Ok, so maybe this story I wrote for Zink magazine is about last year's festival but it was super fun with little Bjork people running around everywhere and crazy parties and sexy clean air.
THE ICELANDIC INVASION
It was definitely their first kiss, I could tell by the way she gasped, shocked and delighted, and how he touched her face. Meanwhile, onstage was hometown electro-pop band FM Belfast and twenty or so of their friends, dancing up a storm with various tambourines, cowbells, Casio synths, and a crowd-surfing dude in a bear suit. Sporting cardigans and bowties, the gleeful ensemble played hit after danceable hit. The crowd went wild, singing, jumping and grooving in sexy, hipster celebration. It was easy to forget that just days prior, this country’s economy had collapsed. Banks gone bankrupt. People’s savings lost. Yet when life makes no sense, what else is there to do but party? And, maybe, fight. Suddenly, a cherubic-looking blonde beside make-out couple started screaming at a fellow who was getting grabby. She shoved him hard, ready to throw down.
Luckily, he backed off, but the occasional close call is part of the fun of any music festival, and Iceland Airwaves -- though mostly about optimism, passion for music, and uplifting vibes as per above -- is no exception. Sponsored in part by Icelandair, the festival’s tenth edition attracted 4,500 music fans and industry members (forty percent from abroad) to Reykjavik, Iceland’s capital, for four days of shows and a conference.
Of 180 performances, about thirty were by international acts like CSS, Vampire Weekend, Yelle, Biffy Clyro, White Lies, Handsome Furs, Final Fantasy and more. Yet the festival’s highlights were its Icelandic artists, who ranged in style from indie rock to black metal, electro to folk. My favorite locals shows included: Hellvar, an adorable singer/songwriter who sounds like Björk, looks like Björk, but guess what, she’s not Björk! Reykjavík!, the metal band whose raging set in a horse stable was completely insane. Parachutes, whose cinematic soundscapes are reminiscent of Sigur Rós. Vicky, the almost all-girl metal band (drummer’s a dude) with mohawks as sharp as their songs. Gus Gus, hardly new, but their thumping electronic set got thousands dancing. Seabear, a folk-pop buzz band whose music you’ll soon hear on Gossip Girl.
I wondered what might link the scene’s diverse sounds. “One shared characteristic is playfulness,” said Iceland Music Export’s Anna Hildur. “The lack of thinking that you have to fit into a formula. This is liberating. It means people are doing things on their own terms.” Floating in the Atlantic (North West of the United Kingdom) Iceland’s isolation certainly breathes creative freedom into its musicians. However, it’s tough to build international audiences. “How can you compete when you live in a country with a population of 300,000,” said Ms. Hildur. “If an artist wants to go on tour, just the flight is a considerable cost.”
Reykjavik (pop 120,000) is a small, cute, super clean town of stylish shops, galleries, cafés, and street art. Rainbows appear overhead more often than some rockers change socks. The crisp air sometimes smells like sulphur due to hot geothermal seawater that flows from the taps. Folklore tells of elves and Vikings, and people are listed in the phone book by their first name. Yet Icelanders are hip. People I met were sophisticated, educated, and well-traveled, with an uncorrupted softness about them -- a directness in the way they speak and look you in the eye. Plus, they know how to dance.
Catching a dozen shows a night, I trotted between venues like the Reykjavik Art Museum, glitzy club Nasa, beautiful old theater Idno and crowded bars Tunglid and Organ. Everywhere, I kept seeing the same faces: Jónsi Birgisson of Sigur Rós hanging out quietly in various corners, his pixie-like face framed by a cap with ear flaps. Friendly blond Reykjavik! guitarist Haukur S. Magnússon (another Iceland Music Export employee) was another frequent sighting. Also, loads of gorgeous party kids: Italians, Germans, Brits, Danes. Coquettish girls with china doll faces, miniskirts rouged cheeks, and ropes of yellow hair. Skinny jeans and sunglasses everwhere, and haircuts you could slice sharkmeat with. With long lines outside every packed venue, inside, booze flowed like the waterfalls we visited on our day off. Pushing and shoving strangers was the new black. The scene on the street at 4, 5, even 6:00 a.m. was equally rowdy, but still safe to walk around -- one must make a late-night stop at the hot dog or waffle stand!
Or, hit an afterparty at the Kaffibarrin bar, where local label Bedroom Community throws parties. “So, how do you feel about all these people coming to your city?” I asked a cute boy with a soft, scruffy beard and clear blue eyes. “Oh, we love it, it’s fun and exciting compared to normal,” he enthused politely before downing his beer and whisking me off to the bar’s downstairs bathroom for a secret smoke. Hey, we all need some excitement, right? Certain Icelanders would agree.
“We are running down the street in our underwear,” sing FM Belfast in the hit song “Underwear.” “’Cause Nothing. Ever. Happens here. We come from a place where we count the days... ‘Till nothing. ‘Till nothing. Until nothing....” Truth is, I have no idea if they’re talking about being bored in Iceland or something else entirely. But something has happened, and what’s next is anybody’s guess. The bewildered sentiment of most locals as to the financial crisis seemed to be, “Holy crap!” “It’s a new reality to us,”said Ms. Hildur. “It’s difficult to understand what the consequences will be like...”
