Reykjavík Grapevine - 23.07.2004, Blaðsíða 28

by Marcie Hume
Every time a production of Hair goes up anywhere in the
world, the question resounds, “Is Hair relevant today?” It’s really
a pedantic question, not because there are current events com-
parable to Vietnam, but because we are increasingly aware of
the abundant injustices present in the world and are constantly
grappling with our desires to fight them. Until we are all living
blissfully, feeding dried fish to one another, calm and happy and
enthralled, we can put that question to rest.
THE HAIR
But a question that I had
to ask is: Where are the Icelandic
hippies? How can an Icelandic
audience connect to these freaks
dancing around and grabbing each
others’ asses? I certainly don’t see a
lot of embracing on the streets. In
fact, once I gave a carefree hug to a
friend while standing outside Bónus
and someone passing said, “Þau eru
útlendingar” (“They’re foreigners”).
How do I find the Icelandic hippies?
“If there were hippies in
Iceland, they would be energetic,”
the director, Rúnar Freyr Gíslason,
said. “They’d be that much ‘screw
the system’, but with hard work and
power, not laziness.”
“I do feel that people are
breaking out more, proud of what
they stand for,” Selma Björns, who
plays Sheila, told me. “What’s lack-
ing today is believing that we can ac-
tually change the world. We should
speak out more, like they did.”
Their belief in this show is
obviously earnest, which may partly
explain how they have managed to
create viable characters in a musical
that can seem one-dimensional in its
compulsive commitment to peace-n-
love.
There are many outstand-
ing voices and several performers
who are unfailingly enjoyable to
watch, most notably Guðjón Davíð
as Voffi, an innately endearing char-
acter who is uber-lovable here, and
Unnur Ösp as Dionne has a kind
of spark that keeps her consistently
in focus. Björn Thors, who plays
Berger, seems to have been actually
transported from 1960s America and
simply rocks. The voices of Sverrir
Bergmann, Selma Björns and Alma
Rut add massively to the show. Some
of the supporting cast members look
like they’re just excited to be on
stage, but at least you can tell they’ve
been having a good time.
The production thrives in
other ways as well, and it is especially
visual; the lighting is uninhibited and
the choreography similarly serves to
build a graspable atmosphere. The
show is also pretty rock and roll, and
the CD is probably the best thing
one can bring to friends outside
Iceland as a souvenir.
Although Iceland may
seem somewhat removed from out-
of-control wars, it is not without its
unfair fights and poorly-motivated
political actions. The fact that Hair
is still relevant in contemporary soci-
ety is verification that we have a long
way to go. Even though the show is
in many ways simply a good time, it
still emphasizes that aiming at unity
is anything but silly.
Tom Waits
by Eyvindur Karlsson
Thirty-one years ago, a struggling young artist named
Tom Waits published his debut album entitled Closing
Time. He went on to tour with Frank Zappa, record
with Bette Midler, publish a number of hit jazz and blues
records and even get nominated for an Academy Award
for his soundtrack to Francis Ford Coppola’s unsuccessful
love story One From The Heart. In 1983, ten years after
his debut, he released Swordfishtrombones and changed
the face of music forever with his outrageous vocals, his
vivid imagery and insane, cabaret-like music. Tom Waits
has been king of the weird ever since.
And there’s more change on the way. A new Waits album
is scheduled for release on October 5th by Epitaph
Records, an Anti Publishing subsidiary. The title of the
new album is Real Gone, and it seems to promise a real
change for Tom, while it may not be as abrupt as that
of Swordfishtrombones. Waits’ last three records, 1999’s
Mule Variations and 2002’s simultaniously released Alice
and Blood Money felt, in a sense, like a summary of his
entire career, from jazz to rock to blues to Kurt Weill.
But on Real Gone, Waits is way out there, experimenting
like never before. The most notable of these experiments
is his vocal percussion technique, which he played around
with a bit on the track “Big in Japan” on Mule Variations.
This time, though, he’s taking it much further. He made
vocal tracks in the bathroom of his house, using a small
four-track recorder. These were not looped - he would
actually do the riffs for 3 ½ minutes, and then bring them
to his band.
The musicians on the new album are mostly old Waits
veterans, the most notable perhaps Les Claypool of
Primus, or bass genius Larry Taylor, who has been Tom’s
bassist for the larger part of his career. But he has one
new collaborator, and this may be the most interest-
ing one. Casey Waits - yes, Tom’s own son - has joined
hand with his dad for Real Gone, adding percussion
and turntables to songs like the bluesy urban nightmare
“Metropolitan Glide”. Until now, Tom and Casey had
only played together on very rare occassions during live
performances.
Waits fans might have an idea about what to expect. It
seems that Tom is going all the way in the direction of
Mule Variation tracks like “Big in Japan”, “Filipino Box
Spring Hog” and “Eyeball Kid”. There’s no way to know
exactly what it’ll be like, though, but he has left us some
clues. For those less familiar with the artist, he’s almost
impossible to describe. Try to imagine Marilyn Manson
with a blues band, and you might come close, but it’ll
still be off. The only thing to do is to listen to the damn
thing.
The first thing you need to know is that the God Damned Skunks aren’t a
band really. They were formed to deal with the need that certain members of
Singapore Sling had to “go on a case” or extreme bender, in public.
On Thursday, July 1st, I witnessed one such occurrence. The evening began
with forty minutes of feedback, interrupted briefly when the drummer stood
up and beat a drum a couple times, then wandered off saying he needed his
drugs.
He got his drugs. Everybody got their drugs. They returned to stage and
began playing admirably raw psycho-hillbilly-style rock. With two guitars,
overdone echo vocal effects, and a snare and bass drum, they made it through
one song. Then they were interrupted when a shirtless man attacked the lead
singer. Amid the broken glass and feedback, I witnessed Einar, guitarist for
Sling and salesperson at 12 Tónar who was there only to support his band
mates, come over midfight and support the shirtless man. He did this not
by fighting, but by grabbing and patting the belligerent drunk’s hand, as one
might do to a sick boy in a hospital.
When the Skunks resumed playing, they were distracted and less in control
of bodily functions. Henrik the singer repeatedly dropped his guitar. He
once confused the mic stand for the mic. The band tried to struggle through
the songs—all of which consist of the same chords, E, A, B—but they just
couldn’t quite make it. Einar stood by, fixing the sound, putting the guitar
back into Henrik’s hands, and nodding his head to the beat.
A friend described the recent Peaches show as an anything goes event. The
Skunks demonstrated what it means to do an anything goes show. The result,
for those of us without Einar’s demeanor, was extreme discomfort fading
slowly into ecstatic joy at not being a member of the band, at knowing that
our livers might still be functioning tomorrow, our skin might be free of
bruises and glass shards.
The God Damned
Skunks get drunk
by Bart Cameron
H
.S
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