Reykjavík Grapevine - 05.05.2017, Blaðsíða 10

Words:
Shain Shapiro
Photo
Art Bicnick
Share this:
gpv.is/jake6
There has been much discussion
within the Reykjavík City Council
about how Iceland’s capital can be-
come a true music city, and how that
would benefit the city’s economy.
But before such a policy decision is
made, we must first understand what
the term “music city” means. On the
surface, Reykjavík is very much a mu-
sic city—the city is home to thousands
of artists, live music is performed
nightly, children are provided with
music education, and the city actively
works to engage music and
tourism aims, particularly
through Iceland Airwaves
and promoting Harpa’s
programme. But if this was
enough, than Reykjavík
wouldn’t be seeing music
venues closing, and artists
frustrated with the oppor-
tunities presented to them,
and we wouldn’t be discuss-
ing how this term, “music city,” could
make Reykjavík a better place to live.
So let’s unpack this. A music city,
in all it encompasses, is about how the
needs of music—in terms of artists,
listeners, aspiring businesspeople,
and educators—are catered to in a
particular place. This starts with how
land is allocated, managed, supported
and protected. Some cities, like San
Francisco, London and Berlin, have
placed safeguards around their built
music infrastructure, to ensure that
it can support musicians and
music listeners of the fu-
ture by ensuring they
have the spaces and
places to practice,
perform and listen.
When this isn’t a
priorit y when a
city regulates the
use of land, music
is often pushed to
the back of the queue.
This is because music
is not the most lucrative
usage for a particular piece of
real estate—at least, in the short term.
Hotels, residential units and other
commercial properties are much more
profitable, in the first three to five
years. This is why we’ve seen a number
of much-loved Reyk ja-
vík music venues, such
as Faktorý and NASA,
turn into hotels, bars
and restaurants.
Mu s i c , a s a
primary function of a
piece of land, presents
challenges. Music travels
through walls, so people
living in poorly insulated
houses may not be as supportive of
local music venues as those that are.
For those wishing to sleep, a banging
bassline is not welcome, and when
more hotels exist, less music in the
neighbourhood is often seen as desir-
able. And we lose venues as a result.
A music city understands these
threats, and works to combat them.
First, it’s important to understand
how to value music in a particular
place, both economically and cultur-
ally. And once it’s valued, we compare
it against other land uses
now—and in five, ten and
t went y years. Often
a successful venue
i n c r e a s e s h o u s e
prices nearby, for
example. Secondly,
a music city looks
at its existing plan-
ning and licensing
regulations, and ex-
plores how to support
music uses responsibly,
rather than penalising
them when certain residents
complain. By doing so, a city learns
where music shouldn’t be, in addition
to where it should. Thirdly, a music
city must communicate this vision in
how it champions itself. Reykjavík is
a music city, yes, but its policies have
not caught up to its reputation. Lastly,
and most importantly, a music city re-
alises that this is a process, not a race.
London audits its venues yearly. Berlin
does the same. Some places call this
an “asset inventory.” It requires bud-
geting, assembling stakeholders—of-
ten in a board or commission—and
asking tough questions like “Why are
venues closing?” and “How can we im-
prove music education?”
It’s great that Reykjavík is exploring
what it means to be a music city—but it’s
also necessary to ensure that when this
is explored, discussed, and decided, that
the right questions are being asked.
Everyone knows Ólafur Ólafsson,
the man who stole a whole bank
during the privatisation rush of
the early 2000s by pretending to
be a German bank (no, really),
leading directly to the great bank-
ing collapse of 2008, and who is
now a major property developer
for RVK City (again, really). But
shysters (note: From the German
“scheisser”) are, of course, noth-
ing new.
In 1943, three men aged 19 to 23
were arrested for various finan-
cial crimes. The main evidence
against them was, of course,
found in a detailed diary one of
them had kept (really). Among
the charges: attempting to cash
a check for 20,000 krónur (1,7
million at today's exchange rate)
made out in the name of then-
Prime Minister Ólafur Thors.
Another: convincing a farm boy
recently arrived in the big city to
invest a considerable sum in their
intended brothel, at which estab-
lishment he was in return to re-
ceive a management position as
well as perks.
Most sinisterly, the three in-
tended to rob a taxi driver and
murder him with an axe. The plan
foundered over arguments as to
which one was do the axing. There
was also a list of names and ad-
dresses of other people to be mur-
dered, describing how and why,
but the defendants claimed this
was not meant to be taken literally.
Psychiatrists deemed the defen-
dants to be of sound mind and
they received sentences ranging
from two years to six months.
By comparison, Ólafur was sen-
tenced to four and a half years in
jail for his various crimes, but re-
mains at large.
Words: Valur Gunnarsson
10 The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 07 — 2017
OPINION
BLAST FROM THE PAST
The unknowing foil of one of the
plots, Prime Minister Ólafur Thórs
"A city learns
where music
shouldn’t be,
in addition
to where it
should. "
Tourism Vs.
The Music
Scene
Can Reykjavík become a true music city?
Icelandic neo-goth superstars-in-the-making Hatari
in concert at Sónar Reykjavik, February 2017
Reykjavík Brothel
Shares for Sale
ArtisAn BAkery
& Coffee House
Open everyday 6.30 - 21.00
Laugavegur 36 · 101 reykjavik