Reykjavík Grapevine - 22.05.2015, Qupperneq 16

16
The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 6 — 2015
Despite flourishing on the margins of
the extreme and art scenes, and earn-
ing a solid local following in the pro-
cess, the boys of Muck have always
known the key to their success was
touring internationally. Unlike so many
other Icelandic bands that dreamt
about playing abroad, Muck just went
out and did it, if only for the experience
of doing so.
As early as 2009, they embarked on
their first European tour with nothing
but debut EP ‘Vultures’ to their names.
Bassist Loftur Einarsson says they end-
ed up paying for most of that trip them-
selves, renting an expensive car to play
five concerts over a two-week period.
“It ended up being like a big holiday
for us,” he says, “but at the same time
it was a real turning point as we saw a
lot of really fast bands, which then en-
couraged us to play our own music even
faster.”
Things really started picking up in
2012 when the band was invited to tour
with glacial rock band Plastic Gods and
play a show with American hardcore
punk band Ceremony. That outing was
marked by its great vibe, and saw Muck
play to larger crowds than before.
After appearing at that summer’s
Eistnaflug metal festival, the band
toured through Europe again and
played what Loftur calls their weird-
est show ever. “At the time we thought
we were booked to play Prague in the
Czech Republic, but our venue turned
out to be located in a small town called
Kladno, ten kilometres out of the city.
Kladno is an almost archetypical So-
viet town, where everything is grey
and depressing with this weird green
smoke coming from the chimneys, and
we were playing in this dingy basement
bar that looked about as appetizing as
the underside of your grandpa’s stove.”
Indriði adds that their warm-up
band was a Balkan folk band, and that
the turnout wasn’t much to speak of. It
was weird, sure, but Ási says it wasn’t
until after the gig that the scene started
getting kind of scary. “We were to stay
in this old TV studio that had been con-
verted into band practice space, and it
was completely unheated. A security
guard had to let us into the area, it all
felt like a scene from ‘Hostel’ or some-
thing. It was small, cramped, and prob-
ably one of the worst moments of my
life,” he says before Karl humorously
adds that Ási's experience may have
been coloured by his having forgotten
his sleeping bag. “Me, I was pretty com-
fortable.”
Creating the second
project
In the creative world, the follow-up to
a successful debut is often what makes
or breaks the artist. When I asked the
guys whether they felt any kind of pres-
sure making their new album, they all
laughed and told me that was a dumb
question. “I know people talk about
how deadly the second album can be,”
Ási says, “but it’s just bullshit. People
in the punk world are too busy think-
ing about other things than that kind
of pressure. Besides, nobody’s going to
get famous or rich playing this kind of
music.” Karl says that the sophomore
record is maybe a problem for mega hit
bands like Of Monsters And Men, “but
‘Slaves’ fucking sucks compared to our
new album!”
They all seem to agree on this, that
the new one far surpasses ‘Slaves’. Even
if there were interesting ideas on the
previous album, Ási explains, it was
much too crowded. This, he says, was
a mistake they didn’t repeat. “We knew
we had to take good ideas and simplify
them, delivering them more clearly
than before,” he says. “‘Your Joyous Fu-
ture’ has much better song structures,
and the band’s chemistry has grown by
leaps and bounds. We’ve learned a lot
about what kind of music we want to
make and how to make it.”
One of the milestones of said evolu-
tion came at the end
of 2012 when the
band was offered
an art residency in
New York, where
they would record
more material. Hav-
ing written, rehearsed and created
enough songs for ‘Your Joyous Future’,
they crammed in a quick session over
a weekend where they recorded the
whole album in one go before hopping
on a plane. When they then got to the
US, they were left with nothing to do
but create more material, get into a
creative zone and rekindle their love of
music.
“It was incredibly maturing for me
as an individual, and us as a band, to
be able to completely disconnect from
what was going on at home and just cre-
ate,” Loftur says, the rest soberly nod-
ding along. “I had no money, no chores
and no obligations, and it reminded me
why I love making music. Now when
I’m playing with my band, I just feel like
we’re hanging out at the playground.”
Ási agrees, adding that such an in-
tense experience should either confirm
one’s conviction to be a musician or
convince you to drop out. “Our band
practices since then haven’t been about
playing our songs, but just chatting, in-
teracting with one another and being
present,” he says, “and that intimacy
and chemistry is visible when we play,
because we get along so well.”
Looking to the future
A few weeks later I catch up with the
band at their rehearsal space. Situated
in the Laugardalur suburbs, the place
is filled with dirty coffee mugs, empty
beer cans, and instruments.
To the four of them, this is a second
home. As we share a few pints, the guys
say that even after getting so filled with
inspiration from playing all of those
shows, they got bogged down with
working their day jobs, finishing school
and everyday life at the end of 2013.
Things started looking bleak as they
played fewer shows, rehearsed less of-
ten and got stuck in a rut. Muck’s future
was uncertain, but that all suddenly
changed when they got a message from
Prosthetic Records saying they wanted
to sign the band (they have since parted
ways with the label, citing creative dif-
ferences).
“We were playing a show with [lo-
cal punkers] Elín Helena at Bar 11 when
we got the email, and we decided we
were just going to kill it,” Karl says. “We
stopped being negative and really start-
ed looking forward.” The band mem-
bers have since really
thrown themselves
into creating more
songs, rehearsing
and finessing them.
Ási assures me from
the edge of his seat
that however good
‘Your Joyous Future’
might be, the next
album will be even
better.
“We’re now
working more har-
moniously, experi-
menting more, but
at the same time
feel unafraid of tell-
ing each other when
something doesn’t
work,” he says. “And
the stuff we’ve been
making lately? It’s
so great it’ll blow the
last one out of the
water!”
When we move
over into the practice
space, I try to make
myself as comfort-
able as possible sit-
ting on the floor as
they tune their in-
struments and start
rehearsing a few
songs. They quickly
fall into a groove,
playing louder and
faster, their rhythms
synching up as they go through their
regular repertoire. A familiar wave
of aural enjoyment washes over me as
they move on to a song I hadn’t heard
before.
It is a fast grindcore tune, still lack-
ing vocals but clocking in around three
minutes, and it holds me completely
captivated. Guitar riffs deliberately
clash with bass lines and the drum beat
alternates between steady and irregu-
lar rhythms. It’s only once the wild ride
is over that I catch my breath. Loftur
complains that a bridge is too difficult
and Karl jokes that he just needs to
learn it better.
When I ask them when they made
the song and what its name is, they look
almost surprised to find me there. Ási
says they just wrote it a few days ago
and that it doesn’t have a name yet.
Loftur, perhaps worried that I’m bored,
offers me to grab one of the extra gui-
tars and join in, but I can’t, I’m scared
to death I’ll upset the delicate balance
they’ve created before me. I tell him I
don’t know how to play. “It doesn’t mat-
ter,” he says, “it’s just about having fun.”
They launch into that unnamed
tune again, and the fan in me is remind-
ed why I’m so captivated by this band.
The song is electric. It is dynamic. It’s
loud. It’s fast. It’s fun. It’s everything I
like about the band.
On the way home they tell me they
plan to tour extensively abroad later
this year. I sincerely hope as many peo-
ple as possible get to see them.
Ási Þórðarson
Drummer
— Is a session drummer for beloved
indie pop band FM Belfast.
— Studies psychology at the Univer-
sity of Iceland.
— Trains at Mjölnir martial arts gym
and enjoys watching half-naked
men knock the living daylights out
of one another.
— Has a small black poodle named
Atari, who loves to chew things.
Indriði Arnar
Ingólfsson
Lead guitarist
— Studies fine art at the Iceland
Academy of Arts.
— Did an exchange semester in
Mexico, and then stayed behind
to travel.
— Owns an original GameBoy that’s
still in working condition (but
needs batteries).
Karl Torsten Ställborn
Guitarist/singer
— Has the most tattoos of anyone
from Muck.
— Is a session guitarist for electro
band Fufanu, who share a re-
hearsal space with Muck.
— Has a stoner/drone side project
called The Man.
— His graduation project from the
Iceland Academy of Arts was a
giant woden hand with a revolving
middle finger.
Loftur Einarsson
Bassist
— Sports the band’s greatest beard,
but threatens he’ll shave it off one
of these days.
— Can often be found serving beers
with a smile at Húrra.
— Has by far the cutest Muck tattoo
in existence.
— Dressed up as Finn from Adven-
ture Time last Halloween.
Muck:
The Fact
Sheet
Honesty
and punk
Discussing the subject of authen-
ticity, Karl relays an anecdote
from his early teens. He was at a
music store with his friend, look-
ing at electric guitars, when the
guitarist from pop rock outfit
Írafár—then Iceland’s most
popular band—came up to him
and asked him if he was a met-
alhead. When Karl confirmed
this, the guitar hero responded:
“I used to be like you, you know,
with long hair, but you have to
cut it off,” implying that this was
the only way to succeed in music.
“I wanted to tell the guy to shut
the fuck up,” Karl says laughing,
“this guy used to be in proper
bands that played their own
material, before joining a party
band that just makes money. It
made me never want to go down
that path,” he says, “because it’s
just the road to becoming lame.
And twelve years later, here I
am, still doing my thing in my
own way.”