Film director Triin Roomet has been a fan of Smilers and Hendrik Sal-Saller for years: “The music of Smilers has been with me since my early teens. I remember sitting alone at home in an inflatable chair and blasting Jalgpall on parem kui seks (Football is better than sex) in my headphones at full volume and realising right then that this is the best band in Estonia. Smilers represent something quite iconic for me and I don’t know how their music affects other people, but my psyche somehow latches onto some sacred undercurrents in their songs that I can’t even begin to explain rationally. For example, I have Hendrik’s number in my phone under the name ‘God’; maybe that explains it a bit.
For me, he is a mystical enigma who can express in simple language a strong emotion that remains somewhere deep between the lines, hypnotising all those who let themselves be carried along by it. He is a magician who simply perceives people and knows how to read the audience. In the case of Sal-Saller, I don’t think there’s any point in delving too deeply into his everyday life, because an icon must be allowed to be an icon, and that’s when his effect is strongest.”
Personally, I think Hendrik Sal-Saller is Estonia’s only real rock star and one of the best dressers. His flamboyant wardrobe looks masculine and sophisticated thanks to Saller’s presence. He wears sequined jackets, velvet blazers and blood-red cowboy boots with playful ease. But what’s the point of talking when “God” himself has agreed to talk about his wardrobe in person? Hendrik Sal-Saller was photographed by Silver Mikiver.
It’s hard to say whether everyday clothes are really important; I’m not a fashionista. But performance clothes are important, and I got that from my childhood, when I followed my parents on tour: nobody went on stage in their everyday clothes, so to speak. Maybe that’s where it comes from.
In between, there were all kinds of different times. As punks, for example, we were like that all the time, we were in our gear day and night. I think with punk, the music was the most important thing; it was so intense. Art rock, for example, didn’t appeal to us. In retrospect, the Pistols were also very well thought out visually. We didn’t know it at the time; we were just trying to put safety pins on our jackets the same way.
With Smilers, the importance of style was very clear from the start. We went for the 1970s theme, both the music and the velvet jackets, long hair and flared trousers.
We dressed like that in everyday life, and without question on stage. That style came organically, we all liked that stuff, especially me of course.
Once, we were looking for people to join the band, we needed a drummer. There were advertisements for musicians in a magazine – there were no emails then – so they jotted down the number and called. The drummer and I agreed to meet at the train station. How will I recognise you? The guy said, “I’ve got red bell-bottoms and Alice Cooper records with me,” so it was clear, without even listening, that this guy was the drummer for our band.
Of course we moved on from the 1970s. Flared trousers, for example, have disappeared from the shops; you can’t find them anywhere.
It’s hard to say what makes someone stylish. I don’t think of myself as stylish. I just stumble around in the dark and go wild, wearing whatever I feel like at the time. Honestly, I’m not really in the thick of it. I do things that I think are cool and sometimes the lack of taste can be really cool, too. And sometimes when my partner tells me not to go out like that, I listen to her, just in case.
Things are a bit like memories. I don’t throw anything away easily. Some things remind me of the early days of Smilers or some other important period. I also recycle my own stuff. Some things sit for 10–15 years and I put them back on and they’re perfectly fine, especially when it comes to stage costumes.
Unfortunately, I’ve given some away and there have been times when I’ve regretted it afterwards because I thought it would be so good to wear it now. Memories are important.
When you play over 100 shows a year, things wear out. And you can’t play in one set of clothes. There might be 3–4 different gigs in one weekend, so God forbid someone sees the band in the same clothes.
We used to change clothes during the gig as well, but now we’ve got lazy and don’t really do that anymore.
We don’t have a very specific ritual before going on stage, but at least 20 minutes before the show the whole band is in the dressing room and unpacking their gear bags. At first, before the riders came, a lot of people were surprised that we wanted to have a dressing room. They said, “You can change in a toilet somewhere,” and then we had to explain, “Listen, we have five players here who need to take off their trousers and shirts; we really need a dressing room.”
Clothes are like food, there’s nothing I wouldn’t eat or wear. It all depends on the context. I haven’t set strict limits that I can’t do this or that. And opinions change over the years. Sooner or later, you have to eat your words when it comes to clothes and everything else.
We are not fashion icons and are not going to reinvent the wheel. But we have definitely influenced the culture of dressing up for the stage in Estonia. It used to be that people just went on stage in a T-shirt and jeans. Of course I can’t confirm this 100%, but I would say that it might have something to do with Smilers. We were visually different from everything else from the beginning.
There was a time when we wore black jeans and leather jackets and then the next band would come along and start dressing the same way. Which meant we had to do something new. It all depends on the flow and what the group is like. Actually, I would like to put more effort into the stage dressing.
To be honest, I can’t say that I’ve ever looked at a mate and thought, “Oh, cool, this guy always looks cool on stage.” No one has shocked me with their impressive style and that this style felt like an important part of their stage presence.
I used to buy most of my clothes in second-hand shops in Helsinki - I used to go to second-hands a lot, but now I don’t feel like it anymore. Because Estonian second-hand shops are no longer very affordable and you can’t find really good stuff anymore, you have to put in a lot of effort. But I do it abroad. I have just found something in Chicago. They’re proudly called vintage shops, not second-hand shops.
In London, I didn’t feel like it and I didn’t want to go, but my son really wanted to, so why just stand in the street? I went in. And unexpectedly I found something for me. That’s how it works.
I’m not really looking for glamorous shops, I’m not much of a shopper at all.
Shopping is difficult for me. But sometimes it’s necessary. If I run out of trousers, I have to go and buy some. When I find the right pair, I buy several of the same so that I don’t have to go to the shop so often. And while I’m in the shop, I might buy something else.
In general, I’m not a big shopper, partly because I already have so much stuff at home. So maybe I’m better off making do with the stuff I have. I don’t know how much it shows or doesn’t show, but it probably does and comes across well; otherwise we wouldn’t be talking about it now. There’s no point in thinking, oh, it’s been worn so much – no one will notice. Nobody keeps track.
I have always loved jewellery. Some of it has meaning, I remember who I got it from and how. And some are just random pieces that were put on me somewhere. I went on a trip to a warm country once, took it all off and immediately felt weird. Lately, though, I’ve made it a point to take my necklaces off so they don’t leave tan lines.
Clothes set the mood on stage. This band thing isn’t just about doing it. You dress up, you set the mood. That’s definitely part of it.
Once they wrote me, that there's a plan to name one of the Tallinn' trams Smilers. We were all for it, of course. I thought, okay, that’s cool, why be against it? This tram has been running for quite a few years now. How many bands in the world have their own tram? It used to go to Kopli, now it goes to Kadriorg.