Reykjavík Grapevine - 04.08.2008, Page 16

16 | REYKJAVÍK GRAPEVINE | ISSUE 10—2008
ARTICLE By Sigurður kjartan kriStinSSon — pHoto By guðnÝ lÁra tHorarenSen
We decided to camp our tents in the Party-Camp-
site, for otherwise we might have been stoned by
the metal madmen, and as soon as we entered
the premises several different kinds of Irish and
Scotch Whiskey were basically impelled upon our
throats and everyone present claimed they had a
spot perfect for us right by their tent. We wondered
whether everybody was simply so nice or that the
fact that one of us was a female had anything to
do with this extreme niceness of the rugged, long-
haired rockers. But once the party was started we
really didn’t care; we kind of became one of them,
we had to. Never had I witnessed as much soul
and unity on a single premises. Whether you were
swivelling your head with the moshers in front of
the stage or kicking it back at the bar with a triple
whiskey on the rocks (which has to be the official
festival drink), you were all part of the same big,
happy metal family.
SEvERED CROTCH: A NEW HOPE
The high-points of the Friday on stage were Brain
Police and Severed Crotch. The Brain Police stage-
image is known to most Icelanders but it is based
upon four rather roly-poly rock swine who play
some kind of a rigid desert rock with the old and
classic 60s tube sound. The crowd went wild when
they entered the stage, and though it seemed to
me that they were playing the same song for half
an hour, it was at least a decent song. Their singer,
Jenni, blasted his vocal cords like there was no
tomorrow and several young groupies broke their
water as they screamed like lunatics. He eventu-
ally had to face the fact, though, that the stage’s
proximate singer had to be considered even more
dynamic than he was. And so the alleged singer
and frontman of Severed Crotch, Ingó, made his
appearance and for a while it was as the next
Messiah had appeared, so eager was the crowd
in their admiration. For these music enthusiasts
the wonderfully named band Severed Crotch was
simply a religion. When you viewed the mosh-pit
from a certain distance I couldn’t imagine other-
wise than the participants were receiving a real
beating (which I found out the next day was factu-
al), but that didn’t stop them and their vigour and
Ingó’s growling created a true harmony. When
the show was over the whole myriad flocked over
to the campsite like a herring turf where the fun
subsequently continued. Several campfires were
ignited and people sung together old Metallica
tunes and passed on bottles of Jack as well as
drunkenly wrapped joints until one by one the
before-energy-bolts passed out.
OLD HOOLIGANS AND YOUNG ROCK
CHICKS: A DEADLY COMbO
The morning after we headed off to the town’s
swimming pool, which upon arrival didn’t seem
very original; almost everyone we had seen the
night before on the venue had galumphed into the
capacious hot tub. I’ve always considered it an
essential part of a bender when everyone gets to-
gether the day after and reminisce about the night
before. When the pieces are put together you al-
ways remember all of the funny and stupid things
that went on. And believe me, a lot of hilarious in-
Hell Broke looSe wHen tHe
Middle-aged rock StarS of HaM
finally Made tHeir appearance
on Stage.
A Real Horror Show
Or How I Stopped Worrying and Started to Love Metal
metal brings out the best in PeoPle
cidents came to light in the hot tub. The infamous
slide of the pool “Dóri the Red” was crowded with
tattooed hooligans and even the loudest kids
who usually dominate the monstrous slide stood
simply flabbergasted. When everyone had boiled
away their sins in the sauna and the hot tub, the
tumult started again down at the venue.
A lot of excitement was in the atmosphere
for the legendary flakes of HAM had arrived but
it first got crazy when the metal-candies of Mam-
mút started their set. It seemed unorthodox to
have a band with females in main roles on stage
and it affected the crowd; a lot of crazy admirers
jumped upon the stage to be closer to their dear
rock chicks who seemed to love the extra atten-
tion quite a bit, and I must say they deserved it.
Hell broke loose when the middle-aged rock stars
of HAM finally made their appearance on stage.
Whether you were into 80s cliché metal, grind-
core or thrash metal, everybody was united in
their enormous admiration for the old hooligans
and the crowd turned into a war-zone. HAM yet
again proved that they haven’t forgotten anything
and played for almost two hours before they were
too eager to start their long-longed piss-up (or sim-
ply wanting to retire to their cosy hotel room). The
lunacy that then took over included pissheaded
youngsters breaking into the pool and putting on
a provoking striptease for their beloved HAM and
another group playing the popular game “Where
is the most fun to disgorge your offscourings”. All
of these groups united later that night with the in-
tent to make the biggest bonfire they had seen on
the campsite, sacrificing a few tents and sleeping
bags on the way.
THE GREAT HANG-OvER
When everybody woke up Sunday morning, or
rather Sunday afternoon, with a hang-over of their
life, the campsite was crowded as never before
with enthusiastic cops with alcohol meters dy-
ing to find out if anybody was fit for driving. To
their extreme pleasure about 2 out of a hundred
designated drivers were physically fit for it. So it
was soon obvious that this would be an all-night-
long drive home. Ironically the sun was at its best,
which had not happened before over the week-
end and toxic fumes emitted from the hung-over
deadbeats lying scattered about on the campsite.
When we were finally able to drive after several
hours in the swimming pool, I summed up the
weekend to myself and I realised that the tremen-
dous Eastfjord scenario, the madness line-up and
the extremely-kind metal heads, had made this
rugged weekend one of my finest. And I must
say it sanctified the tedious smell of my clothes,
my lack of sleeping and my staggering hang-over
which I still suffer from.
Well, where to begin? While I'm
sitting here in my bed at 4AM on a
Sunday night, still smelling of beer
and other odorous liquids, I still
remember the moment when we
entered the 9-hour-from-Reykjavík
town, Neskaupstaður, which had
already begun transforming from
this lovely and peaceful sailor
village into a raving limbo. The al-
legedly sweatiest summer festival
in Iceland, Flight of the Testicles,
had begun.
3 short pieces (totally 30 minutes)
A LIVE VIRTUAL SHOW
performed by computers and dancers from
PARQUES MAJEURES
(France)
About the human and the nature.
“... a metallic sirena”
“... hard and sweet, poetic
and realistic”
DON´T MISS IT !!
Friday 25th of July at 20h00
Saturday 26th of July at 20h00
Free entrance !
SKIN and WHALES