Last Call: Sirkus is closing – Article in Grapevine Magazine

Last Call: Sirkus is Closing
by Steinunn Jakobsdóttir
Published in Grapevine: Issue 18, December 07, 2007
http://www.grapevine.is/

“Of course I’ll miss this place. I mean, where else can you find such a good vibe on a Sunday evening?” says the bartender at Sirkus and hands over a beer. It’s around midnight and a few people are dancing to Michael Jackson’s ‘Beat It’. Sparkling leftovers of last night’s decorations still hang from the ceiling. It was a Super Hero costume party, a crazy night I was told. The staff and a couple of regulars sit around the bar and chat about the weekend and the fact that in two months, the party will at last be over. In February, the tiny tavern will have to close its doors to make room for underground parking lots, hotel rooms and fashion shops.
Sirkus, this notorious little bar on Klapparstígur 30, bred a peculiar and energetic culture years ago and the many loyal beer-drinkers see the shutdown as the end of an era. The staff, as well as the regulars, talk about their small Sirkus community as a big friendly family where Sigga, the owner, is like a mum. It’s no overstatement that few places in the world have established as big and loyal a customer base as Sirkus. The affection among the customers can perhaps best be seen by all the postcards and souvenirs from faraway countries that decorate the bar today.
Frequented by the creative crowd, Sirkus is known as a shelter for artists, fashion designers, writers, filmmakers, art-lovers and music-lovers. The city’s many barhoppers break free to the music blasting from the speakers every weekend, or on a Monday night for that matter, and dance for hours on the sticky floor. With a capacity to accommodate around 100 people, this hut with palm trees painted on the outside walls, is a place where world-famous DJs come to spin their records and partypeople climb the walls and queue for up to an hour outside to be part of the lunacy that goes on inside.
Sirkus’s reputation has travelled the world. With Björk DJ-ing from time to time, renowned and up-and-coming bands throwing awe-inspiring concerts and movie-stars dropping by for a night on the town, the bar is featured in music videos, magazines and travel books. Every year, it attracts a growing number of curious tourists who go on sight-seeing trips just to take a look.
“Sirkus is a ‘night-care’ for grown-up teenagers” explains Sigga, the owner, and laughs. Sigga, usually called Sigga Boston, is the woman in charge. She’s seen it all. Good times and bad times. In 2006, she opened a new bar, Boston, with her longtime friend Hildur Zoega and can today frequently be seen running between the two taverns with her dog Hekla tagging along.
“I can’t be too bummed about it. We always knew this would soon be over but somehow Sirkus always stays open for another year. I’ve said my goodbyes plenty of times,” one regular said when asked how he feels about Sirkus finally closing its doors. “Maybe it’s just time to move on, but I’ll leave Sirkus with countless great memories” he adds.
One of the most remarkable things about Sirkus is the fact that it is even still open. The end has been around the corner more than 20 years, long before Sirkus became Sirkus or today’s clientele even started drinking. But like a cat with nine lives, it has managed to extend its life longer than anyone could ever dream of.

Creative Hotspot
“No one is grieving the house per se but rather everything that has happened inside the house,” says artist Gabríela Friðriksdóttir, a long-time Sirkus family member. She continues: “Just imagine Unuhús (which was a popular hangout among young artists and writers in the beginning of the 20th century) and what a significant role that building played in Reykjavík’s culture. Sirkus is like the Unuhús of our time. Sirkus isn’t a house but plenty of souls that gather to create this unique atmosphere. Sigga plays a leading role in this. She has everything needed to run a place where you can feel at home and get to be just the way you want to be. She’s like a mother, a shrink and a friend.”
The valuables that belong to Sirkus have little to do with concrete or corrugated iron. As a building, Sirkus is almost worthless. All the dancing and drinking have taken its toll and today, it could hardly be described as majestic. Some might even call it a dump. But although its walls, covered with music posters and artwork, might collapse any minute, they’ve witnessed an essential part in the city’s culture, as for years, Sirkus has been a hotbead of everything related to any grassroots genre in art, music, fashion and filmmaking. Here, local bands have taken their first steps and new talents have been discovered. In between touring around the world, groups such as GusGus, Sigur Rós, múm have gone to Sirkus to relax. Brian Jonestown Massacre’s Anton Newcomb has basically moved in. Friendships that lead to collaborative projects have evolved over a few drinks and numerous artists and designers come by regularly to seek inspiration for new pieces. It’s hard to put a price on that.
“In my view, the bar represents this crossover between art and music. To find my inspiration, I go to Sirkus for example always. You can be just the way you want to, you can easily get to know whomever you choose without any barriers or uncomfortable formal introductions. All the crew I’ve worked with I met in this building. That’s why we always give a special credit to Sigga Boston, Mother Superior, when we exhibit around the world,” says Gabríela.

A Legendary Hangout
The small hut that today houses the notorious bar has a long history. In the early 19th century it housed the grocery Vaðnes but for the past two decades, it’s been a centre for socializing and drinking. In 1990, N1 bar, popular among musicians and music-lovers, opened its doors, pub Grand Rokk moved in for a while and in the late 1990s, Reykjavík’s very first French wine bar served fine wines and snacks to downtowners. That bar was called Sirkus and has kept its name since.
Sigga knows more about the house and its past and present customers than most people and she’s no rookie when it comes to running a successful bar. She has followed the Icelandic art and music scene for decades and in the 80s while studying in Boston, ran her own club inside an old diner called Premia. Since 1990, the building on Klapparstígur has been her second home and she has waited for years for the moment it would all come to an end.

“I started working there in 1990, but my first job after I moved back home was to design N1 bar. At that time, the decision had already been made to tear down the house,” she says. Sigga goes on to explain that in the 90s, N1 bar was the hangout of the Icelandic supergroup the Sugarcubes and their friends. “Me and Einar Örn even owned the bar for three months and the Sugarcubes got their mail delivered there, it was that much of a home. Björk was a DJ, Magga Örnólfs and Sigtryggur Baldursson worked at the bar and Einar Örn managed the door,” she adds.
On December 20, 2000, Sigga reclaimed Sirkus: “Stephanie, who ran the French wine bar, wanted to sell the business. Some business guys had offered her 20 million ISK for the place but she didn’t feel good about it. One day, when we sat down for a drink she asked me: “Sigga, don’t you feel like this place is like your child? Isn’t it sort of like we share this child together? I won’t sell it to anyone but you.” And I bought Sirkus for 4 million ISK!”

Intimate Melodies and Rowdy Rock Shows
Ever since the Sugarcubes called the place home almost two decades ago, the importance of Sirkus for the Icelandic art and music scene has been significant.
“Musicians who grew up here still come running straight from the studio with a song they just recorded and ask if they can try out the new material at the bar,” says Sigga, adding that although the venue only has room for a small audience, established bands come there to practice before going abroad. “Ghosdigital always play a show at Sirkus before they go on tour. They do this because they know they’ll get honest feedback from the crowd.”
Sirkus has hosted numerous unforgetable concerts that feature both local and foreign bands. The entry is always free and concerts are rarely advertised. Big artists such as Petter and the Pix, Jimi Tenor and Kid Carpet have played some of their best shows at Sirkus, as have local acts such as Trabant, Singapore Sling and Benni Hemm Hemm. With his multi-membered brassband, Benni played the packed venue with more charisma than seen elsewhere last Christmas. “Stereo Total were also insane. People literally hung from the ceiling,” Sigga recalls. “Not to mention all the adorable Icelandic bands that have played here.” There is no stage at Sirkus so the bands have to squeeze in the corner, which results in much more personal and intimate shows than other venues could ever offer.
“If you look at the place and think of it as a concert venue, the first thought would be, no way! But inside a vibrant place like Sirkus, anything is possible. When I look back, I see that the bar has meant a great deal to this town, particularly to the music scene,” says Gabríela.
It’s not just bands that are eager to play, legendary DJs from around the world flock to Sirkus to play the small venue when they are in town and veteran local DJs such as Maggi Lego, President Bongo, Árni Sveins, DJ Lazer and KGB are household names. The DJs share a similar view:
“There’s something unique about playing at Sirkus. You somehow get away with anything. Everyone knows each other and people respect what the DJ is doing,” says Hairdoctor’s singer Jón Atli, aka DJ Lazer. “I remember when Sirkus was at its best, the DJs tried to break the ‘chair-record’, that is, how many people you could get up on the chairs and tables to dance. I remember that Maggi Lego and me were always competing. I think my record was 18.”
DJ President Bongo of GusGus has played at huge clubs all over the world, he puts it simply when asked what makes Sirkus so special: “It’s home”. He continues: “It’s such a tiny place. No matter how many people are inside, if you can get ten people on the dancefloor, you’ll have a great time.”
He has played Sirkus numerous times over, but one incident sits foremost in his mind: “I remember one Saturday night when Germany had just won the World Cup. I was of course wearing the national team shirt and started the set by playing the German national anthem. After about oneand- a-half minutes a really pissed American stood infront of me. He was totally furious! I had asked Óttarr Proppé to fix me up with the song but didn’t know that he gave me the extended version, the one used in Nazi Germany in the Second World War. Without knowing about it, I was playing some crazy Nazi version of the national anthem!”

The Final Round
One of Sirkus’s many little secrets is the cosy and roomy garden that belongs to the lodge, and loosing that summerhangout is a gap that will be hard to fill. Railed off in the heart of the centre, the popular sunbathing spot has put more life to the downtown scene than most places around. The sunny spot has been a safe haven for years where people gather to chill out, play poker or backgammon and kids and dogs can run around freely. For the past five years, the outdoor Sirkus flea market has attracted a great mix of customers, the garden has been used for packed BBQ parties, played host to overcrowded rock concerts, (Mínus on Culture Night 2006 are especially memorable) not to mention the world-famous Tom Selleck competition, where the toughest guys in town compete in an old-school beauty contest about who has the coolest moustache.
“The garden is like a friendly oasis. There’s nothing really like it,” Hildur says, and Sigga and Gabríela agree. “We have to remember, that a lively city centre isn’t all about fancy buildings or shops stuffed with fashionable things. We can find that elsewhere. Those who travel to new countries look for a centre with a soul. That’s what Sirkus and everything surrounding it is all about. If we talk about city planning, people need to think whether they want to have this kind of culture or not. And this doesn’t only apply to Sirkus, but to all sorts of places facing demolition and reconstruction” Gabríela says.
The city of Reykjavík and the tourist industry as a whole have benefited incredibly from the vibrant art and music scene thriving inside places like Sirkus. No politician could deny that. A rapidly growing number of travellers visiting the country go where they hope to experience the creative vibe they read about and hear about from friends who have stumbled inside at some point. When discussing what will happen to Sirkus and all its history Sigga has a clear answer: “The bar itself should of course be moved to the Árbæjarsafn museum. It’s a bar from the last century! All these kids, this generation that has conquered the world. It’s important to treasure a part of their culture and where they came from”. That’s not such a crazy idea. A small Sirkus would undoubtedly be no less of a tourist attraction today than all the museum’s old turf houses.
No one really knows what will happen to Sirkus but Sigga says she will serve the final round in the beginning of February. When asked about the next step she replies: “I will just play it by ear. Whatever happens, happens.”
Until the last drop, Sirkus will have plenty to offer its customers. There will be concerts at least twice a week, costume parties are scheduled and numerous surprise celebrations for all those who want to party and play for one last time. Sigga tells me that the plan is furthermore to film all the concerts, release a DVD, and donate all the profits to building a school or a well in Africa. “We’ll then keep the Sirkus sign and take it to Africa someday,” she adds. Although Sirkus will surely be missed, Sigga isn’t too worried. “There’s no need. This kind of energy always finds its way,” she concludes.

Arnar Eggert Thoroddsen – Article in Grapevine

This year something new happened @ Airwaves Festival. Interviews with the artists by Icelandic & international music journalists in the Nordic House. I met Morgunblaðið journalist Arnar Eggert Thoroddsen after his interview with Gunni and Örvar of mum, while talking about singing in Icelandic, English, or Flemish? A discussion started in the previous interview of Arni Mathiasson, a Morgunblaðið colleague, with Bubbi Morthens.
Grapevine Magazine is covering Arnar Eggert because he recently wrote a book about Einar Bárðason.

Arnar Eggert Thoroddsen
by Sveinn Birkir Björnsson
Published in Grapevine: Issue 18, December 07, 2007 www.grapevine.is

Arnar Eggert Thoroddssen is a music journalist for the daily newspaper Morgunblaðið. Actually, he’s a bit more than that. He is a self admitted music nerd and an unchallenged authority on Heavy Metal and fringe music. Now, Thoroddsen has published his first book, a collaboration with Iceland’s leading music agent and band manager, Einar Bárðason who has been the leading proponent of marketfriendly pop music, besides manageing the career of the Icelandic tenor Garðar Thor Cortez. A Grapevine reporter sat down with Thoroddsen to learn more about this curious cross-over.
You and Einar Bárðarson really come from opposite ends of the Icelandic music scene, how did you end up writing a book with him?
Yes, people have wondered about this. Einar sent me an email last April and presented me with the idea of writing a textbook on how to manage a band. After a little toing and froing between the editor, and me, the idea for the book was born. I told Einar he would have to step forward and tell his story, which he agreed to do. Then we just approached it in a cold and calculated manner. I’ve been a music journalist for six years, Einar started coming into his own as an agent and manager around the same time, and we have always enjoyed a good professional relationship. He always played it cool, even if when I trashed some of his bands. So our cooperation was very natural, but I can understand when people look at the two of us… they place us in certain boxes.

On some level, I can’t help thinking of this as a publicity stunt on Einar’s behalf, getting the arch-enemy, so to speak, to write a book about him.
Exactly, Einar is clever, and to some extent, this was a publicity stunt. He said to me, ‘now I have the left field covered,’ meaning that doing this with me, someone who comes from the complete opposite end of the music scene, and I tend to agree with him, gives the book more weight. If he had done this alone, it would have come off as a total ego-trip. But, with me, he had someone to keep that in check, and control what needed to go in and what should be kept out.
Photograph of Einar Bárðason

You mentioned the left side, and that is something I noticed in the book, how Einar continually refers to music in the political terms, left vs. right.
Exactly, the book is written as an ‘as told to’ book, I did my best to maintain his voice in the book and use the phrases he uses, and this is his terminology. He is involved with right wing pop music, and then he talks about the left field, and ‘his people’ if I allow myself to generalise about the fm-pop crowd that is around him; they talk like this. But as he says in the book, he is at home on the right wing, and he’s never attempted to reach out to the other side much. He is strongly rooted in market friendly pop-music with a strong suburban flavour. He’d be the first man to admit this and he often does. He often disarms people by just coming straight out with that fact up front.

Do you think that this left-right analysis is a viable theory to dissect the music industry?
Well, up to a point maybe, I don’t know how far you could take it by putting it in political terms, but I understand the difference he is trying to make, the way he uses it to define mass marketfriendly pop-music and more indie type of music. I understand what people are referring to when they use this definition, but I am not sure it applies as a whole.

How did you feel about this yourself, a person firmly placed in the ‘left wing’ to become a mouthpiece for a leading figure of the ‘right wing’?
I have thought about it, naturally. As a music journalist for Morgunblaðið, I have been writing about all sorts of music, and different kinds of people, and always on an objective level. I think I was able to approach this the same way. But I can imagine that people think this affects my credibility or that people imagine that I jump at any project for the money – and nota bene, there is no money in writing books – or that people see me as a sell out. But people who think that, obviously have no idea what I have been doing for the last few years. I think I can stand up for myself.

Has your own image of Einar changed during this project?
Naturally, I have seen more sides to the man than the general public. I think this could have gone either way really, but I must admit, I walked away from this project pretty impressed with him. He doesn’t take things very seriously. I always imagined a manager like that being on the phone, going nuts all the time, but Einar is always calm as a placid lake. Nothing sets him off balance.

One thing I wondered about when I read the book was that in the beginning, he talks about being in this industry for his love for the game, and his love for music. He was having fun doing something he loved in working with the artists and helping them out. Towards the end of the book, he’s stopped talking in that manner, and started speaking of the artists and his work in financial terms, he talks about investment opportunities, required rate of return for big investors who have invested in his artists, and so on. It seems that the whole thing has now become a business to him. Do you think that is true?
No, I think I would have to disagree with that. Of course, in the chapter about his adventures with [Icelandic tenor singer] Garðar Cortez and how he has managed to attract investors to try to establish him as an opera star, then we are talking about a heavy weight fight for finances. Maybe this is a good example. Einar wants to take Garðar Cortez all the way in the opera world, and in order to do it, he needed financial back-up to play the game. He asked large Icelandic investors for one million British pounds, so he could concentrate on advancing his career without thinking about money. Einar is very sincere in his work to establish Garðar Cortez, because he enjoys doing it. People might have a mental image of the fat, greedy agent, but that’s not how it is in reality.

One of the things Einar has been criticised for is making manufactured mass marketing pop music, like his girl band Nylon or his boy band Luxor, Do you think there is going to be a backlash for him when people realise the extent to which this is actually manufactured? When people realise that he actually had some of the richest men in Iceland investing in his idea to create an international supergroup, like Nylon?
I think this is just something he is interested in. He says himself that he did not really see himself as a musician, standing on stage, but he enjoyed the work around it and making things happen. Of course it is open for debate, whether the whole manufactured pop scene – from the Spice Girls, or Take That, all the way back to The Monkeys – is inherently evil. Many people think it is. This will probably create a backlash from some people, but others will admire him for being smart. But obviously, how justified this is, or even how tasteful, will always be debatable. But that is a material for a different book.
Book of Arnar Eggert Thoroddsen
Öll trixin í bókinni – Einar Bárðarson – Umboðsmaður Íslands

Mugison "The Great Unrest" Video

Mugison‘s Video for the Song “The Great Unrest” of his latest Album” Mugiboogie“. Video was made by Gísli Darri & Bjarki Rafn.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TVwALhI0SwU

To buy Mugison‘s Album go to www.mugison.com

Review of múm’s Concert @ Scala, London, 11. December 2007

Jacob Saunders wrote a review of the concert
A sold out Scala saw múm play a surprisingly loud set. The seven Icelandic twentysomethings took to the stage at 9:30pm, accompanied by a dozen or so of their pretty looking friends, opening with what can only be described as a bout of humming. The minute this began I knew I was in for something special. There’s a definite energy that comes from múm and their instruments, live they’re fun and energetic and this show’s set felt more like a jam session than a concert.
múm ploughed their way though the setlist, their friends returning to help on one very last song. This time armed with instruments, mostly harmonica’s, although I did see a guy waving a bottle of water around at a microphone, and I swear there was a carton of Tropicana in there as well. The band then said goodbye and left the stage but it didn’t take long before they were back, responding to the cries of the audience. They played a very long version of “Dancing Behind My Eyelids”, amazing the assembled throng with what they’d just experienced. As I was leaving the venue I heard someone say “gig of the year”; it’s definitely a strong contender.
After the show I was thinking about Icelandic music and how it’s completely overlooked, despite the fact that much of it is well received by the music press. So many people pass judgement on Icelandic bands because they think they’ll just be another Sigur Rós. It’s true that they might be similar, but to compare the two would be lazy. múm are far too special to be compared to other bands, they are just múm, and they’re brilliant.
More múm @ www.mum.is
Source: The Line of Best Fit
http://thelineofbestfit.com/2007/12/13/mum-scala-london-111207

Ice Ice lady: The many sides of Björk

Ice Ice lady: The many sides of Björk
Saturday November 24th of 2007 in New Zealand Herald
By Scott Kara

Björk‘s music may not always be palatable but it is guaranteed to be innovative.

Björk was destined to be a rebel. It’s the Danes’ fault. The way Denmark treated her beloved homeland of Iceland, which was a Danish colony for 600 years, inspired the venom behind the punk bands she was in from age 14. Her first band was called Spit and Snot and she spat and raged alright.
“We were treated really badly by the Danish,” she says in that cute, fragile voice of hers. It could be a 4-year-old on the end of the phone, but a young child wouldn’t speak with such informed rancour.
When she says words like patriotic or Volta, the title of her sixth and latest album, they fight their way out of her mouth beautifully, as if she’s about to cry.
“When punk arrived in Iceland,” she continues, “we weren’t fighting against Margaret Thatcher; for us it was more like declaring independence from the Danish. We were singing songs in Icelandic and being very punk, patriotic, and Viking.”
“My mother and father were born in the year of independence [1944] so it took that generation to get their heads around the fact they were actually their own person. So it was the role of my generation that really broke off.”
Today she is holed up in a hotel during the Mexican leg of the Volta world tour following a jaunt through Chile, Peru, Argentina and, for the first time, Colombia – “The audiences have been incredible. Really enthusiastic, well, that’s putting it mildly actually,” she giggles again.
And she’s on her way to New Zealand as one of the headliners at the Big Day Out on January 18, having last been here in the mid-90s.
Her music nowadays may not sound like the punk rock of Spit and Snot but that rebellious attitude still comes through. Every time she walks into the recording studio she makes music on her own terms. Since her first major band the Sugarcubes released their 1988 debut, Life’s Too Good, she has produced some of the most popular yet innovative music around.
Her music may not always be palatable – Medulla from 2004 and parts of 1997‘s Homogenic were especially hard going – but it’s progressive. Over the course of six albums she has never repeated herself, from kooky dance hits like Human Behaviour on 1993’s Debut, to the delightful pop of It’s Oh So Quiet from Post (1995), to grandiose and ambitious tracks like the punishing Declare Independence from Volta. All up she’s sold 15 million records.
“Because I’ve been doing this for so long, I know if I start teasing people it would be suicide. It doesn’t work that way. So it’s kind of more that I have to please myself. I guess I go through some sort of unconscious process where I edit stuff out that I think is self-indulgent and people won’t enjoy, so what ends up being on the album is something that I’m more ready to share.”
Björk – born Björk Gudmundsdottir in Iceland’s capital of Reykjavik in 1965 – turned 42 this week and has been making music most of her life.
The singer, musician, mum, and sometime movie star – she starred in Lars Von Trier‘s Dancer in the Dark although afterwards swore off acting because making the film was such a traumatic experience – remembers writing her first song when she was seven. She was walking from her grandfather’s light shop to the hospital, it was night time and very windy, and shewas singing a made-up ditty at the top of her voice.
In 1986, as an 18-year-old, she formed the Sugarcubes and she reckons the band’s quirky pop still stands up today, 15 years after they split up. Last year the band did a one-off reunion gig which meant Björk listened to Life’s Too Good a lot. She was in Tunisia at the time and biked around the villages listening to the album on her iPod – a very appropriate environment considering the Sugarcubes‘ song Motorcrash goes, “Riding on a bicycle, saw a motor crash.”
“Listening to it I’m like, ‘What were we on?’ When I look back now I feel like I was a baby then but it actually surprised me how formed the ideas were,” she says.
Though Björk is fine talking about music she is less forthcoming when it gets too personal. Like the question about what her and her partner Matthew Barney, a renowned New York contemporary artist, talk about over dinner.
“Just everything really. It can be both the banal and the flighty. Just anything really.”
She’s not rude, she’s just weary of the fame and celebrity tag.
Apart from wearing a swan dress to the Oscars where she laid eggs on the red carpet, there are two non-music incidents that Björk is most famous for.
She walloped a reporter at Bangkok airport for talking to her son. It turns out the reporter had been hounding the singer for weeks.
More serious was the stalker who filmed himself making an acid bomb that he posted to her house. Luckily police intercepted it, but the film also showed him killing himself.
Scary stuff, and we don’t go there.
She says “Mmmm” a lot, taking long considered pauses before answering. Like when it’s put to her that reggae legend Lee Scratch Perry – who is similarly eccentric like Björk – is inspired by the wind, so what inspires her, besides personal experiences.
“Mmmmm … I’m more of an ocean person really. Anything to do with oxygen. I get claustrophobic very easily. So I like open spaces with a lot of ocean.”
Not surprising considering she comes from Iceland.
Since she was in the Sugarcubes, and their first single Birthday made them instant indie music darlings in the late-80s, she has spent a lot of time away from Iceland touring. She has lived in London (during which time she dated trip hop artist Tricky and drum’n’bass mogul Goldie), Spain (where she wrote Homogenic), and currently lives in New York with Barney and her two children, Sindri (whose father is Sugarcubes‘ bass player (sic, he was the guitar player, Bragi Olafsson was the bass guitar player – Wim Van Hooste) Thor Eldon) and Isadora (her daughter to Barney).
But she says her transitory nature makes her even more patriotic.
“You set up this balance where half the time you’re travelling the world and the other half you’re at home and I really like that balance, it makes you even more patriotic than if you were there all the time. My most patriotic songs were on Homogenic, and I did that in Spain. When you get really really homesick and you’re somewhere else you look back and it inspires you.”
Which brings us back to Iceland’s independence and establishing itself on the world stage. She says not only did Iceland distance itself from Denmark it also had to shake loose the Scandinavian influence.
For Björk, Icelandic literature and art is more “anarchic”, “freedom loving” and “aggressive” than in countries like Norway and Sweden.
“I wouldn’t say it’s better or worse. I don’t mean it like that, but it’s definitely a different mindset.”
After independence there was also a feeling in Iceland that all foreign countries were like Denmark and that they should all stick together “in our woolly sweaters” and be “isolated forever”.
Björk wasn’t having that and along with the other Sugarcubes she showed that it was “okay to mingle with the aliens”.
“So when we started playing Icelandic music all over the world, and being very proud of our heritage, it was to stop the isolation. My generation was very much about breaking that up and [now] I can go and play Mexico and New Zealand and I will [still] be as Icelandic as any of you guys.”
She loves going back to Iceland. She talks fondly about a “nice and scruffy” pub called Sirkus (as seen in the video for Triumph of a Heart) that she used to frequent where anybody can go up and put the music on. “It’s not precious and you can have all your favourite songs. We all know the woman who runs it so we just take turns and people just turn up with their iPods and DJ.”
Most of this year though she’s been on tour for Volta starting in April at the Coachella Festival in California’s Palm Desert – “It was our first show so it was almost like a rehearsal. We were still a bit wooden and now I’ve moved things up a lot,” she giggles.
The show is a grand, extravagant and, at times, heavy affair with an all-female brass section, lasers and lights, crazy outfits, multiple costume changes, and material ranging from Volta songs to classics like Army of Me and Hyperballad.
It’s a big contrast to her last tour for Vespertine, which was performed in opera houses with a 50-piece orchestra, a 20-person choir, and Björk singing almost acoustically. She didn’t tour her next release, Medulla, because the ambitious vocal-based album was virtually impossible to pull off live.
“I feel Volta live is much better than the album so Volta the album is almost like the rehearsal before the tour. The tour is where it all comes alive. For example, Vespertine is the opposite, very delicate, pretty and miniature. This is the total opposite. There is a necessity for brutal things a lot of the time,” she coos.
“Volta is … shaman, voodoo, and big strokes of red and neon colours. It’s harsh, almost brutal. It’s very physical, almost butch,” she laughs.
See, it’s all punk rock in the end.

Listen to Scott Kara‘s full interview with Björk as audio @ http://www.nzherald.co.nz/multimedia/audio.cfm
Björk
Born: Reykjavik, Iceland, November 21, 1965
Where & when: Headlines the Big Day Out, January 18, 2008, with Rage Against the Machine
Latest album: Volta, out now
Past albums:
The Sugarcubes – Life’s Too Good (1988);
As Björk, Debut (1993); Post (1995); Homogenic (1997); Vespertine (2001); Medulla (2004)

Source:
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/section/1501119/story.cfm?c_id=1501119&objectid=10477958&pnum=0

Ólafur Arnalds on Tour – An update

Ólafur Arnalds on Tour in the UK/mainland Europe
Part 3 “Chicks in the back”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vzvZL-Dtce0

You can see Ólafur Arnalds & Quartet @ Eurosonic (Groningen, The Netherlands) & @ Iceland on the Edge Festival (Bozar/Ancienne Belgique (AB), Brussels, Belgium) next year.