Reykjavík Grapevine - 29.07.2011, Blaðsíða 38

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38
The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 11 — 2011
Festivals | Faroe Islands
The Faroe Islands are a fun place to be, especially when the
G!Festival is on. You can get there with a ferry from Seyðisfjörður. Or
an airoplane. Your choice, really.
The hills are alive with the sound
of music in Gøta, the small town
in the Faroe Islands, which is
the setting for the Faroe’s an-
nual and legendary G! Festival.
Here I am, somewhere around half
way in between Scotland and Iceland,
watching people mow their turfed roof-
tops in preparation for a festival that
three days before its beginning looks
like it might not happen. The Faroese
are so relaxed that it often occurs to
one that their watches are rather meant
for ornamentation than use.
So, I wait and watch. For fun, I try
and get away with being a local by
speaking Icelandic with a Danish ac-
cent and hope that people don't ask
me too many questions. A good tip for
learning any language is to get drunk. A
good tip for a festival whose main stage
is on a tiny beach (which I am told is
actually big this year) is to not get too
drunk, in case you decide that you are
enjoying or hating the music so much
that you would like to hear it underwa-
ter. Don't, it's freezing.
The three stages each have their
own charm. The D.J. stage is set in a
ruined building on a hill coming up
from the sea. Graffitied on the outer
wall, the name of the venue 'Ground
Zero' is cheekily displayed when you
enter the town, as a pair of knickers
and a vest hang on a washing line in-
side. The smaller stage, called 'The
Playground,' does what it says on the
tin, a built stage on the playground's
astro-turf football pitch, which gener-
ates a charming oxymoron, with chil-
dren playing on a see-saw whilst any-
thing from folk to metal bands perform
on stage. After being told that the main
stage on the beach nearly sank into the
sea last year, I watch in disbelief as it is
put up. This is G! A fizzy pop drink of
fantasy that has a distinctly homemade
feeling.
THURSDAY: Guðrun & Bartal, Andy
Irvine, Annamarie Zimakoff, Spælimen-
ninir, Lisa í Dali, Mirror Men, Sic, Mo-
vitis!, Hamferð, Mugison, Fallulah, Dr.
Mrgillis, HumanWoman, ÜberNörd.
Lisa í Dali: has a lovely voice but demon-
strates the problem with singer song-
writers writing in a second language, or
perhaps singer songwriters in general.
Her lyrics were trite with simple rhymes
and one song that consisted mainly
of the words "fuck the rest.” Now, I'm
not going to get all Mary Whitehouse
on you, but continuous and gratuitous
swearing does not a good lyricist make;
in fact it's just a bit dull. In better mo-
ments, her song "I was made by lovers"
was in the tradition of Faroese a cap-
pella singing, full of depth, disharmony
and strangeness.
Mugison: Not at his best, but always
fun. His voice has chocolaty smooth-
ness, rounded off by a smoker’s rough-
ness. A bit disorganised at times (he
arrived on stage without a guitar strap)
however, despite technical problems,
his energy was high and he got the
crowd Mugie-boogying along with him.
Fallulah: was on top form, which meant
there was a good party to be had. She
wooed the crowed with catchy tunes
and a rock-pop sensibility. Leaping
about the stage with tambourine in
hand, the performance had the crowd
transfixed into a permanent mode of
carefree happiness.
Dr. Mrgillis: Unfortunately I was a bit
too drunk to make any proper or reli-
able commentary on this act, but I had
a good time.
FRIDAY: Rod Sinclair, Katrina Petersen,
Marius, Marstin & The Revelators, Nive
Nielsen, Gipsy Train, Petur Pólson, Am-
nesty Vinnari, Budam, Travis, Hogni, Me-
suggah, Picture Book, Swagnah Dan-
gah, Herr Gott.
Nive Nielsen: Rarely have I seen such a
strange attitude from a young, touring
band. Yes, there were some technical
problems; well there was an annoying
buzzing sound coming from the ukulele
lead. However, trying to "sort it out" for
half an hour of a forty-five minute set,
well, it wouldn't get you asked back to
any venue I've been to. When they final-
ly got to it, I was not only disappointed
with the boring, clean pop—they were a
shambles, to say the least. The singer
was nervous, the band kept looking in
despair at the soundman and I almost
walked away until they played their last
song. ‘Vacuum Cleaner’ which involved
Words
Álfrún Gísladóttir
Photography
Tróndur Dalsgarð