Reykjavík Grapevine - 16.06.2017, Side 41

Music
Páll Ivan frá Eiðum
is one of the more
eccentric musicians
in Iceland’s music scene. Also well
known for his work as a composer
and visual artist, his output under this
name exists in a quite singular space,
possibly located somewhere between
retro acid-pop and parallel universe
computer game music on the musical
spectrum. It’s definitely on some kind
of spectrum—a resolutely lo-fi enter-
prise, with a strong outsider sensibil-
ity. His new single “Taktu Lyf” came
out on June 16 via MENGI records;
new album ‘This Is My Shit’ will follow
on September 29, on the same label.
We have absolutely no idea what to
expect. In a good way.
Art school indie-pop kid Daði Freyr may
not have made it to Eurovision—he
came second in the national selection
showcase to pop singer Svala, who
had an ignominious early exit from
the competition—but it hasn’t held
him back. He reports on his Facebook
page that he’s been busily working
on a brand new set for the summer,
possibly including his cover of Svala’s
losing track “Paper,” which we've
forgotten how to hum already. You can
check him out live at the LungA Festi-
val in July or at the Oddsson pre-party
in Reykjavík on June 22.
Home taping didn’t kill music, and
downloading hasn’t either. But a new
trend has apparently taken over in
Reykjavík’s high schools, where having
the biggest possible collection of
unreleased Icelandic hip-hop tracks
has become something of a status
symbol. Rumour has it that the hunger
for unreleased tracks has intensified
to the point where someone stole rap-
per Aron Can’s laptop, swiping forty
unreleased tracks in the process.
News of a house party at the thief’s
place—when their parents go on holi-
day, presumably—is so far scarce.
MUSIC
NEWS
Cyber Is Crap
On short shorts, fake asses,
and the politics of rap and latex
Words: Hannah Jane Cohen Photo: Hrefna Björg Gylfadóttir
Concert at Secret Solstice
Sat June 17 / 15:50 / Gimli Stage
“So it’s the second day of high
school,” declares Jóhanna Rakel—
one half of rap duo Cyber—with a
smirk and clasped fingers. “And
there’s this girl sitting there with
bi g h e a dp h on e s ,
braided hair, a Led
Z epp el i n t-sh i r t ,
drawing all over her
hands, short shorts
over the leggings…”
Sa l k a Va l sdót-
tir—the other half of the group—
raises her eyebrows. “Oh, they
were not short shorts!” she says,
rolling her eyes. A small spat en-
sures, with Gilmore-esque ban-
ter. The girls end up agreeing that
the shorts were short, but were
not “short-shorts.” This settled,
Jóhanna continues: “I decided she
would be my friend, and somehow
that worked.”

Trash metal disco
This fateful Daisy Dukes-initiated
meeting was the start of Cyber,
which the two originally envi-
sioned as a trash metal disco duo.
“Jóhanna was going to play the
keyboards and growl
and I was going to play
the drums and sing,”
says Salka. “But we
created one song and
figured out it wasn’t really going
anywhere.”
The group then chilled on the
back burner—more of a joke be-
tween friends—until Salka volun-
teered them to perform at the sec-
ond women’s rap night at Prikið,
years later. “Jóhanna was living
in Russia and she was going to be
back ten days before the show,”
says Salka. “I called her and I was
like, ‘Hey Jóhanna, how’s Russia?
By the way, we are going on stage
in ten days. Oh, and we are a rap
band now.’”

Everyday absurdity
They both laugh at the absurdity
of their formation, but the thing
with Cyber is that absurdity is sort
of the norm. If there is any word
that could describe them, it’s fear-
less. Outspoken, intelligent, and
not afraid to be subversive, with
lyrics that range from sexy to phil-
osophical to politi-
cal to vapid. Their
beats are weirder
and more compli-
cated than those in
Reykjavíkurdætur,
and the girls have
created an elaborate stage show
featuring aerobics, props, and a
plethora of different outfits. They
go on stage in sweater sets one day
and bondage gear the next. Cyber
truly doesn’t care what you think
of them, which makes you, ironi-
cally, think of them more.
“Being a woman in hip- hop is
a bummer sometimes,” says Salka.
“But it is changing. I mean some-
thing like ‘Elskum þessar mel-
lur’ (‘We Love These Hoes’) could
never be made today, and that’s an
improvement.” Jóhanna nods, con-
tinuing: “But if we get fake asses
and become sexy then I think we
could really make it in the hip- hop
world.” This starts
a lengthy debate on
what plastic surgery
you would get if God
ordered you to pick
one. “I'd get a fake butt, and you
can put that in the article,” Jóhan-
na decides.
Intrigued? Interested? The girls
play Secret Solstice Festival this
weekend. “Our theme is gonna be
so fucking sexy,” says Jóhanna,
looking at us mischievously. “I dare
you to miss that show. You will cry.
Your lifestyle will change after this.
You might find a new way to walk.”
Salka nods, but stays tight- lipped.
“You must come to find out,” she
finishes. “That’s all I will say. Oh, and
Cyber is crap. But listen to us.”
gpv.is/music
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“I'd get a fake
butt, and you
can put that in
the article”