Reykjavík Grapevine - 14.08.2009, Page 42

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The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 12 — 2009
Licensing and
registration of travel-
related services
The Icelandic Tourist Board issues licences to tour operators and travel agents,
as well as issuing registration to booking services and information centres.
Tour operators and travel agents are required to use a special logo approved
by the Icelandic Tourist Board on all their advertisements and on their Internet
website.
Booking services and information centres are entitled to use a Tourist
Board logo on all their material. The logos below are recognised by the
Icelandic Tourist Board.
List of licenced Tour
Operators and Travel
Agencies on:
visiticeland.com
Music | Concert Review
No Tents Please
The music and madness of Innipúkinn 2009
It started with a conga line, entwining the
reasonably sized audience of friends into
a daisy chain of drunken merriment and
awkward expression for those who reluc-
tantly joined—Batteríið had opened its
doors to the madness of <3 Svanhvít.
These guys commanded the stage
topless, rapping over pre-recorded songs
via an iPod and the odd random keyboard
interlude. Call it stupid, arrogant or what
you will, these lads sure knew how to
have a good time, and by the interactiv-
ity and reaction of the audience they suc-
ceeded threefold.
I popped outside on the streets for a
while to get some fresh air and to watch
the sitcom around Reykjavík. A shock-
ing tale was told of how people weren’t
allowed entry to Innipúkinn due to wild
age restrictions, even after ticket pur-
chase—the fun police had struck once
again. I stared at my ‘press pass’ and re-
entered Batteríið for more booze to calm
down.
After wandering around, urinating
and various trips to the ATM, I got my
first ‘proper’ Sudden Weather Change
viewing, finally. After being amazed by
SWC’s Loji Höskuldsson’s uncanny re-
semblance to Weird Al Yankovic (minus
white boy fro), a second wave of amaze-
ment struck vigorously. Extremely well
constructed songs, catchy hooks and
genuine enthusiasm grasped me and my
music loving peers in an uncontrollable
unity of hatred for Nicholas Cage, whilst
bellowing out ‘St. Peters Day.’
A short hop, skip and a stumble lead
me to Sódóma, the haze in my retinas
steered me to the front of the stage for
Sykur. Various electro squawks and
808 drum sounds naturally spurred on
party people to create more shapes than
an episode of Sesame Street. Aestheti-
cally, Sykur had a likeness to Kraftwerk—
slicked back hair, shirt and tie, baby faces.
They just added in that annoying point-
ing motion to the sky and cheeky smirks;
if it wasn’t for the ‘happy juice’ it would be
incredibly exasperating.
Gratefully Agent Fresco allowed any
frustration to be expelled naturally over
the next hour or so. They sounded excep-
tionally tight as always, even when the
keyboard fell off its unsecured stand no
flaws incurred. It was then time to leave.
Day two I found myself one of the
few attending Swords of Chaos and from
what I can remember they put on an awe-
some show. The next couple of hours
were spent drinking in the courtyard of
Batteríið, under a canopy of dramatic'
unnerving deep blue fairy lights and lis-
tening to fruitful conversation across the
horizon as Reykjavík’s sun finally set.
As this is Iceland and punctuality is
not in the vocabulary, everything was
running late. This confusion made me
miss AMFJ at Jacobsen as I ran back
to Sódóma to catch Seabear, only then
to find out that Dikta (nothing against
them) was still playing. The only consola-
tion was the fact the bar was empty at this
point.
Once Seabear eventually began, the
sound in the venue was too dreadful for
music so delicate and exquisite. Vocalist
Sindri managed to pull the set through,
but without hearing the band’s complex
musical instrumentation and pensive na-
ture, it just sounded frustratingly boring.
Never mind, ‘Arms’ sounded beautiful as
ever.
Eager not to ‘miss out’ on anything,
Batteríið was the decision made for a
‘good time.’ The only problem was not
factoring in the equation of FM Belfast
plus Sódóma closing = a shitload of peo-
ple in a small venue. Being surrounded
by douchebags unaware of personal space
made it far from a ‘good time.’ The early
hours were spent once again outside,
listening to FM Belfast’s rendition of
‘Killing In The Name’ and trying not to
purge.
Exhausted and fragile summed up
the final day of Innipúkinn. Pascal Pinon
were on the cards for an evening of relax-
ation and unwinding. Their endearing
demeanour and alluring song writing is
always a pleasure.
With just enough time to grab some
food and a tiny stroll, For a Minor Reflec-
tion began. Of course one might say that
‘post-rock’ is a cliché coming from Ice-
land, but who cares when you play con-
scientious and passionate music as well
as they did. An intense drum battle broke
out right beside me, as the band was
joined by a hooded figure with cymbals
and toms in tow directly in front of the
stage. It was too much fieriness to take.
The hangover and deprivation kicked
in—home at once.
Thoughts of the weekend:
Who needs a festival in the middle of no-
where, surrounded by hippies and faeces,
when you can have a cracking debauched
time on your own doorstep? Brilliant.
Innipúkinn Festival 2009
July 31st until August 2nd
Batteríið and Sódóma
JONATHAN BAKER ESQ
HÖRÐUR SVEINSSON