Lögberg-Heimskringla - 21.06.1985, Blaðsíða 3

WINNIPEG, FÖSTUDAGUR 21. JÚNÍ 1985-3
A world apart where
the music never ends
by Steinunn Sigurdardóttir.
Photos Páll Stefánsson.
A rock group on tour, like any
other travelling show, is really a law
unto itself. To quench some curiosi-
ty, and share the experience with
others, a reporter and Iceland Review
photographer joined up with one of
the country's top groups, Band of
Ogres (Thursaflokkurinn), on a short
winter tour playing in schools, dance
halls and community centres in the
north of Iceland.
The Ogres comprise Egill Ólafsson
on keyboards and vocals — who also
composes the band's material and is
incidentally a well-known actor —
Tómas Tómasson on bass, Thórdur
Árnason on guitar and Ásgeir
Óskarsson on drums. Their highly
distinctive music is progressive in
style, even though much of it often
involves traditional Icelandic songs in
modern arrangements.
The band's members, along with
two other musicians, also make up a
second group called High Fliers
(Studmenn), who starred in a comedy
about a rock tour, On Top — one of
the most popular films ever made in
Iceland. In other words, when talent
like this goes on the road, everyone
listens. The story begins early in the
-morning on the Ides of March, the
15th, at the Band of Ogres' recording
studio in Reykjavík, where people
are buzzing around, making ar-
rangements, talking on the telephone
an drinking incredibly bad coffee as
a video-equipped coach rises out of
the midtown ocean of vehicles and
waits to ferry them north. With a
play to act in, lead Ogre Egill will join
up with flu-stricken Thórdur and fly
out later in the day. There is a lot of
waiting to do before boarding the
coach, but they had so much practice
waiting between takes when On Top
was being filrned that it just comes
naturally now. But with a show
booked for Saudárkrókur tonight,
dawdling like thir: makes Egill see
red, and he takes the bull by the
horns and drives them into the coach.
The Show Must Go On
First stop on the outskirts of Reyk-
javík. An old man with a walking
stick shuffles along the pavement.
Tómas, someone says — a burnt-out
young musician. Actually when he
finally does appear he doesn't look all
that much younger. He trudges on to
the coach, unwilling or unable to
speak, and promptly arranges
himself over two sets of seats under
a red sleeping bag. All the stories
about the lifestyle of rock stars come
to mind — and the tour has just
begun.
When aspirin fails to work on
Tómas it's agreed to make a penicillin
stop along the way. The weather puts
on an authentic show of winter, and
our very presence on one white,
windblown heath looks like a daring
act of defiance, but then it takes
courage to move art around Iceland.
The coach bounces onward, to an
unidentifiable beat, and the trip is
starting to swing even though the in-
struments are still silent. Stage
costumes are rocking to and fro on.
their hangers, swaying gracefully
on hills and curves and bending dou-
ble when the brakes are slammed on.
The show has already begun.
Egill and Thórdur are already
waiting at the Saudárkrókur com-
munity centre, having narrowly
escaped being left stranded at the air-
port, and Egill dismisses the town's
taxi service as a hoax, a list of
telephone numbers put on the wall
out of sheer malice. Thórdur is in no
better health than the prostrate
Tómas, and when asked how they
are supposed to perform with half the
Ogres ailing, the answer is a simple:
"the show must go on.” Well, after
this trip you can see that touring is
not the easiest way to make a living.
It takes hours just for the basics of
unloading the coach, lugging equip-
ment around and making sound tests,
and the gear seems to put on extra
kilos on every trip at an electrifying
rate. Everything needs to be con-
nected back and forth by fat cables
and skinny cables, and every piece of
equipment has to go in exactly the
right place. While Ásgeir unpacks his
drums from boxes of all sizes, tour ar-
ranger Júlíus settles himself down in
the hall to insert dozens of plugs in-
to the mixer.
All this for the moment the town
has been waiting for. "Good even-
ing," Thórdur says into the micro-
phone. "Why couldn't you all stay at
home tonight?" No, there certainly
weren't many people at home that
night; while Júlíus was still tinkering
with the mixer almost all of
Saudárkrókur was already outside,
croaking to be let in. Some of the
songs get the audience raring to
dance, but they have to make do with
rocking in their seats; others are
tender, and what should they do
then? All material is original, written
by Egill and tried out on tours before
being recorded, a system the Band of
Ogres has used ever since it was
formed in 1975. Actually the
members' acquaintance dates back to
their teenage years when they jamm-
ed in garages and belonged to various
groups. Doesn’t it take years of work-
ing together, playing and roadying
alike, to create a coordinated whole
out of talented individuals?
What does the group feel about be-
ing on the road again, one more tour
to add to all the others? Difficult, ad-
mittedly, but that extra energy ar-
rives from somewhere, driving them
on, and for Some unknown reason it
only takes half the time to set up at
the last gig that it does at the first.
Thórdur makes it plain, however,
that after returning from a tour they
all want to call it a day.
And the coach rolls on, the next
stop the school at Stóra-Tjörn whose
smorgasbord conjures up nostalgic
Continued on page 4
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