Reykjavík Grapevine - 09.02.2007, Blaðsíða 8

Tónlistarþróunarmiðstöðin, a rehearsal space
and concert venue, hosts fifty bands that op-
erate in the Reykjavík area. It has been a ha-
ven for fledgling musicians for close to four
years now. Due to a lack of funding, it will
likely close down for good sometime over
the next few months. The Reykjavík Grape-
vine paid a visit.
Standing in the corridors of Tónlistarþróu-
narmiðstöðin (‘The Music Development Cen-
tre’ or TÞM) on a given Sunday afternoon can
be an unnerving experience. First of all, there’s
the relentless banging of many drums. Count-
less Dave Lombardo disciples kicking the shit
out of their hard-earned kits, an aggressive
arrhythmia pounding its way through your
skin, inducing sweat and anxiety. Then there
are guitars, so many guitars, all distorted and
muffled, coupled with the steady rumbling
of capricious bass players trying their best to
bring down houses. And at first it all sounds
like so much static, but you manage to make
out a tune through the rubble: in one of these
rooms, someone’s aptly ploughing through
Cindy Lauper’s ‘True Colors’.
It was beautiful.
Founded in March of 2003, TÞM has been
going strong for over four years now, hosting
a myriad of concerts by nearly every damn
band operating in Iceland (and some visiting
ones too). It has provided many of them with
much needed space to rehearse, grow, turn
their hobbies and tinkerings into concrete
structures, albums, blissful shows; untold
hours of pure, clean fun with friends. It acts
as a home to fifty bands of all styles and incli-
nations (although rock is surely the predomi-
nant form), so it can be assessed that well
over 200 people, mainly youngsters, employ
it to their benefit. Many of the great acts you
saw at last year’s Airwaves festival, they’ve
been hanging out there a whole lot.
Comfortable and safe practice spaces, a
bunch of 40m2 rooms each shared by 2-3
bands, are TÞM’s biggest draw. Bands are
unpopular tenants in Reykjavík’s garages,
which are commonly over-priced, under
heated and vulnerable to burglars wanting
to make a quick few thousand króna. Even
those places are hard to come by. TÞM’s
practice spaces are relatively available and
they’re monitored by a security service, so
their popularity is understandable. For these
amenities, and others, bands will pay 25.000
ISK per month.
Hardly Getting Over It
One of TÞM’s more popular features, espe-
cially among the all-ages crowd, is a spacious
concert venue, Hellirinn (‘The Cave’), which
can play host to up to 300 patrons and offers
a slew of professional PA and lighting equip-
ment most garage bands have a hard time
gaining access to. “It’s just a real comfortable
place to play,” says Birkir Fjalar Viðarsson,
frontman of local hardcore legends I Adapt,
who’ve played close to a dozen shows there.
“It’s the best all-ages venue available in the
area. Throwing a show at Hellirinn means
you can concentrate on just playing the
music. It’s free of all the hassle that comes
with playing bars and the like, renting a PA,
having your equipment stolen, dealing with
shitty sound and annoyed staff.”
Plans are also underway to install a pro-
fessional recording facility on the premises
that would serve as a haven for fledgling mu-
sicians making their first forays into commit-
ting their sounds to plastic. That might not
happen, however, as TÞM could be seeing its
last months of operation, as the organization
behind it is waist-deep in debt. Repeated
calls for added public funding, most recently
with a giant all-day concert event at Listasafn
Íslands entitled ‘Steel Meets Steel’, have been
steadfastly ignored by city and government
officials alike. So it’s likely that this valiant ef-
fort will come to a close sometime during the
next six months and those 50 bands, those
200-plus musicians, will thus soon be on the
prowl for garages and basements. Not to
mention a kick-ass concert venue.
Although things seem bleak at the mo-
ment, TÞM manager Daniel Pollock seems
unabashedly optimistic when we meet for
a conversation in his very own TÞM practice
space. Pollock is a rocker in his own right,
making a name for himself playing along-
side his brother Michael and pop star Bubbi
Morthens, among others, in Iceland’s infa-
mous punk pioneers Utangarðsmenn. He is,
as always, working on a multitude of musical
endeavours while overseeing TÞM’s day-to-
day activities and searching for ways to keep
it in operation. He seems more interested in
talking about the various projects TÞM has
spurred and its ambitious plans for the fu-
ture, than any problems with running it, al-
though those concerns inevitably get aired.
Expendable Youth
Pollock claims TÞM has had some very posi-
tive effects on the Reykjavík music scene and
its participants, not least the youngsters who
are entering the field and need help realizing
their visions and ideas. This is echoed by the
kids I speak to while there, and on numerous
on-line chat boards. It might be said that aside
from the practice spaces and concert venue,
TÞM also offers a resource for bands in other
respects. Advice from some of the veteran
musicians operating there is often invaluable,
according to Pollock. He says that a camara-
derie and community is formed with the mu-
sicians, them bouncing ideas around and find-
ing inspiration from one another, all under the
tenet of mutual respect.
“There are no rules, that’s the only rule,”
Pollock says. While that’s strictly speaking not
completely true (there is, for instance, a total
ban on the use of intoxicants on the prem-
ises), TÞM seems more about offering these
kids a place and the freedom to do their own
thing than preaching the values of hard work
and clean living. If those get transferred along
the way, then that’s all the better. “There are
guidelines, but we mainly demand that the
bands show each other and themselves some
respect. That’s a key factor. There are other
places to drink, we play our music here, we
do this kinda shit here… if you want to do
the other thing, then you’ve got to go some-
where else. This is a place of creation, work,
and the kids respect that.
“Everybody needs a place to do what
they’re gonna do, and there’s so few places
left,” he continues. “This scene has always
been so disorganized, but now we have this
collective here and we can get things done
more easily, pass the information along, ex-
change ideas and help each other make them
a reality. And we’re seeing some results. Bands
that work or have worked here run their gam-
bit all around town, Iceland Airwaves, Culture
Night, whatever is going on, they come and
go. Look at Airwaves, the bands were better
prepared this time around than ever.”
And he believes it’s a result of some of
their experiences at TÞM. “It’s almost like a
rock and roll high school, we get people here
who don’t know anything about getting a
good live sound, setting up a show, but af-
ter practicing here and associating with their
peers they get familiar with the tools of the
trade. Those with the experience will pass it
on, give guidance and answer questions but
that’s the extent of it. You still have to do it
yourself, with all the freedom that entails.
That’s the best way.”
REYKJAVÍK_GRAPEVINE_ISSUE 0_007_FEATURE/MUSIC/HOUSING_151_REYKJAVÍK_GRAPEVINE_ISSUE 0_007_FEATURE/MUSIC/HOUSING
Fight Fire With Fire
Lanky 19-year-old student Benjamin Mark
Stacey is quick to agree with Pollock’s senti-
ment. His band, Sudden Weather Change,
have been honing their craft at TÞM for little
under a year, and he even took on a part-time
job as an attendant there. He says he spends
most of his free time at TÞM and that he
has witnessed many exciting happenings at
the premises since he started going last year.
“The metal bands are incredibly diligent at
throwing concerts, they do an excellent job
at that. And, you know, it’s a nice place to
hang out and meet people.” As he tells me
this, a tall, longhaired blonde dude passes,
a whole three guitars strapped to his torso.
A shorter dude deftly follows him, lugging
drums. Always something going on.
An hour earlier, Pollock explained TÞM’s
current financial plight, and that if govern-
mental and municipal authorities reject their
call for support they will have to close down
in a matter of months. He tells me they are
asking for 12 million ISK in support annually,
which is half the yearly cost of running the
facilities. “I’ve been working on this project
for five years and we keep telling them the
same thing year after year, over and over
again. We’ve gotten the best responses so
far this year, but then come the other com-
plications, ‘cause we are in major debt and
we need to sell the house. Then some coun-
cil members might think that the owners
of the house [actually Pollock himself, and
a business associate] will make a tremen-
dous amount of money. That’s fucked up,
but the owners are businesspeople, we [the
TÞM organization] have never owned any-
thing, we’ve always rented. That’s the way it
should be done.”
What Pollock is perhaps confusingly
referring to is the fact that the area which
TÞM is based in, Grandi, has recently been
named as a likely candidate for being devel-
oped into a residential area, thereby driving
property values up considerably. While this
means that he and his business associate will
likely get a fair amount of money when they
sell the house, the partnership is still not
connected with TÞM and its operation, and
no funding earmarked for TÞM will find its
way into the owners’ pockets. The two en-
tities are entirely unconnected. “The house
needs to be sold, the owners [sic] are already
in minus and the need to sell it to bring the
debt to zero. Then we’ll rent it off the new
owners while we develop this further and
then find a bigger, larger location when the
time comes. There are bands waiting for a
space here right now.”
5-4 = UNITY
The responsible officials are finally starting to
take notice, according to Pollock, although
that has yet to bear any fruit. Meetings with
government officials are lined up, and Pol-
lock seems hopeful that they will turn in
some positive results. “The city council re-
ceived many, many e-mails from all sorts of
people regarding this, somewhere around
3,000. We have 700 union members, aside
from all the other artists and foreign bands
that have performed here, so we have
a group. And there’s power in unity, we
have a political force of sorts, with parents,
grandparents and concertgoers. I calculate
that somewhere around 30,000 people
pass through here annually. Responses have
been getting better, but they’re still up and
down because this is new and they don’t
know how to take it. But I think they’re fi-
nally getting it through their heads that this
is a very important part of the local culture,
and will only grow in importance as time
progresses.”
Twelve million ISK annually may seem
steep for some, but compared to the pub-
lic funding some other hobbies receive, it’s
only a drop in the ocean of, say, the hun-
dreds of millions poured into the heavily
disputed symphony hall under construction
in downtown Reykjavík. Grapevine’s corre-
spondents from the music scene also con-
sistently point to public funds earmarked
for sports activities. But not bitterly, they
all just seem to feel that their respective
hobby deserves the same amount of sup-
port the others seem to warrant. Lest we
forget, the City of Reykjavík and the whole
of Iceland continually take pride in a vibrant
music scene and use it to their benefit, for
instance in marketing Iceland to foreigners.
…Still Don’t Get It
Says Birkir Fjalar Viðarsson, not afraid to raise
his voice: “I know kids will always find ways
to play their rock if they want it bad enough.
But if we really want this scene to flourish,
I believe some support is in order. There’s
more room for creation if you’ve got a de-
cent space to create in and some resources.
And I’ve learned through my work with teen-
agers [Viðarsson works as a counsellor in a
Reykjavík youth community centre] that for
every kid that’s into sport, there’s a kid who’s
into being in a band, going to shows and fol-
lowing his favourite groups around.
“Literally thousands of youths in Iceland
prefer this hobby to sports. And the lack
of support for their dreams and aspirations
makes me feel kinda like officials are ignoring
the needs of one of their kids, while pamper-
ing the other. Other Scandinavian countries
have been providing support for these activi-
ties for decades. The idea of TÞM is old-hat
there, and has given various results, hell, even
stimulated the economy. If the state wants
to partake in various recreational activities,
that’s fine, I’m all for that, but they can’t be
hypocritical and pander to one half and not
the other. That’s unfair and unreasonable.”
An assumption one could make at this
point is that Reykjavík’s interest in all things
rockin’ has finally grown to the level that de-
mands action and support on behalf of the
powers that be, not unlike what happened
with the sports movement early in the 20th
century. There are enough kids with fresh
guitars, drums, keyboards and basses out
there that want to pursue their passions that
an overhead organization such as TÞM is
sorely needed. And TÞM is providing steady
ground now, with years of experience and
know-how, not to mention passion for the
work, already there. Pollock concurs: “This
is a golden opportunity, and if people look
at the big picture over a long term, they will
find that something like this is needed, and
we have it right here, now. A whole indus-
try can build around this, whether it be with
instrument stores, repair shops, sound engi-
neers, studios… there are so many aspects
to this if you expand the scope to 10 or 20
years. Even since I started with The Outsid-
ers (Utangarðsmenn) I’ve seen an economy
build up around rock.”
And there’s still room for one more com-
parison to the sports movement: “It takes
a tremendous amount of money to run a
sports arena, but it’s used consistently. And
we use this more than that is used, ‘cause
there’s something going on here from noon
‘til midnight, sometimes all night long, con-
stantly. And we’re really only getting 20%
of what we need right now. The people in
charge need to understand the possibilities,
that this is an important thing that needs
to be supported. That this is for the future.
Otherwise, these groups will end up on the
street.”
I Wanna Rock!
When leaving TÞM after a long conversation
with Daniel Pollock, I am drawn to the sounds
of someone wailing metal on an electric gui-
tar, spewing out riffs and licks that tickle my
inner Slayer-fanboy. I cautiously enter and
am confronted with a couple of longhaired
Spicoli-ish dudes ragging on their Flying-V’s
and Dime’ model Deans. They have huge
amps. They are shy boys, and comprise the
guitar section of two-year-old thrash-metal
band Blood Feud. They write lyrics about se-
rial killers, and God. They love it here, and
they love playing music, their band practices
three times every week, and they hope to
get in even more practice time in their new,
less-crowded room. Soon, they will record
their demo. And they fund their hobbies
with their summer-jobs.
“Of course our dream is to get to play
music all the time, tour the world. We’re
working on that. We’ve played four shows
here in Hellirinn, and one at Kaffi Amster-
dam. The difference is great; the sound in
Hellirinn and all the gear provided is awe-
some. At Amsterdam, we get beer however,
so that’s good.”
I ask them how they would feel if TÞM
closed down. “Man, well, that would fuck-
ing suck.”
Garage Days Revisited?
Text by Haukur Magnússon Photos by Skari