How was your Sunday? Good? Mine too. Awfully good then plain awful.If you were one of the other <10 people in the cinema, or you've seen this documentary then you've probably done enough research for yourself. If not, prepare to be passionate once more. The DVD's out so you can go down that route, oh and you'll want the soundtrack too.
Screaming Masterpiece (2005, Ari Alexander/Ergis Magnússon)
People from Iceland are beautiful mongrels – Viking alpha male blood and Irish ethereal looks. Yes, they might as well be translucent shapes holding instruments- the ones that do that. And there are quite a lot of them. Of course there's crap music in Iceland, as Barði Jóhannsson of Bang Gang clearly states, but today we focus on all aspects of lovely. Those artists who know only 200 people are going to buy their album so they just do whatever the hell they want.
Most music is crap anywhere I'd say, but there's a higher density of those few good artists in Iceland than elsewhere. Now if we compare with regions, not countries, then you get similar ratios of worthwhile artistic endeavours anywhere with dark drizzling happening all day long – like Manchester or Seattle.
So, up until now, there's a unique genetic engineering scheme and the cold. Booze must have its role, mentioned graphically rather than as a fact.
So what about the language then?
As head Pagan Hilmar Örn HILMARSSON suggests, Icelandic has a rhythm structurally resembling ancient metrics, and they carry this potent history around with them just by talking.
The music I suppose they drain with underwater tenterhooks from the rest of the world. It sounds like something between the US and Europe, cause we're neither, mentions someone in the film. Then they merge the sound according to their own aural agenda – in a caleidoscope of experiments that go well rather than… "experimental" – whether it be four dudes playing pump organs or four chicks implementing sound bites of subjective life (cars passing by etc) to objective, classical strings.
Here are all the artists in the movie – link.
Standouts were Slowblow (but I didn't see any mention of Dagur Kari being the wicked film director he is), Nilfisk (Foo Fighters' protegees), Eivör Palsdottir, and all the rest really depending on your taste – everything is covered from sweet to sour, classical to emo to electro to full-on cock rock.
This next paragraph is where I point my stick to the chalkboard and demonstrate astutely:
Yeah I let go of the cock rock.. It slipped by me but it's well worth checking out if that's what you're into. Somehow being called an ice queen relatively shortly after i was pissing my pants and bawling my inner eye about maybe not getting to see Sigur Ros in Gdynia is something i can turn around and say, hell yeah, i'm an ice baby and well chuffed 'bout it. –> Post post: ai râs de mine. super tare, prietene