The 15th annual Iceland Airwaves music festival took place in the city of Reykjavik between November 5-9. The festival is what every music lover can hope for. Five days, 75+ venues (13 of those being official), and over 600 performances, one can find everything they need to suit their mood. The festival not only showcases Iceland’s eclectic and prominent music scene, but they invite international artists to exhibit their talent, as well. Many musicians performed more than once throughout the week providing those whom did not have a wristband the opportunity to expand their horizons and see new artists at the off venues all throughout the charming and bustling city.
Each day of the festival was full of promise and music I was enthusiastic to explore by talented musicians with names I could only dream of pronouncing. Most people playing had a few different bands and it was not uncommon to see one musician playing guitar at a venue during the day, only to see them several hours later playing something entirely different with another band. I spent the afternoons traipsing about the city going from one cinema, record store, and bar to the next to catch myself lost in the musical landscape as prominent as the geographical one surrounding me.
Here are some highlights from the festival. After all, I’m only one person.
Nov. 5
Börn
is an Icelandic post-punk group made up of three gals and one guy. I knew right away I was going to enjoy the set when I saw the frontwoman, Alexandra, come onto the stage with an acid green coif and block-lettered necklace reading, “FEMINIST”. Alexandra’s voice reminded me of an early Siouxsie Sioux and I felt spellbound by the Icelandic lyrics on feminism and body image. I was immediately taken back to my high school days spent on my best friend’s bedroom floor where we’d lay in all of our gloom listening to 80’s goth/death rock fantasizing about making a change to the elitist bourgeoisie and their reformist ways. Börn’s death-punk influences were hard and unapologetic in a refreshing surge of penetrating guitar and heavy bass cultivating the old dark sounds for the new age.
(Börn will be doing a US spring tour and I highly recommend checking them out. You can also find their self-titled debut here.)
Shortly after, I made my way over to another bar to see the local psychedelic/doom metal band, Momentum. I had been looking forward to this show since I attended their album premier back in April. Upon arriving to the venue, I saw that it was full of longhairs, weirdos, and heshers, and I knew right away I was with my people.
Once the music started, I fell into an ear bludgeoning trance. I stayed in a daze somewhere between the gates of Hell and riding horseback after being rescued by vocalist/bassist, Holaf, with his majestic red beard. (A girl can dream, right?) The show held up to my expectations and my fellow metalheads seemed to agree. It doesn’t get more metal than a handul of bearded Viking men in Iceland tearing apart your soul one sludgy riff at a time. I’m sorry, it just doesn’t.
Nov.6
Thursday’s arrival had me excitedly waiting to see For a Minor Reflection. The Icelandic post-rock quartet (along the likes of Mogwai, This Will Destroy You, Godspeed You! Black Emperor) humbly came onto the stage then dove head first into the deep current of sound they so energetically create. Not a moment of the show passed by where For a Minor Reflection was not in tune with each individual in the crowd. As I happily became a wallflower, I watched my fellow festival-goers get lost somewhere between time where only the music could transport them. At a moment’s glance, I even witnessed a grown man be brought to tears. There’s something to be said about a melodious group of young men whom have the ability to instrumentally stir the soul. They played new songs alongside old favorites and spent as much time engaging the crowd conversationally as they did while playing. Their humility was evident in their performance and a major reflection of the impression left with the crowd.
Luckily for me, the next band I wanted to see was in the same venue, so I did not have to run around the city to make it in time. Horse Thief , a five-piece from Oklahoma City, OK, took the stage. The indie-rock band caused my toes to tap and hips to sway with their folk, americana, and blues influences. Vocalist/guitarist Cameron Neal told a story of anxious love and inevitable change with his lyrics. At one point, the emotion became so intense all Neal could do was grab at his hair and hope the microphone would capture the memories spilling from his lips. That being said, the raw emotion on the stage was also that of unadulterated joy. Bassist, Cody Fowler, had a contagious smile on his face that said, “Yeah, I am here. Right now—nothing else matters.” He could have been the poster child for the all-inclusive musical experience. Fowler’s endless grin was a pleasant reminder that yeah, I was there. Right then—nothing else mattered.
After daydreaming of love and running down the to the river with Horse Thief, it was time to change the pace. The all female group, Pins, would do just the trick. The U.K. indie punk quartet strutted out in black denim and crushed velvet looking like they woke up and ate a glittery bowl of COOL for breakfast. Their larger than life presence hyped up the crowd for an hour of dancing and electric sex. Guitarist/vocalist Faith Holgate’s voice was reminiscent of a young Joan Jett while Sophie, Lois and Anna know how to back it up with all the talent and glamour of girl-powered punk rock. Between Holgate’s hypnotizing hip swivel and the band’s ability to bring back glittery old school rock , I was one smitten kitten. We waited for them to surround us with their trebly guitars and dancey beats and astound they did. Thank the gods of Rock ‘n Roll for those ‘Girls Like Us’.
Nov. 7
Friday. Friday Friday. It was going to be a massive day full of endless jamming with the schedule ahead of me. By this point in the festival, I was running on little sleep and spearmint gum. Who had time for eating when there was fifteen hours of music to be seen and heard in every orifice of the city?
I practically ran down to the local cinema to see Unknown Mortal Orchestra during their off-venue set. I knew their music packed a punch and I wanted to see them in a smaller venue. The venue became crowded within a matter of minutes with people standing out in the freezing cold to watch them from the window. UMO‘s lo-fi psychedelic rock is influenced by the foundation of what classics are built on. A good ol’ jam session. And that is exactly what this show turned into.
It was as if we we all just shoved ourselves into someone’s garage to hear the kids next door throw themselves into a time warp via their instruments. That, paired with Ruban Nielson’s dreamy voice, gives the U.S./New Zealand trio their invitingly unique, yet familiar, sound. Nielson, drummer Riley Geare and bassist Jake Portrait seamlessly played off the other’s strengths and took turns ripping into our minds with electrifying solos that would cause Hendrix and Plant to smile. For those whom had never heard Unknown Mortal Orchestra before, they most assuredly got a shock wave sent through their entire core marking these musicians as forever immortal.
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Girl Band was up next. What can I say? This Irish noise/kraut-punk-rock (yes, I made that up) band has been on my “Must see/Share With Everyone” list for the last year and I would be damned if I was going to miss them. I had to stand in line for over an hour to get into the tiny grimey-in-the-best-way metal bar and every bit of it was worth it. I view standing in the bitter cold witnessing my first snowfall in years as part of the experience. After weaving my way through a sea of leather and hair, I finally made it to the front.
I felt giddish. The moment was finally here. I was watching Mark E. Smith’s not-yet reincarnated voice coming out of the cute-to-boot vocalist’s Dara Kiely’s mouth. The quartet’s music is full of distortion and mechanical noise with a couldn’t-care-less attitude. Kiely’s vocals have a drawn-out shrieking quality about them that highlight the buzzing effects from guitarist Alan Duggan and bassist Daniel Fox. Add drummer Adam Faulkner’s crashing cymbals and heavy bass and you have the right combination of dizzying noise worthy of mayhem. The crowd went crazy with hair whipping the faces of other bystanders and a circle full of friendly fists. Girl Band has infected my brain via my eardrums.
Everything about them is contagious!
Nov. 8
Many great bands attributed to Saturday. A plethora of great music and talent surrounded me for several hours. But if I am being honest, all of it is pretty much a blur up until The Knife.
This was to be the last show the Swedish duo would perform after fifteen years of being electronic synth-pop’s most enigmatic purveyors. This was something to be said, as well, for The Knife rarely toured, nor made public appearances during that time frame. I have been not only an avid fan of their avant-garde electronic music, but their fuck-the-man-and-fuck-the-mainstream candor. The brother/sister duo comprised of Karin Dreijer Andersson and Olof Dreijer have always been gender neutral and most often only seen wearing bird masks.With that in mind, I knew that this show was something to be remembered and I was sure to let everyone I came across know about it. For two hours I waited front and center to be taken away into a mystical and colourful act full of ambiguity and intention.
Full of anticipation, the crowd erupted when a hooded figure walked onto the stage. Dressed as an 80’s aerobics instructor under their robe, this individual spent the first twenty minutes hyping up with the crowd with breathing exercises, jumping, getting to know your neighbor and removing oneself from any orientation of the sexes. After working up a light sweat and sense of comradery, The Knife, now presented as a troupe full of non-gender specific dancers and musicians, entered the stage in low-light and fog.
The energy was palpable and seeping through every available pore. Dressed in metallic purple, teal, and blue jumpsuits and sparkling eye masks, the troupe broke out in dance and song. Frequently rotating between stage positions and instruments, The Knife provided a playful approach to their unconventional prowess. One moment you could catch a performer playing the glockenspiel, then change to the keytar, followed by an extravagant dance solo.
Midway through the set, the dancers caught their breath while one of the performers recited a powerfully poignant piece on the superfluous idiocies of gender roles and expressed with great vigor what other ideas should be had about it. “I wish I had two dicks and fifteen holes to put them in!”
The Knife provided an aesthetically stimulating performance to match the exuberance and grandeur one could expect from these non-traditional dynamos of sound. A montage full of glittering talent where every member of the troupe transformed their version of each song in equal measure demonstrating the principles that the group has been founded upon from the beginning—that it doesn’t matter who you are. Penis or pussy; we’ve come to party.
Click here to listen.
Speaking of pussy, Perfect Pussy, a noise-punk band from Syracuse, New York, had already started playing and I had to dash over to the aforementioned metal bar to wait in line to catch a glimpse. Now, I only caught the last three songs of Perfect Pussy’s set, but this band is so amazing that I find it absolutely necessary to mention their set as a highlight.
The five-piece band is loud, driven, and fronted by Meredith Graves—a dare-to-be-real-because-what-the-fuck-else-would-you-do feminist whom makes the band’s music and lyrics relatable. Listening to Graves’ tell her vulnerable story with a high-pitched scream hidden by crushing guitars and heavy drums just resonates within my seemingly empty heart. The intensity portrayed by everyone in the band was equal parts bliss and rage—two emotions that when experienced simultaneously produce what I can best explain as euphoric. Life is loud and weird and lovely. Perfect Pussy knows just how to capture all of that with distortion and an open face. For me, being able to see that live was hydrating to the senses. And since I was out of beer, I was going to get my buzz from a couple of kids from Syracuse.
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The Vintage Caravan was up next and I had been looking forward to these psychedelic rockers since I saw them at Roadburn earlier this year. The Icelandic trio have a sense of wanderlust with their energetic performance and they just want to take you along for the ride one riff at at a time. Guitarist/vocalist Óskar Logi and bassist Alexander Örn were anything short of enthusiastic while jamming non-stop from one end of the stage to the other. Drummer Guðjón Reynisson was right there with them storming his way through the crowd with each thunderous crash of his drums. Bathed in the salty sweat of all that is rock, these fellas took what has been so classically done in the past and brought it to a new level.
Nov. 9
Ah, Sunday. The final day of the festival was finally here. The Flaming Lips was to be headlining with opening act The War on Drugs. And guess what I decided to do? Sleep in, eat something substantial for the first time in days, meander about the off-venues and go to bed early.
That’s it?
Yeah, that’s it.
Cheers to all the wonderful and talented people at the festival. I had one hell of a time.
-Vana Black