Reykjavík Grapevine - 01.08.2014, Blaðsíða 20

20
The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 11 — 2014
Culture | Hip hop
We Own
This Town
The group spawned a year ago from
a series of "Women's Rap Nights," open-
mic style events held at Bar 11 and Gau-
kurinn that provide women the opportu-
nity to rap in a supportive environment.
Group members Þuríður Blær Jóhanns-
dóttir, Kolfinna Nikulásdóttir, Anna Tara
Andrésdóttir and Katrín Helga Andrés-
dóttir had taken to rapping and freestyl-
ing together at parties. For them, rapping
was not only a fun party game, but also a
potent, empowering avenue for self-ex-
pression. They wanted to facilitate a low-
pressure space for more women to rap
to an encouraging audience. Although
they had intended it to be small and inti-
mate, the first Women's Rap Night, held
last July, blew up by word of mouth and
on social media, drawing almost 200
women. Reeling off the popularity of the
inaugural event, another Women's Rap
Night was held in October, again drawing
a large crowd. By this time, a consistent
crew had coalesced around the event—
they weren't a self-declared band at the
time, though, nor did they have a moniker
for the project yet. In order to promote
the third Women's Rap Night, the proto-
Reykjavíkurdætur made a music video
for a song they had collectively written,
called "Reykjavíkurdætur." The women,
each in her own unique sartorial hodge-
podge, rap their own verses, and come
together to sing the chorus: "Daughters
of Reykjavík, / On dark nights, / We own
this town. / Listen to lioness words." On-
line news source Vísir posted the video
and, assuming the song to be an anthem
of a self-defined "band," they attributed it
to Reykjavíkurdætur. For better or worse,
the name stuck. "I almost wanted it to be
a bit cooler," Jóhanna Rakel Jónasdóttir
says, "I mean Reykjavíkurdætur is cool,
but something weirder."
Protecting Culture
Reykjavíkurdætur is not quite a band in
the typical sense; they are a platform,
a clan, a collective. Any woman who
wants can join the group, so long as she
means it, is up for the responsibility, and
performs at a Women's Rap Night. This
policy of openness means that the group
is constantly expanding. Just in the last
two weeks, the number has increased
from 17 to 19. While they are aware that
the increase in number may turn into
a logistical problem, the format of the
group allows for it.
Most of their songs
are performed by
smaller units—duos
and trios—within
the larger body.
The potential con-
figurations and re-
configurations are
endless. It's these smaller raps that Reyk-
javíkurdætur think are their strongest
suit: "The ones with fewer people, with
more straight-to-the-point messages—
those are the best songs. They're tighter.
The flow is better," Jóhanna says.
Because of the group's collective na-
ture, they don't have a consistent, clear-
cut agenda or message. Each member
brings her own interest to the table.
While Reykjavíkurdætur is not explic-
itly a feminist project, their songs do
frequently address women's issues such
as slut-shaming and victim-blaming;
but their scope is broad. Anna Tara and
Katrín Helga, for instance, focus on sex-
and body-positivity in several of their
songs. Beyond issues of gender, sex and
sexuality, Reykjavíkurdætur also address
hot political topics, such as the current
boom in tourism and its affect on Ice-
landic culture. In "Reykjavíkurdætur,"
they take a stab at Icelandic politicians
for compromising na-
ture and culture for
the sake of the mar-
ket: "Money, money,
woohoo! Culture, cul-
ture, boohoo!" Their
song about the dating
app Tinder pokes fun
at the banality and per-
ceived high-stakes associated with swip-
ing right: "Like for like, let's be drastic."
Reykjavíkurdætur is not an explicitly po-
litical project, but they admit, politics has
a way of rearing its head in unexpected
places. "Jóhanna and I wanted to write
a party song," Salka says, "and we ended
up writing about how hungover you get
from voting right-wing. I thought, 'Dam-
mit, we can't write a party song!'"
Accidental Stardom
One year after its inception, Reykja-
víkurdætur is nearing a crossroads. Al-
though they refuse to compromise the
group's basic format, they have met in-
creasing external pressure to function
like a typical music group. They've played
a number of summer festivals and spend
the time in between playing at nightclubs
around Reykjavík. Lately, Salka tells me,
women have seemed afraid to apply, not
only because of the commitment, but also
because Reykjavíkurdætur seems like a
fixed group. They are still figuring out
how to preserve the flexibility and open-
ness of Reykjavíkurdætur, while stepping
into their roles as accidental local stars.
At the core of this soul-searching
is the question of amateurism. Most of
them had little performance experience
when they joined the group; even fewer
had experience with rap. They're eager
and unabashed to point this out. Jóhanna
had just returned from living in Russia
when Salka called: "So I know you just
came home, but in a week, we're rapping,"
Jóhanna recalls. Although she had never
been onstage, she accepted the challenge
and the two wrote a song together. Af-
ter her first performance, she decided,
"I never want to not do this." Several of
the women have similar stories, citing
the addictive potency of taking the mic
in front of an audience. But now they
find themselves in an odd situation: al-
though the project has been a labour
of love, spawned from risk-taking and
drunken freestyling, Reykjavíkurdætur
It came as a surprise to many when Reykjavíkurdætur ap-
peared on the line-up for this year's instalment of Eistna-
flug—the female rap collective might not have seemed a
logical fit for the metal festival, the name of which translates
to "Flying Testes." Unfazed by the testosterone levels implied
by the name, or by the genre of metal, the pride of lionesses
made their way across the country in a minibus emblazoned
with the group's name. Sceptical long-haired metal heads in
Skálmöld t-shirts abandoned their preconceptions and em-
braced the group. "I think people came to our show just to
criticise us, but then they were amazed," Salka Valsdóttir
tells me when I meet up with her and three other "Daughters
of Reykjavík." With no albums and only a handful of record-
ings, live performances are the primary medium through
which this 19-woman outfit reach their audience. Decked
in eclectic, flamboyant attire, spewing rhymes over thump-
ing beats, they exude confidence on stage. And confidence is
precisely what Reykjavíkurdætur is about.
“They exist in their own
category and use this
fortuitous position to
pronounce their gospel
of freedom, equality and
self-affirmation.”
Open:
Mondays-Saturdays 11:30-22:30
Sundays 16:00-22:00
Now offering
catering service!
Reykjavíkurdætur's recipe
for world domination
Words by Eli Petzold
Photo provided by Reykjavíkurdætur