Reykjavík Grapevine - 07.01.2006, Blaðsíða 34
where
whO
whEN
Grand Rokk
and Gallery
Bananananas
Bob Log III
and Rass
December
13th 2005
Bob Log III, the black sheep of Mississippi blues label
Fat Possum Records, hit Iceland like a more hormonal,
if more awkward, Matthew McConaughey. The stoner
charm of his voice matched with the road stories I’d
heard about this legend of the blues festival circuit, the
one man band who could entertain the tops off of just
about anyone.
In a brief interview on the local radio, he made a
point of reminding listeners that he had a song, Clap
Your Tits, in which the percussion… matched the
title.
So I joined many a freezing artist to hear this
legend, standing under a balcony at a local outdoor
gallery. The vibe was pleasant enough, except for a lean
young man with a moustache making pseudo-liberal
generalisations about building in Arizona: Oh God,
I thought, this Bob Log III has brought along some
lame ass groupies. Of course, the lame ass was Mr. Log
III, I realised a short while later during a mediocre, if
slightly athletic, set.
Later that night, Grand Rokk was mobbed as
word got out that Mr. Log III wore an odd helmet
and flight suit. Actually, word got out that Mr. Log
must be a member of the Strokes or some other bit of
New York royalty, a bit helped along by the many local
musicians who adore the Log.
I was the last person who should have attended the
Log show: a fan of Fat Possum Records, a fan of slide
guitar blues, of one-man bands, and lo-fi music that
still remembers entertainment value; on paper, Log
was a god. In person, he was a man with four riffs, a
decent drum machine, and lyrics that Ogre of Revenge
of the Nerds would have labelled a little too shallow.
Bob Log III does to blues what Girls Gone Wild does
to film.
Which is not to say this night at Grand Rokk was
a complete disappointment—not in the slightest. For
one thing, RASS, the local geri-punk outfit, played
an hour-long opening set that may have been the best
concert Grand Rokk has ever witnessed. For another,
an Icelandic audience made up mostly of musicians and
artists demonstrated their curiosity and love for diver-
sity—while I sat sulking in the back, Múm, Singapore
Sling, members of the Kitchen Motors, and a mob of a
crowd took in anything Bob Log III wanted to throw
out.
The receptiveness of Icelandic crowds toward for-
eign musicians, especially those that push the envelope,
truly sets them apart from the rest of the world. Sadly,
this was an evening when the envelope was pushed
toward Greek letters, beer bongs, and, Bob’s own
invention, “Boob scotch.”
You can view Bob Log III’s videos for both Boob Scotch and
Clap Your Tits and his website, www.boblog111.com. If
you feel cheap afterwards, you may actually have a soul.
By Bart Cameron | Photo by Skari
Blues Gone Wild
Grapevine resources were stretched too thin, and
no reporter was able to document the chemistry of
Mugison, Trabant and Hjálmar playing together
at NASA just before the holidays. According to
those in attendance, highlights included Hjálmar
doing straightforward back-up for Trabant, and a
collaboration between Mugison and Hjálmar entitled
Ljósvíkingur. A recording of the track is available on
Mugison’s website, www.mugison.com.
where
whO
whEN
NASA
Mugison,
Trabant and
Hjálmar
December
21st 2005
Photos by Skari
Wish We Were There