evidence: He only appears when the Piccadilly begins to heave, at about four o’clock. He disappears at about seven, when it begins to empty. In four years, I’ve never seen him enter or leave the stage. It’s tiny, with no obvious back-stage area, or trapdoor. As the volume levels rise, I believe he simply comes into being - the smoke rising and coalescing on the stage, like a genie from a bottle.

Anyway, it may not have snowed since the 3rd January, but Gunar lives, and everything is right with the world.