Reykjavík Grapevine - 07.01.2006, Blaðsíða 32
Grapevin
e Album
Reviews
Endearing attempts
at halfway-decent pop
composition occasionally
poke through on this soulless,
soggy stool sample of an
album, but they are almost
completely buried under a
mountain of utterly brainless
guitar melodies and what
are quite possibly the worst
lyrics this reviewer has had
the displeasure of hearing
since he got over his Michael
Bolton phase. The only thing
saving this creative suicide
from becoming melted plastic
in the Grapevine fireplace is
Svala’s slight hesitation when
she is forced to sing lines like:
“You’ll find a lover on the
internet,/ don’t need to meet,
you just text the sex.”
Her mumbling suggests
she cringes just as much at the
lyrics as the rest of us.
Svala
Bird of Freedom
Worth one beer.
Costs three.
Hjálmar
Hjálmar
Swedish-Icelandic reggae
group Hjálmar’s self-titled
sophomore release is its
predecessor’s superior in every
way. The songs have lost
their careless let’s-all-get-
high atmosphere and wound
down to a steady, professional
pace that bypasses all
preconceptions of what a
reggae album can be while
remaining, in style at least,
incredibly true to its genre.
While this certainly won’t
win them any awards for
originality, it gives Hjálmar
far more credibility than an
Icelandic reggae act has any
right to have. The crystal-
clear but remarkably solid
production is also noteworthy.
And yet this album could
also be considered a failure
of sorts, for at its heart, it
is, in fact, a pop album.
Steini croons with more
heart and soul than the most
flamboyant pop diva, and
the album contains more
catchy basslines and organ
hooks than Max Martin could
concoct in his wildest dreams.
But we won’t hold it
against them. After all, a little
pop never hurt anyone. Three
beers for Hjálmar, the radio-
friendliest reggae album in
northern Europe!
Worth three beers.
Costs three.
It should come as no surprise
that middle-aged pop celebrity
Björgvin Halldórsson’s
dabbling in country, rock and
blues have aged far better
than his cheesy, contrived
power ballads. The explicit
agony of sitting through
songs like Sóley, Skýið and
Sendu nú vagninn þinn were
enough to make me rethink
this whole music critic thing
and consider a career in
accounting.
Although there are some
true gems on it, such as
Ævintýri, Rock ‘n Roll Öll
mín bestu ár and Mamma
grét, what truly makes this
pompous monstrosity (yes, 67
songs is a monstrosity), worth
listening to is its unmatched
ability to show one man’s
long love affair with the
sound of his own voice: King
Bó swoons and brays with
the kind of regal bombast
generally reserved for French
noblemen in costume dramas.
Yes, the fun never ends
at Bó’s place, or so they say,
and if you’re having Icelandic
people over the age of 30 over
for lamb and schnapps, you
can pretty much just let this
fucker roll. This collection:
2,499 ISK. A big bottle of
Brennivín: 4,030 ISK. Your
dinner guests drunkenly
embarrassing the hell out of
themselves by knowing the
lyrics to damn near every song
on each of the three CDs:
Priceless.
Björgvin Halldórsson
Ár og öld
Worth three beers.
Costs four.
Why does everyone whose
band can do a halfway-
passable impression of
Radiohead suddenly think
they’re qualified musicians?
I don’t propose to answer
that, but I will tell you that
Ampop’s latest album, while
hackneyed and commonplace
in the extreme, is a pleasant
listening experience, within
which you can find - aside
from the obligatory modern
rock - attempts at folk, surf-
rock, lo-fi and other similarly
stagnant musical genres. It
might make for an interesting
album if listened to whilst
skydiving nude out of an
exploding zeppelin while
simultaneously solving a
Rubik’s Cube and drinking an
entire bottle of cherry wine,
but is otherwise best avoided.
Ampop
My Delusions
Worth one beer.
Costs three.
Ðe lónlí blú bojs
Komplít
If you feel like buying a
Björgvin Halldórsson album
(may God have mercy on
your soul), but don’t have
the financial standings to
shell out 2,500 ISK for the
three-disc leviathan detailed
above, then you might want
to consider this as a (slightly)
more affordable option, as it
contains several of his more
engaging performances while
keeping the ridiculously dated
power ballads to a minimum.
Established as a money-
making scheme of sorts in
1974, they played a miscellany
of country, rockabilly and
hippie-pop, which has been
collected in its entirety onto
this humble two-disc set,
which on occasion has more
than just nostalgic value;
songs like Diggi liggi ló,
Kurrjóðaglyðra and Vilji
Sveins can be thoroughly
enjoyed, provided your tongue
remains firmly planted in your
cheek for the duration.
Worth two beers.
Costs three.
Megasukk
Hús datt
Hús datt is a collection
of 21 deliciously short
collaborations between
perverted drunkard/master
wordsmith Megas and
oddball country duet Súkkat,
and the result walks a fine
line between prolific brilliance
and being as thick as the
proverbial post. Megas sings
and plays with a beefed-up
energy not heard from him in
years, and the lyrics remain
steadfastly superb.
But Hús datt’s excellence
does not lie only in its
lyrics; this is one of the few
occasions on which Megas
can actually be enjoyed by
those who do not speak a
word of Icelandic. Súkkat’s
playing shines in a subtle
and casual way, and the odd
stereo overdub on Megas’
vocals not only enhance
the disorientingly drunken
experience of listening to
him sing, but, on the few
songs where the overdub
is not used, a disarming
intimacy. This endearing folk
album laughs as hard as its
contemporaries cry and yet
seems more honest than all
of them combined. It is also
easily the most exciting thing
on Bad Taste’s Christmas
release list.
Worth four beers.
Costs three. Winner
A placid, atmospheric
selection of electro trip-hop
with a lyrical fixation on
lonely robots, Push Play oozes
listlessly from song to song,
finding comfort in radio-
friendly contentedness. There
is an air of insincerity to the
laid-back atmosphere of the
album, however, and at times
it seems its arresting subtlety
is nothing but an act, but if so,
it’s a pretty damn good one:
Push Play is a musical plateau,
never rising to any summits of
greatness, but never sinking to
any depths of incompetence,
either.
Worm Is Green
Push Play
Worth 5 1/2 beers.
Costs three.
Sálin have seemingly
discarded their usual
forthrightness for a more
scattered, loose approach,
opting for a blander, more
finely crafted style of guitar-
pop than the catchy, hook-
driven songs they’re known
for. Only Blær seems to
possess a hint of the energy
one could once credit them
for, and Svarið Er Já does
contain some surprisingly
muscular bass playing, but
in the end, Undir Þínum
Áhrifum is little more than
the musical equivalent of one
of those plastic dog turds you
can buy at novelty gag stores:
A very professionally made
piece of crap.
Sálin hans Jóns míns
Undir þínum áhrifum
Worth one beer.
Costs three.
By Sindri Eldon
32