Reykjavík Grapevine - 19.05.2006, Blaðsíða 21

“Not too much stress...simple
rhythms, nice melodies...just
makes me feel good, you know
what I’m sayin’?”...or so quoth
an anonymous gentleman
in a sample in the closing
moments of the third track,
and he’s pretty much right on
the money. But while they are
definitely melodious – laid-
back beats sampled from jazz,
ragtime and such coupled
with easygoing sequencers and
synthesisers form the basis of
their music – Fantastic Four
have yet to live up to the first
half of their name, and it is
a telling statement on their
belief in originality and being
themselves that not a single
song on the entire album (23
tracks in all) sounds like it
was made by an Icelandic hip-
hop band, but rather by an
established American act.
But I digress. Original Melody
is a good album, faultless
and solid and containing
its share of strong tracks
(Do What You Gotta Do!,
Imagination) and what I
interpret as banality may
just be their interpretation
of professionalism, but for
now it seems like Fantastic
Four are content with
simply contributing to the
scene instead of pushing its
boundaries.
Fantastic Four
Original Melody
Despite its tendency to veer
towards insipid clichés and
some very dumb lyrics, Jet
Black Joe’s return to the
studio is tight, powerful and
inspirationally short, relying
mostly on straightforward
rock melodies and brisk
performances rather than
succumbing to the complacent
narcissism most of their
contemporaries have sunk
to, and even outdoes many
younger bands. It’s also nice
that the only truly bad songs
on the album should be put
back-to-back at the end, so
you can just eject the CD
after the first ten songs and
be quite satisfied. Other than
the brainless ending that cost
them an entire beer, Full
Circle is laced with sandy,
bare-stripped guitar hooks,
carnivorous riffs and ethereal
vocal overdubs, and is a
particularly satisfying return
to form for Jet Black Joe, as
sure to gladden old fans as it is
to surprise skeptics.
Jet Black Joe
Full Circle
Exactly what you’d expect
from a pair of young women
obsessed with cats, cheesy
synthesisers and vapid
sonic gimmickry: Awful.
The beer goes to the only
thing saving it from being
the absolute worst ever: A
sudden transformation into a
conventional pop album for
two of the last three songs,
perhaps raising hope for
future releases.
Psapp
The Only Thing I Ever
Wanted
Mugison’s sonic companion
to Baltasar Kormákur’s most
recent attempt at filmmaking
is rather like Ally Sheedy’s
character in The Breakfast
Club: Moody, tormented,
dirty, unpredictable and while
occasionally so pretentiously
quirky that it makes one groan
in exasperation, intriguing,
inviting and altogether
something to smile about.
Also interesting is the album’s
firm cock-rock opener, Go
Blind, easily Mugison’s best
song yet and hopefully the
shape of things to come for
him.
Mugison
Little Trip
What a terrible name for an
album. Oh well, at least it’s
more interesting than the
music on it. Bland, indecisive
acoustic lo-fi folk sludge
riddled with half-hearted
sappiness, it drifts through
its forty-odd minutes with
the enthusiasm of a kidney-
stone sufferer on his way to
the bathroom. Only You And
Moon and Last Transmission
From The Lost Mission offer
breaks from the monotony
with a little rhythmic
experimentation (that doesn’t
make them good songs, mind
you), and the title track’s
yearning vocals do betray a
hint of passion. Otherwise,
this is about as boring as it
gets.
Sólstafir present a somewhat
outdated vision of metal with
this, their first full-length
album, with dissatisfyingly
shallow sounds and chords,
but still manage to convey
their chosen imagery of frozen
Northern wastes populated
only by the souls of the
damned fairly well. The songs
are of hypnosis-inducing
length, the screams are those
of a dying man betrayed by his
own kin, and the cavernous
guitars seem to echo through
the halls of an abandoned
mountain castle littered with
cobweb-strewn skeletons.
Excessive and wholesome,
but doesn’t quite hit the spot
somehow, perhaps owing
to the rough and diluted
production.
Sólstafir
Masters of Bitterness
Adem
Love and Other Planets
Hvar Í Hvergilandi has a split
personality. It is at times a
focused, soaring and lyrically
perceptive piece of apocalyptic
rock blessed with the ability
to veer from finely-crafted
fanciness to scathing, angst-
ridden forthrightness in no
time flat, while at other times
it seems somehow lost in its
own landscape, as if Ókind is
being stretched to the limit by
its members’ excessive musical
indulgence. Perhaps they are
simply so contented with the
stunning brilliance of songs
like Ó, Ég, Illar Dylgjur and
Hraðlestrarnámskeið that
they feel entitled to push
their luck with the drabness
of songs like Sem Hreyfast,
Verst Klædda Stjarna
Ársins and Þetta Númer
Er Upptekið, but, whatever
the case may be, Hvar Í
Hvergilandi is a winner,
an unstoppable cascade of
musical hedonism good
enough to get away with it.
Ókind
Hvar í Hvergilandi
With members sporting
names as pretentious as
Neil Diamonds and J’aime
Tambour, one would have
expected something a little
more gripping from Islands,
but they seem to be content
to rely on their reputations
as former members of Indie
‘greats’ The Unicorns instead
of making an album that
doesn’t sound like every Indie
band ever; it practically sounds
like a compilation of Indie pop
from 2000 to present. Don’t
get me wrong though, it’s not
bad: Songs like Where There’s
A Will and lengthy Ones
have all the makings of Indie
classics, but do we really need
another soundtrack to some
chubby hipsters’ basement
apartment red wine-and-weed
party? Forgettable.
Islands
Return to the Sea
GRAPEVINE ALBUM REVIEWS
Guide to the rating system:
In prison, you deal in cigarettes. In Iceland, you deal in beers. We don’t condone this, we just accept
it as fact. One beer = 500 ISK at the seedy bars we frequent. That means a mainstream release costs
uo to 2500 ISK... or $40. Yes that much. That’s why we do the beer thing.
Worth three beers. Worth three beers. Worth three beers.
Worth one beer. Worth 1/2 beer. Worth two beers.
Worth four beers. Worth one beer.
Wordless progressive noise
mixed with a surprisingly
warm pallet of emotions
and laced with intricate,
mesmerising and often
stunningly beautiful guitar
work, Fallegt Þorp is a true
gem, the type of EP that
leaves you wishing for a full-
length release. The oddly
vacant chord progressions
and disconnected sound
make for excellent hangover
music, a slow, hazy waft
that makes you think of a
sunbeam hitting cigarette
smoke through a window. A
fine effort, spoiled only by
the half-heartedness of Hafðu
Gætur Á Mér, but otherwise
unassailable.
Miri
Fallegt þorp
Worth four beers.
40