Reykjavík Grapevine - 11.02.2005, Qupperneq 23

TEABAGS & TUNES
“ When I play music, I am playing around like a child,” says
Sigríður Níelsdóttir as she lifts her legs and pretends to play the
Casio with her feet. She selects the flavour of her tea by closing
her eyes and picking a teabag from a little wooden box. She is the
kind of old lady who has the wisdom of age but is still young at
heart. Within three hours she has told me more about the history
of Germany than my German grandparents have in their entire
lifetimes.
In fact, some of the lyrics to her
songs date back to her childhood in
Denmark, when at the age of eight
or nine, Sigríður started writing
rhymes as gifts for her family. In
1949 she came to Iceland to work
as a housemaid for a year, “but
somehow I’m still here,” she says.
As soon as her daughters had grown
up, she began recording music in her
flat, playing the Casio and singing.
The huge amount of cassettes she
bought at the record store Japis soon
attracted the interest of the manager
who persuaded Sigriður to release
her songs on CD and sell them.
By that time she had gathered 240
melodies.
Family, Dwarfs, Hitler and Bush
“Famous? Perhaps I am. I never
tried to be,” she says. Although her
CDs are being sold as far away as
Japan, and Slowblow invited her
to contribute two songs to the Nói
Albínói soundtrack, Sigríður has
never given a concert, and insists
she never will. Last December, her
songs were being performed live by
members of Múm, Slowblow and
Kitchen Motors at a concert at the
Opera. “It was MARvellous, wasn’t
it!” She shines a big happy smile
and gets so excited she becomes
hyperactive, meddling around in her
kitchen.
In rapid succession she mentions
her family, dwarfs, Hitler and Bush
and how peaceful the earth would
be if everyone had relatives in other
countries. She herself finds peace
and a purpose in her music. “I am
very much alone, but I am never
lonesome, because I can play music
whenever I want.” Making up a tune
usually takes her four or five hours,
but the real difficulty is finding a title
for it. Sometimes she thinks about it
night and day.
Never Marry Anyone You Don’t
Really Love
At the moment she is working on
her fourtieth album. As she plays
it to me, she makes up a little love
story that connects the tunes. “A boy
is on his way to a date – can you hear
how light his steps are? I think he is
dancing on the streets...” she says as
she imitates his walk. Her new Casio
is the playground of her dreams.
Though she creates a lot of sound
effects by herself, it provides a good
deal of inspiration. “A lot of the
sounds on the Casio are interesting,
but have the wrong name. This
one, for example, is definitely not
a bagpipe!” It does, in fact, rather
resemble a piano. Before I leave she
gives me one final piece of advice:
“Never marry anyone you don’t really
love,” she says as I walk out the door.
by Julika Huether
H
.S
23