Reykjavík Grapevine - 11.09.2009, Síða 34

The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 14— 2009
The Eternal Twilight of a Sparkling Mind
Gøta’s G! Festival: Plugged, unplugged, and, still roaring
It’s five in the morning and I’m just
rolling back to Siggi and Rúnar’s
sailboat-slash-home away from
home, which sits on the dock on
the easternmost side of the Faeroe
Islands village of Gøta.
The first day of the G! Festival
has been and gone, the sun is
just coming up and as I pass the
techno stage, there are still dozens
throbbing away to a drum ‘n’
bass drone. Overhead, gulls are
squawking blue murder, diving at
the fringes where sea meets land.
Some even dive on the pavement
straight in front of me, where
French fries and bits of kebab lie
scattered among compressed beer
cans and the occasional passed-out
drunkard.
Some are dressed up in gaudy
outfits gone limp: silver mini-skirts,
neon pink sweaters, some toss
scraps of half-finished hamburger
bun at the gulls. Then, looking
across at the bay below, a red hue
lights up the skies and a small
fishing trawler rolls out into the
ocean. It feels great to be alive.
Orka means pOwer
Six hours earlier, I am almost
dumbstruck by the talents of the
Faeroese band Orka: a continually
evolving cooperative of musicians,
headed by the diminutive schoolboy-
looking Jens Thomsen. Orka plays
groove-driven industrial music on
all manner of things Jens dug up
on his parent’s farm. They sound
bloody good.
A day or so before, I’d listened
to their latest album, Livandi oyða
(Living Wasteland), having had it
recommended by the sales guy at
the Tutl record store in Tórshavn.
Upon first listening, I wasn’t that
impressed. At first, it sounded like
just another quasi-experimental
band with stacks of sampling and
a half-decent beat. Seeing Orka
live was another matter altogether.
When I realised that they created
all their sounds on bits and bobs
that were lying around the farm—
concrete mixers, oil drums, angle
grinders, a single-string violin made
from chicken wire, and a hammer—
my mind changed. They earned all
the respect they get.
Jens himself plays a fretless,
stand-up bass comprised of an
amplified, pointed fence stake and
something that he tells me is used
on fishing vessels. It sounds funky
as hell. Lead singer Kari Sverisson
strums a kind of hand-made harp
that sits astride an oil drum. In the
background, someone is sweeping
the stage with a broom. And no, he’s
not part of the maintenance crew,
he’s one of the band; that broom is
being miked. Bogi a Lakjuni plays
what they call a hydro harp; basically
it’s a bunch of plastic coke bottles
with varying levels of water and an
airgun blowing air across the top.
My head is reeling watching
this spectacle, angle grinder sparks
literally spew across the stage. I
wonder, are all Faeroe bands this
utterly mad—and talented?
“a little cOuntry has a
chance tO make it”
During a quiet moment, I ask Jens
how he feels about the Icelandic
music scene, if the more recent
rise of Faeroe artists such as Orka,
Teitur, Lena Anderssen, Boys in
A Band, has in some way been
inf luenced by Iceland.
“Of course Iceland has inspired
us,” he says. “With Björk and Sigur
Rós, they paved a way, proving
that a little country has a chance to
make it. We have a lot of friends in
Iceland, people like Mugison and
Bubbi Morthens, but has their music
inf luenced our sound? Not really,
we’re kinda doing our own thing
here.”
Over the course of the next
few days, I drift in and out of the
backstage area, f lirting with the girl
behind the bar, seeing if I can get
inside the mind of the G!Festival.
During the days, while most of us
are recuperating from the night
before, a giant tent sits on the beach
just a few strides away from the
stage; it’s a make-shift sauna, and
half-naked women and men ramble
out of here, beer in hand, making a
mad dash for the icy ocean.
squeezing their
wOmanhOOd
On the second night, the Faeroe’s
most famous singer-songwriter,
Teitur Lassen, graces the stage,
performing the mostly soft-spoken
songs from his newest, highly-
acclaimed album, The Singer. This
is when the crowd is possibly at its
thickest, girls rumble into the stage
squeezing their very womanhood
into steel railings, f luorescent
headbands glow, beer cups slosh. Yet
the mood is subdued, sensitive, just
like Teitur’s personal music.
Supported by a lean crew of a
drummer, bassist, pianist, and three
brass players, who I am told are all
home-grown from Gøta (one of them
looks no more than twelve), Teitur’s
sound shines. This is not music for
the masses, this is heartfelt, slow
poetry, and strangely, as I have seen
countless times at the G!Festival,
the crowd absolutely seems to get it.
This is all lit-up Bic lighter slow-
dance music. Listen to the words
and you’ll start to understand what
the Faeroes is all about: “You said
that songs were what the world
needed,” sings Teitur. “That you
liked those singers that really meant
it!”
There are three stage areas in all.
There’s the main stage on the beach,
near the make-shift sauna. There’s
a smaller one, hidden behind a kind
of Ali Baba’s Bazaar (or Gøta’s three-
day answer to Kolaportið), where
most of the lesser known, but no less
interesting acts perform. Then there
is the techno dance area that only
starts to fade when the sun comes
out.
nO Björk here
Presently on the second stage the
Faeroese/Danish group Valravn
is setting up. Now here’s another
entirely new take on Celtic-Arabic-
folk-rock-trip-hop. The sounds
couldn’t be more eclectic-electric-
mind-boggling. Most of the songs
are in Faeroese, performed by lead
vocalist, and Björk-styled jumping
lady, Anna Katrin Egilstrøð,
accompanied by f lutes, hurdy-
gurdy, davul and frame drums and
a wild array of electronics. There is
something tribal-elemental about
this group. Here, once again, the
crowd settles in to a slow sway,
almost hypnotised.
Later when I ask Anna Katrin if
she has been inf luenced by Björk,
I’m expecting a resounding yes, but
strangely she says, “I love Björk, but
no, not really in the music.” Yet, take
one look at her outfit, or in fact, just
listen to her vocal inf lections, and
you have Björk ten or so years ago,
all over again.
Over 500 bands from all over
the US and Europe wanted to be a
part of the G!Festival, and in the
end they narrowed their selection
down to a meagre 46. A number
of Icelandic bands made the cut,
including Fjallabræður, Maggi Lego
and the part-Faeroese Bloodgroup.
Quite frankly, there’s so much going
on here, it would not be humanly
possible to see them all perform.
It’s an amazing testament to the
efforts of all of the village of Gøta
that the G!Festival is still going
strong, basically the whole thing
creates utter havoc for two sleepless
nights and three whole days. No
one can sleep, not only for all the
music and the hulaballo, the frantic
f lurries of seagulls, but for the fact
that there is no real hotel here, and
half of the village puts up most of
the bands and many of the visitors.
This, friends, is what raw, unbridled,
sparkling live music is all about!
Music | G! Festival
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