Reykjavík Grapevine - 18.10.2008, Side 10

Untitled-7 10/16/08 10:22:44 AM
For the uninitiated, Iðnó is such a beautiful venue
that it ś more like going to someone ś house than
going to a gig. The main hall boasts ornate arches
and fine acoustics, which suited the cello-led post-
rock of Rökkurró. Given the largely subdued, in-
trospective nature of their music they provided
an early evening downer but were forgiven by a
receptive audience who didn´t mind the low en-
ergy levels and with good reason: Rokkurro have
the musicianship and composure to make a great
addition to the likes of Constellation records in
the US. In contrast, Ske ś positioning on the bill
probably helped them. Stronger indie rock acts ap-
peared later in the evening, but following on from
Rokkurro meant that their mournful indie rock,
filled out with layers of piano and then keyboards,
didn´t stop them from making the spotlight their
own. They fell into pedestrian territory at points
and several attempts to hold a sustained note
when singing fell f lat, but when they arrived at
some more up-tempo material those songs showed
them at their driving, rhythmic best. Viking Giant
Show breezed past the other acts on the line-up,
with their excellent, sussed lyrics and music that
was all of off-the-wall, intelligent and catchy as
hell. Almost like a less wacky Presidents Of The
United States, they got the crowd clapping along
and that quickly turned to enthusiastic applause
at the end of each song. That they have a country-
tinged number about ´praying out the gay´ tells
you everything to know that ś good about this
band. They have the unassuming charm of true
satirists. Sprengjuhöllin ś sound was composed
of many parts, not least intermittent trombones
and trumpets. Their versatility was a strength, in
both their music and lyrics. A helpful translator
explained them singing about everything from
perverse sex to a tribute to a specific area of the
city to this British journalist. Their quirkiness
and polite intelligence make them wholly likeable
and their raft of former hit singles helped main-
tain the energy levels transmitted from the crowd
back to the band, too. Dressed all in black, White
Lies were the only foreign band on the bill – from
London – and their otherness seemed to get them
through. Although hotly tipped and tightly honed,
their sound was heavily derivative of too obvious
choices for a band of their ilk. Joy Division and The
Smiths are long gone and The Killers showed how
to invigorate that sound with style and panache a
few years ago. White Lies do nothing new, really.
They ŕe hard to hate but impossible to find inter-
esting. Jeff Who? made a late arrival but took only
two songs to jack energy levels back through the
roof. Eminently danceable, their quirky indie pop
might not be very distinctive but they know how to
write tunes and nonsense verse that hole up inside
your head. By the time their deserved encore had
ended, Idno ś stylish wooden f loor was groaning
from the number of bodies that had been bounc-
ing up and down on it. AlistAir lAwrence

iðnó
sat
urDaY
Emma