Reykjavík Grapevine - 06.05.2016, Blaðsíða 30

Futuregrapher's
‘Hrafnagil’
Words GABRIEL BENJAMIN Photo ART BICNICK
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Famous for rapid-fire drum‘n’bass
tunes, electronic artist Futuregra-
pher—real name Árni Grétar—has
made a name for himself as a great
live performer, collaborated with
numerous artists, and released
three albums of his own. His fourth
upcoming album, “Hrafnagil” (“Ra-
ven Ravine”), is a far more personal
affair than previous works, and
serves as an ode to his hometown
of Tálknafjörður, where he first
started making music.
Árni says the album is very
minimalistic and full of repetition,
with songs and themes evolving
through subtle note changes, “like
a painting, but through tones.”
The ravine the album is named af-
ter sits in Tálknafjörður, and Árni
says he’s always felt a calling to it,
no matter where he is. “Even after
moving to Reykjavík, I’ve felt like
ravens have followed me, keeping
an eye on me,” he says.
Árni confides that his first al-
bum ‘LP’ was supposed to be called
Hrafnagil, but he changed the
name last minute because its high-
speed drum‘n’bass jungle beats
didn’t fit with his connection to
that place—Hrafnagil is where he
and his friends would play togeth-
er, and it’s not far from where his
parents were laid to rest. To Árni,
Hrafnagil is a waking memory that
evokes a very particular kind of
beauty, which is why he smilingly
says: “I’m relieved to finish this
album so I can get back to making
some other nonsense.”
We invited Árni to talk us through
each of the songs on his album.
Pollurinn
This song contains a recording I took
from three hotpots in Litli-Laugar-
dalur. It’s a tourist spot a while away
from town that the locals frequent.
It’s a very minimalistic song with
an ambient tone and a slow beat. It
gives the same feeling as lying cool
as a cucumber in the pots.
Þórsberg
That’s the fish processing plant
where I worked in my youth, but
it’s closed down since. It’s the
only song on the album with an
acid techno tinge, some 303, and a
faster pace. I was thinking back to
my days of working with the Polish
workers when I made this song.
Móatún
That’s the name of the street I grew
up on; it’s the highest street in town,
where many of my friends lived, and
where I spent most of my youth. The
song is a continuous eight-minute
beat that doesn’t stop or slow down.
It’s very mystical and ambient,
which is just like what Móatún was
like: the flow never stopped.
Suðureyri
This is a town on the other side
of the fjord, which was inhabited
more than a hundred years ago,
and still houses the remnants of a
whaling station where Norwegians
hunted. The song is very fragile,
but in a beautiful way, and reminds
me of standing in those ruins—in
something that could have become
something more.
Innsta-Tunga
That was the family home of one of
my best friends, where we started
the band Equal, and spent all of our
waking hours practicing in the ga-
rage. We went together on a legend-
ary trip to Reykjavík to compete in
Músiktilraunir (Iceland’s “Battle of
the Bands”), where we made it to the
finals. We then later won in the cate-
gory of best computer music, which
is now called best electronic music,
that I personally award today. The
song is called that because it’s filled
with emotions, and there were a lot
of emotions made in that garage.
Útnaust
This is a salt fish factory that
friends of the family owned and
ran, and was where I worked in
’97, which was my favourite year in
music. It’s an anchor to the past;
I was fourteen, at an age when I
thought I knew everything, and the
song is filled with very dirty synth
sounds that make me think back to
the clank of the fish guillotine that
decapitated the cod.
Stóri-Laugardalur
This is where my mother and fa-
ther rest. The song contains a
sound sample of my son Jói say-
ing: “Hey Dad, listen Dad, that’s
how life is.” He says it jokingly, but
there’s something about how he
does it that struck me, like it comes
straight from the core of his soul,
that he’s saying it’ll be okay even if
things are the way they are. I lost
my parents at a young age, yet here
he is, seven years old, telling me
that’s life, and in such a beautiful
tone. That sample gets played in
the beginning and the end of the
song, and it’s why I called it “Stóri-
Laugardalur,” because it makes me
think of my parents.
Hóll
This is, in my opinion, the most
beautiful song. Hóll was a small
farm and is where everything be-
gan 150 years ago. My great grand-
father came from there, and it’s
now the site of the new church.
That’s where I was with my son
when he said that’s how life is. It
all comes back to this point, and
the song is allowed to play until it
reaches its natural conclusion.
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Music 30The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 5 — 2016