Reykjavík Grapevine - 18.10.2008, Side 12

The best band on the bill at Organ Saturday night
had the unfortunate pleasure of playing long af-
ter most of the crowd had stumbled out in search
of other pleasures at the nearby overcrowded
bars. The dozen or so people that remained were
treated to a vibrant, bracing set by the Reykjavik
power-pop trio Weapons. Weapons are the perfect
example of a simple thing done right: their songs
don’t stretch any borders or look to pull off any
tricky genre-splices. They’re just simple, guitar-
driven pop songs delivered with spirit and spunk,
drummer Sigurmon and frontman Hreinn trad-
ing off vocal duties and teaming up for choruses
that soared sky high. At their best moments, they
recalled prime Sugar: indelible choruses driven
by hot rodding guitars. What preceded them was
mostly mediocre, with a few notable exceptions.
One of those exceptions was Mammút. The group
is a powerhouse on stage, delivering a series of
searing post-punk songs that were terrifically frac-
tured and neurotic. Guitarists Arnar and Alexan-
dra deliver notes in tight clusters, and the songs
strike like stabs to the chest. Vocalist Kata is just
as aggressive: her voice is a miracle, a collection of
tics and gasps and shrieks that injects the songs
with the proper sense of panic. Their set was a
series of well-timed thrills, breathless and invig-
orating. Though they were long on imagination,
Benny Crespo’s Gang couldn’t quite manage to get
their million disparate ideas to click. The group
takes an exploratory approach toward metal, and at
their finer moments they can be thrilling. Too of-
ten, though, they feel anchorless, and their songs
expand without ever really gaining heft. They
were still better than Montreal’s Miracle Fortress,
whose songs hung like pink haze, lacking shape
or definition. They were all mood with no motion.
The same could be said of Brooklyn, New York’s
Cruel Black Dove. Vocalist Anastasia Dimou is
certainly charismatic: decked out in a ruff led
white shirt and dark eye makeup, she frequently
climbed atop the gate at the front of the stage and
sang straight down into the audience. The trouble
was that she had more character than the songs,
which were mostly wan and wandering. Eberg’s
gentle indie pop was tender but forgettable, and
the trio of bands that opened the night seemed to
settle for the simply average. Lights on the High-
way played a kind of dull grey rock for a room full
of rabid fans. Noise blended searing glam vocals
with chugging, doom metal riffs. And Johnny and
the Rest played basic bar blues to a mostly empty
room, blustery and technically f lawless but mostly
uninspired. J. eDwArD Keyes
organ
sat
urDaY
Bjössi