Reykjavík Grapevine - 19.07.2013, Blaðsíða 41

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41
Grísalappalísa
ALI
2013
grisalappalisa.bandcamp.com
A new voice
has emerged
in Icelandic
rock—it is
loud, angry,
literate and
groovy.
Grísalappalísa’s debut LP is a romper
stomper of an album, a high-pitched
scream of youthful existential male
angst meditated through grooves,
riffs and words. They lay it out soni-
cally and lyrically in the opening
song, aptly titled “Kraut í G” (a refer-
ence to krautrock and “Pop Song in G
major”—a classic Icelandic pop hit).
Starting with a motorik drum thump
and angular guitar noises, a mood
of anxiety is built before the desper-
ate narrator screams into the void:
“Infinite apartment blocks, infinite
cars, infinite closed gates. How, how,
how can I reach you?” A story slowly
unravels through the course of the
album, the tale of the narrator’s muse,
object of obsession and, quite possi-
bly, stalking material—a girl called
Lísa. He describes seeing a light in
her window and champagne glasses
on the table but no one answering the
doorbell.
Vocalists Gunnar Ragnarsson and
Baldur Baldursson don’t sing as much
as scream, rant, yelp and blurt out the
lyrics, in exceptional Icelandic. Full
of clever wordplay they are literate,
yet trashy, poetic in a raw and unso-
phisticated way. You can hear traces
of Megas (the band takes their name
from one of his songs) and Einar Örn
Benediktsson in the words, and a bit
of David Byrne’s herky-jerky delivery
and Ian Curtis’s detached baritone in
the vocal performances.
The subject matter is a young man’s
journey through his consciousness
and Reykjavík nightlife, fraught with
danger, self-doubt, desperation and
illusions of sanity. A loose thread is the
girl Lísa—who he yearns for and wants
to be like—and who seems to be more
like an ideal than an actual person. He
numbs himself with alcohol and nights
out on numerous occasions, as in “Allt
má (má út)” (“Everything Is Allowed
(Allowed To Be Erased).” The journey
is chock full of references, from Jesus
to Elvis to Icelandic national heritage.
The musical backing is an expertly
produced rollercoaster ride of funky
punk, krautrock and psychedelic slow
jams. The bass is jogging, the guitars
sting and come at you from unex-
pected directions and drums pound
your inner ear with the force of a man-
machine. Aside from the traditional
rock instruments, they also have a
saxophone player, which lifts songs
like Skrýtin birta (“Strange Lighting”)
and Fjallkirkjan (“Mountain Church”)
to another level. You can hear strains
of Gang of Four’s nervy post punk in
“Lóan er komin” (“The Plover Has
Arrived”) and the grinding beat of Neu!
in Kraut í G. The music sometimes
underlines the unease of the words
and at other times contradicts it, as
in "Hver er ég" (“Who Am I?”), where
Gunnar cheerfully yells: “I’m going to
commit suicide! But fall asleep with
the knife as usual!” to a backdrop of
twee female backing singers’ lalala’s.
The band comes through as a fully
formed entity on the album, a group
that has studied their influences and
has a clear direction. But it’s the lyr-
ics that make them stand outside
and above the box. It’s been a long
time since I’ve heard such depth in
discussion on the young male con-
dition, and as much playfulness
with the Icelandic language in rock
music. Consider the scene stormed.
- Davíð Roach Gunnarsson
Music
Albu
m Reviews
Magnús Andersen