Reykjavík Grapevine - 07.03.2008, Síða 14

14 | Reykjavík Grapevine | Issue 03 2008 | Reviews
THEATRECONCERTCONCERT
Dressed in their Sunday best, which in this case included top hats
and tails, Hjaltalín took to the purple-lit stage at NASA in front of a
dead silent crowd. With the dance floor occupied by chairs and the
bordering wings crammed even tighter, the room appeared packed
and tense. Warming up, Borko brought an unfocused simplicity of
both lyrics and musicianship into a kind of hearty relevance but
Ólöf Arnalds, making her post-maternal-leave debut, was almost im-
possible to follow over a sea of chatter coming from the bar.
With a sudden perky bounce, Hjaltalín launched into their set,
the exultant exhibition of their first and recently released album,
Sleepdrunk Seasons. Right from the outset it seemed clear that their
music, regardless, is most effective, if not impressive, live. Their big-
band sound is clean and wielded effectively so as to achieve not
simply volume, but a kind of bigness.
At the opening notes of, and the words, “Goodbye July,” there
was a lively cheer and rustle through the crowd as people started
stomping their feet and swaying feverishly from side to side. Though
in some measure tiresomely optimistic, the song did stand on its
own with a kind of catchy cohesion. It was an effect demonstrat-
ed in only a number of the songs, while a few, like the following
Kveldúlfur, remained irksomely vague and unassertive.
The song I Lie deftly demonstrated the distinct charm and rus-
tic depth in Högni’s voice, which managed to fill an endless amount
of space despite being accompanied by a comparatively cut down
lineup of instruments. With a standing ovation, the night ended in
as much excitement as it had begun. The enthusiasm seemed exces-
sive, but not unwarranted for a well-played and skillfully executed
set; limited only perhaps by its seemingly endless and indiscrimi-
nate optimism, but certainly not hindered by its exuberance.
By Valgerður Þóroddsdóttir
As Ólafur Arnalds and his four-piece ensemble trickled onto the
stage of The Water Rats in London, something very rare happened -
the entire audience risked a beer-soaked backside and got off their
feet to sit down in some sort of act of recognition that this wasn’t
going to be your average gig with loud guitars and a sweaty drum-
mer. Accordingly, the band arranged themselves in classical quartet
style, complete with sheet music on stands, while Arnalds sat be-
hind a battery of electronic equipment and a piano to perform.
‘Fok’, one of the evening’s highlights, is typical of the music
played by Arnalds; it has a simple, piano-based introduction con-
sisting of single notes played in a slowly-evolving rhythmical man-
ner with a harmonised riposte from the violins and cello, eventually
building to a complex crescendo with synthesised percussion add-
ing a modern feel to a piece of music that might otherwise sound
at home on an old film noir soundtrack. Other tracks, or should we
call them works, such as ‘Himininn er að hrynja’, show a slightly
more thoughtful aspect to Arnalds’ music with modern elements
- sampled vocals and other percussion effects erupting from his lap-
top - becoming more prevalent, as is the case on much of ‘0040’ and
‘3055’.
Like a classical recital, the evening’s highlights are the art of
composition and musicianship on display rather than individual
songs. Arnolds’ individual tracks do not stand out from one another
easily, so the overall impression is one of restrained respect for mak-
ing consistently palatable, classically-influenced music rather than
wild admiration with arms flung in the air at a favourite song or cho-
rus. The type of music Olafur Arnalds plays won’t win any awards
or trouble the charts in any way, but it certainly made people do
something rarely seen at a gig - stop completely and listen to every
note in near-silence.
By Ben H. Murray
It’s the all too familiar scene: naked over oatmeal, the lesbian airing
out her yeast infection in the kitchen.
“There’s nothing wrong or ugly about this!” she shouts defen-
sively, surrounded on two sides by gawking audience members on
Vesturport’s elaborate tree-house stage.
To fans of Lukas Moodysson’s Swedish comi-drama Tilsam-
mans, on which the play is not so loosely based, the scene is in
fact startlingly familiar. The rest of the production’s skeletal story
line ought to be too, a little too familiar in fact, as the superficial
highlights of the film’s plot rigidly unfold to a rather underdeveloped
and newfangled Icelandic cultural context. Hinging on regurgitated
comic climaxes and punch lines, the play only sporadically and su-
perficially indulges in its own interpretation of the film’s idealistic
assertions and plot.
Yet even as it gets lost trying to establish its own personal char-
acter outside of the film’s shadow, the production is by no means
fruitless, and manages to be entertaining through to the end. The
production’s primary disappointment lies in its indifference to the
sensitive nature of language, casually overlooking Iceland’s innate
xenophobia, even as the subject subtly takes centre stage. Speaking
in English to accommodate the foreign actors, many of the Icelan-
dic performers continually stumbled robotically through their lines,
while Elena Anaya and Gael García Bernal, also speaking in a sec-
ond language, remained gracefully unspoiled by overconfidence in
their language.
Not wanting to rest its fate entirely on its success at rehashing
the film, the play nevertheless seems to depend on and demand the
comparison. Ultimately it is the distinct spirit of the film that is left
wanting, misplaced perhaps, somewhere along with a winning cul-
tural subtext; in this case, the not so familiar Icelandic character.
By Valgerður Þóroddsdóttir
Hjaltalín Ólafur Arnalds Kommúnan
Photo by GAS
When: Febuary 14, 2008 When: Febuary 14, 2008 When: March 4, 2008Where: NASA Where: The Water Rats, London Where: Borgarleikhúsið
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midi-concerts.pdf 4/11/07 10:55:30 AM
Ivanovby Anton Chekhov
Direction and adaptation: Baltasar Kormákur
See and hear more on www.leikhusid.is
An unforgettable performance
ÞJÓÐLEIKHÚSIÐ
The National Theatre of Iceland