Reykjavík Grapevine - 19.06.2009, Blaðsíða 42
30
The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 8 — 2009
Sonically Speaking:
Kafbátamúsík
Album Review
It‘s been eleven years since
Ensími‘s remarkable debut was
released, and as a commentary on
their commemorative concert on
June 11th, it seems an analysis of
some sort is in order.
Kafbátamúsík emerged from
the Icelandic rock scene as not
only something hip and in pace
with its time, but also something
rather novel: an Icelandic album
willing to take great pleasure in
its own production and sound.
Rather than striving to sound
vintage or cutting edge, it seemed
to carve its own sonic landscape;
indeed, an early description of
Ensími by the members themselves
said that they played “music that
combined elements of the past,
present and future.” Never afraid
to indulge in wholesome clichés,
Ensími’s songwriting never shied
from hitting that one note, coming
in with that one drum break, or
tweaking that one synth. They
loved what they did and seem to
know what we loved, too.
Track 1 – Flotkví
Kafbátamúsík begins with Flotkví,
a simple, urgent piece of stop-start
shoegaze interlaced with biting synths
and Hrafn Thoroddsen’s signature
vocals. Not quite breathy enough to
be a croon, but softly insistent and
with a hint of awkward, unchannelled
sexuality about them, they quickly
become a relatable human guide to
the alien warmth of Kafbátamúsík’s
esoteric guitars and synths, Virgil
guiding us through the fascinating
instrumental underworld.
This exemplary introduction
to Ensími’s modus operandi is
accompanied by a free-f loating
saxophone, the complex and obviously
well-educated playing easily justifying
what could have been a gimmicky,
avant-garde choice. The fierce
apocalyptic vitriol of the bridge also
showcases something that remains
curiously rare in Ensími’s songs: a
dramatic mood change. The dreamy,
pink-hued verses are Ensími’s heady,
enticing side, and the bridge is their
unforgiving, unapologetic energy.
Track 2 – Arpeggiator/Gulur
Arpeggiator/Gulur reportedly began
life as a guitar-based number; the
switch to the jaw-droppingly wet
synthetics, emotionally bare and so
automatic, is another excellent choice.
The predictable, often-heard chord
progression is the perfect canvas for the
dark, rich colours of the overlapping
synth lines. Like a voluptuous woman
covered in chocolate, it offers you
pleasures so universal and timeless
that, while stereotypical, you just can’t
resist them anyway.
Track 3 – kælibox
Kælibox offers decisive proof of at
least two things. First, whoever’s
naming these songs seems to have
a queer fascination with quirky-
sounding Icelandic composite words,
and that guitarist Franz Gunnarsson
has listened to Jeff Buckley a lot. The
sweeping, arcing guitar arpeggios,
never ending quite where you
think they will, form the basis of
an effortlessly catchy and distinctly
Icelandic rock song. Buckley’s
influence is particularly evident on
the laconically plucked guitars of the
bridge, and the entire song balances
welcome familiarity with singular
freshness.
Tracks 4 & 5 – Drelflík, Conga
Drelflík and Conga are two sides
of the same coin, variations on
a theme. Building on the same
experimental, innocent-sounding
themes and emerging into the same
level of stunning directness in their
endings, Drelf lík driven by vocals and
Conga by keyboards, they may lack
the more listenable arrangements
of the rest of the album, but they
show how interesting the difference
is between building on production
and using it. The beginnings of both
songs are very loosely defined, letting
the sound textures do all the work
and wafting lazily through shallow
chord progressions, while the verses/
endings are pure chord work, pure
pop songcraft in the truest sense of
the word, as if Weezer were writing
the endings of My Bloody Valentine
songs.
Track 6 - Gaur
If Drelf lík and Conga are brief
glimpses at Ensími’s pop sensibilities,
Gaur is a long, hard stare at them,
blindingly reckless in its defiance of
what has gone before. It eschews the
gentle strokes that have defined the
rest of the album so far, opting instead
for rambunctious energy. Ensími’s
seemingly nonsensical lyrics, almost
abstract, relish in belting out common,
almost sloppily pedestrian phrases
and turning them into mantras. Of all
their work, this is perhaps most true
of the informal, incomplete questions
of Gaur’s chorus, so endearing in
their honesty and familiarity, a
hallmark of Icelandic-language rock
in the nineties.
Track 7 – Hrúgald
Hrúgald is another beefed-up nod to
Jeff Buckley’s quizzical, upbeat guitar
hooks, the swerving intro paving the
way for Kafbátamúsík’s most abjectly
euphoric track, and it is weird hearing
such euphoria projected so assertively
and charismatically. The song is a
nice little stopover between the more
distinctive Gaur and Atari, and has
been a personal favourite since I first
heard the album.
Track 8 – Atari
One of Ensími’s more interesting
accomplishments is their comfortable
seating between art rock and
mainstream Icelandic rock. Their
concerts and albums are enjoyed both
by preppy, well-groomed radio-rock
fans, and the notoriously finicky indie
and art crowd. While the inviting
synth stylings of Arpeggiator/Gulur
are by and large responsible for this
crossover, Atari’s stripped-down
guitar licks and almost-singalongs
do hold some of the responsibility.
The stuttering, bursting lead guitar,
ever-exuberant lead synth and warm,
knowing vocals made it an instant
classic when it hit Icelandic radio.
It is so deep and enticing that it is
impossible not to fall in love with,
like a quirky personality with a nice
smile.
It is also, to my mind, the only
song on Kafbátamúsík to truly suffer
from its rich, mid-heavy equalization,
and I feel a more focused, minimal
production could have brought it out
much stronger. But that is perhaps
what makes Atari so remarkable for
a hit song: instead of an arresting,
well-defined mix like the one typically
heard in radio-friendly rock, it is
awash in spindly guitars and barely
supported by a soft, quiet bassline.
The drums click and clack with
unorthodox percussion and ring out
with a heavy reverb, and the vocals are
kept low in the mix. No one I know
is quite sure exactly what Hrafn is
singing, but you can’t help but sing
along anyway. In a way, it’s daring to
mix such an obvious hit in this way,
and makes the fact that it is one of
the most recognizable Icelandic rock
songs ever written even more of an
accomplishment.
Track 9 – Naglabassi
As if to apologise for Atari’s softness,
Naglabassi’s verses are as evil,
insidious and biting as Kafbátmúsík
gets, a prophecy of sorts for the toxic
sneer often prevalent on Ensími’s
eponymous third album. The chorus
remains lofty and warm, the synths
and vocal harmonising giving
Kafbátamúsík yet another infectious
hook.
Track 10 – Permanent
Permanent is the perfect ending to
Ensími’s debut. It is remarkable in its
banality, in a way; Ensími have already
pulled all their neat tricks on you
and let Permanent saunter through
without making much of an impact,
but the clever thing about the track is
part of what make Ensími so special.
It’s that it is such a typical Ensími
song. Already, at the end of only their
first album, Ensími have created their
own identifiable hallmarks. You could
not mistake Permanent for a song by
any other band.
The ability to create their own
specific character up to the extent
that there is such a thing as ‘a typical
Ensími song’ is not a skill to be taken
lightly, and they belong in a group of
select bands who have accomplished
this. Although Kafbátamúsík’s
general atmosphere could hardly be
called definitive or decisive (Ensími
do not really achieve this until four
years later), it is particular to itself and
not similar to many other albums. It
is content to throw ingredients into
its sonic soup without stirring them
to the top, leaving them in as subtle
f lavourings to enhance its richness.
Special thanks to Nick Bernard.
For an even more thorough analysis of Kafbátamúsik,
visit www.grapevine.is
Ensími
Kafbátamúsik (1998)
ensimi
SINDRI ELDON
BJARNI GRíMS