Reykjavík Grapevine - 08.04.2016, Blaðsíða 30

Sólveig Matthildur Kristjáns-
dóttir laughs uncontrollably and
apologises for punching the wrong
code into the drum machine and
mucking up the intro for the third
time. Margrét Rósa Dóru- Harry-
dóttir is lambasted for mindlessly
strumming her bass in between
songs, drowning out the conversa-
tion in which Laufey Soffía Þórs-
dóttir argues they should practice
their older songs more because they
don’t sound as sharp as they used to.
The trio are in high spirits,
falling into a familiar rhythm,
teasing each other and laughing
together. And then, when the mu-
sic starts, all is still. The dark synth
and deep rumbling bass play off of
each other, and Laufey’s voice goes
effortlessly from softly whispered
spoken-word poetry to howled cho-
ruses about the meaninglessness
of everything.
This is Kælan Mikla, and
in the three years they’ve been
around they’ve evolved by leaps
and bounds, completely changing
their sound while keeping their
core concept of wallowing in sor-
row. The reason we’re cramped in
a six-square-metre rehearsal space
stuffed with instruments and gear
is that they recently signed with
Greek record label Fabrika Re-
cords, and are releasing their de-
but album this May.
After a lengthy practice in
which the band goes through all of
their standards, we crawl out onto
a set of worn-down couches for
some much-needed fresh air. The
three tell me they met years ago at
Menntaskólinn við Hamrahlíð, an
upper secondary school renowned
for attracting artistically oriented
students, such as Páll Óskar and
Steinunn Eldflaug Harðadóttir
(aka dj. flugvél og geimskip).
They quickly became close
friends and spent a lot of time to-
gether. Then, when Sólveig decid-
ed to enter a poetry slam competi-
tion in 2013, they decided to team
up. They won the contest, though
Sólveig had just started practicing
on the drums a week before, Laufey
hadn’t sung before, and Margrét had
just picked up the bass.
They figured they had struck
upon something that really inter-
ested them and threw whatever
free time they had into the band,
attracting a loyal following of dis-
enfranchised young punks in the
process. Then in 2015, they com-
pletely switched gears with Sólveig
ditching the drums for a synth.
While Sólveig celebrates
changing instruments, saying
she’s no longer the “bull dyke of
the band,” Margrét laughs at how
amateurish they were in their early
days—never bringing drumsticks
to shows, for example. “We started
out learning how to play our in-
struments as we were making our
music,” she says, “but now we’ve
matured and actually know what
we’re doing and how to prepare for
a show.”

Embracing the darker
side of life

The nihilistic lyrics rhythmi-
cally spouted by Laufey invariably
come from her and Sólveig’s po-
etry books. Sólveig was one of the
founders of the Fríyrkjan poetry
collective, and although she re-
tired after publishing two books,
she and Laufey have no shortage of
original material.
In describing the band’s iden-
tity, Sólveig brings up a poem she
wrote in a bout of insomnia, about
a child who was swallowed by
the abyss and frozen but has now
awakened—a scorned voice that
was suppressed but is now free to
paint everyone’s world black while
speaking in the rhyme of broken
hearts.
What brings this all together
at their live performances is the
importance the band places on its
visual aesthetic. Draped in dark
and forbidding colours, Kælan
Mikla project nothing but mel-
ancholy through their body lan-
guage—Margrét stands sullen and
unmoving, avoiding eye contact;
Sólveig leans heavily on her synth,
as if it’s the only thing keeping her
standing; and Laufey shuts her
eyes as she spits the words out, her
whole body convulsing from the
effort.
The three describe stepping
onto the stage as like taking off
their masks and connecting with
the negative emotions that live
in all of us. “You can’t be this sad
in your daily life,” Margrét con-
veys somberly. “You always have
to wear some face—smile, show
up to work, to school, constantly
pleasing others. It’s really good to
then go to our rehearsal space and
work on how you’re feeling deep
inside. Then you get onto the stage
and you don’t have to be happy, but
can be angry, scream, and break
things.”
Sólveig and Laufey nod along,
saying performing the music has
a very strong emotional effect on
them. “I get filled with very deep
sadness on stage,” says Sólveig.
“All the feelings we’re expressing
come flooding through me. At the
last Airwaves, I always cried when
we played ‘Glimmer og Aska,’
there’s something about that
song…”
Laufey adds that when they
recorded “Kalt” for the Orange
‘Ear series of performance videos,
the producers commented on how
expressive her face becomes when
she performs. “I want people to
feel these emotions when we’re
playing,” she elaborates. “One of
my friends started crying at one of
our shows, and that touched me. I
thought it was beautiful.”

Stepping into the
Fabrika family

Despite being welcome to play at
all manner of shows and festivals,
Kælan Mikla have always been an
outsider in Iceland’s pop-domi-
nated music scene. Laufey believes
that their minimalistic sound
would be better received in places
like Leipzig, while Sólveig theorises
that goth music is making a come-
back: “When there’s war on the ho-
rizon, romanticism thrives, as does
the goth scene.” Without comment-
ing on that hypothesis, Laufey says
she’s just happy and surprised when
they get a full house at their shows.
The band had not received
interest from any record labels—
until this past December, that is,
when Fabrika Records contacted
them. Laufey says the label has
signed a lot of acts that they listen
to and play on their DJ nights, such
as She Past Away, Lebanon Ha-
nover, and Doric, and that they had
considered contacting them this
past summer.
“Joanna Badtrip—who owns
the label—had seen ‘Kalt’ on You-
Tube and offered us a spot on a
compilation,” Sólveig says excited-
ly, “and then they asked us for more
demos to consider for ‘further re-
leases.’ And then they just said we
were in the Fabrika Family!”
What’s followed has been a
long recording session. The re-
sulting eponymous album fea-
tures eight songs, and will be re-
leased in May.
The three girls reflect on
the sacrifices they’ve made to
reach this point, but note as well
that going professional hasn’t
changed things all that much.
Other than getting the album re-
corded and published, they still
hold day jobs, go to school, and
wear some face in their day-to-
day lives.
For now though, Kælan Mik-
la is hunkering down and focus-
ing on fitting in as much band
practice as possible.
SHARE: gpv.is/kaelan
The Beauty
In Sadness Words GABRÍEL BENJAMIN Photo ART BICNICK
“You always have to wear some face—smile, show up to work, to school, con-
stantly pleasing others. It’s really good to then go to our rehearsal space and
work on how you’re feeling deep inside. Then you get onto the stage and you
don’t have to be happy, but can be angry, scream, and break things.”
Kælan Mikla:
30The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 4 — 2016