Reykjavík Grapevine - 06.10.2017, Side 24
Páll Ivan leaps up and down in a dark,
graffiti-coated subterranean space,
his eyes gleaming under a torrent of
glowing sparks and his face locked in
a slow-motion scream. He’s smeared
with a red liquid that could be paint,
ketchup, or blood. The film cuts rap-
idly— from moment to moment, he
could be doing a goofy impression of a
smiling, smock-wearing cult member,
or portraying a shrieking killer, or both
at once, or something else completely.
Such confounding output isn’t un-
usual in Páll’s creative universe—rath-
er, it’s par for the course. A composer,
painter, sculptor, performer and gen-
eral omni-disciplinary experimental-
ist, Páll’s music is just one strand of a
colourful, constantly-evolving artistic
world that’s in turn flippant, smart,
puerile, witty, and, ultimately, com-
pletely fascinating.
The film in question is the video
for ‘Expanding,’ the first single to be
released from his newly released de-
but solo album, ‘This Is My Shit.’ It’s a
diverse collection of home recordings
that spans a range of styles, from bassy
trap to lo-fi rock ‘n’ roll, perky chip-
tunes, a bizarre synthetic medieval folk
sound, and more besides. From song
to song, the aesthetic template is con-
tinually ripped up and started again, in
a manner reminiscent of ongoing aes-
thetic self immolation.
Frá Eiðum
The story of Páll’s striking sensibility
starts, perhaps, in his childhood. Born
in Croatia, he was raised in the rural
area of Eiðar in east Iceland, which
explains his full artist moniker: Páll
Ivan frá Eiðum. “Eiðar is about twelve
kilometres from Egilsstaðir, and…
there’s nothing there,” says Páll. “A few
houses, some farms, and family. We’d
moved around, and then settled in this
Eiðar place, so I thought, okay, let’s just
say I’m from there.”
His family includes several art-
ists and musicians, and his stepfather
was a composer, improviser and “ex-
perimental person in general,” with a
strong interest in ethnomusicology.
All of this meant Páll’s early intake of
music was diverse to say the least, in-
cluding everything from psychedelia to
synth-pop, field recordings and sound
art.
“That’s the music that I grew up
with,” he smiles. “My dear stepfather
was into all kinds of things. Pygmies
chopping down a tree. A Turkish man
yelling in the distance. He has really
shitty taste as well—he gave me a mix
of things. But generally, I don’t listen to
much. Some people accuse me of being
pretentious and saying ‘Oh no, I only
listen to pygmies.’ But I’m like, ‘No, I
don’t even listen to pygmies.’”
Painting dicks
Despite this artistic upbringing, Páll
got into music later in life, when he en-
rolled to study composition—a form he
considers much more serious than his
solo experiments. “The composing is
my main thing, and where my interest
lies,” he says. “But it’s awfully difficult
and problematic. It requires thought,
planning, and intent, and you have to
stand by it somehow. I feel more re-
sponsible for that output. I’m always
reevaluating until I say, ‘Fuck this all to
hell, I’m just gonna paint dicks.’ I don’t
care about my paintings or pop music.
You can say whatever you want about
my paintings or pop music and I won’t
be hurt by it. But with the composing
it’s different.”
Páll’s experimentation with home-
recorded music began after he suffered
a sudden and serious mental break-
down in 2014. He’s open and candid
about the effect his illness has had
on his life and work. “I had a mental
collapse,” he explains. “I had my first
panic attack, and then depression fol-
lowed. I’ve just started recovering. I
was prone to darkness before, but I’m
not sure what caused it. Maybe not
sleeping for three years. That didn’t
help. But it was sudden. I had bouts of
anxiety and depression. So I tried to re-
lax. I got myself a studio where I could
make a mess and spent my time paint-
ing and noodling around.”
Art therapy
Páll let his mind wander in the studio,
developing an instinctive process of
automatic making. Unencumbered by
outside expectation and liberated from
any sense of self-imposed pressure,
his playful musical and artistic experi-
ments could go in any direction he felt
like.
“It didn’t require any thought, re-
ally,” Páll muses. “Maybe that explains
why the songs are so... weird. Some
people like colouring in, and I found
this to be the same. I could space out,
choose some kind of genre or sound,
play with the sound, and fill it in. The
songs are very layered a lot of the time,
with many sounds crammed on top
of each other. That’s the fun bit, and
where I got the pleasure from—noo-
dling around with sounds. It also ex-
plains the form; the structure is really
simple and not very sophisticated at
all. It’s just some skeleton I made to
play around with.”
When each song was finished, Páll-
posted it online, and then immediately
moved on. They were never meant to
be heard in a formal context, like an
album. “This wasn’t the plan at all,”
says Páll. “I didn’t want to release these
songs, and don’t care about them. It’s
a side thing, to relax, and make with-
out thinking. I finished them, pumped
them out on Soundcloud, and… the
end. I could do the next one, and then
the next.”
Becoming a thing
Before long, people started to take
notice. To Páll’s great surprise, they
seemed to like it. “Dr. Gunni got in
touch,” he recalls. “He asked me, ‘Hey,
what’s this about? I think you should
make an album. Do you think albums
are stupid? What’s going on?’ Then he
said, ‘I’m going to make an album and
release it. We’ll choose some songs, I’ll
put it out on CD, end of story.’ I said,
‘Okay, okay, it’s not my project, it’s your
project, do it, whatever. I’m not going
to stand in your way.’ There were some
complications, and blah blah—here we
are today, many months later, with the
album coming out on Mengi.”
The positive response and fasci-
nation his songs have provoked has
caused some cognitive dissonance for
Páll, who still struggles to understand
why this work is enjoyed or taken at all
seriously. Despite his rapidly growing
cult audience, a record deal, a coveted
spot at Sónar Reykjavík, and a broadly
positive critical response, he talks
about his “pop” material as simple,
throwaway, and devoid of sophistica-
tion.
“It is difficult to accept,” he says.
“I’m dismissive of compliments, and
also arrogant, and I tend to hate myself.
This combination of things made me
very rude to people. People would say
‘Hey, I really like this song!’ and my re-
action would be, ‘You’re an
idiot, go and listen to come
proper music.’ But now I’ve
come to understand that I
should just relax, and enjoy
that somebody likes some-
thing, and pleasure is good,
wherever it comes from.
Almost. Unless you involve
Nazis.”
Singing
about
schnitzel
One reason for the positive
response is perhaps that de-
spite the overt eccentricity,
his short and catchy songs
bear similarities to other
left-field music, past and
present. Some tracks could
be compared to the surreal
outsider sensibility of Syd
Barrett, or the burned-out,
retro, genre-skipping avant
garde sound of Ariel Pink.
Páll is puzzled by the idea that
such fringe music is anything out of
the ordinary. “Is Ariel Pink really that
strange?” he asks, frowning. “I catego-
rise him just as pop. It’s quite down to
earth. My resolution is very low, I must
admit. If there’s someone singing,
somebody on bass, that’s pop music.
Okay, sure, maybe he’s singing about
schnitzel or something, but I can re-
late to that. I mean, everybody’s had
one. Maybe there are some of the same
influences—music from ‘80s Britain,
which I quite like, when I hear it. But
pop music is just not that interesting
to me. There are many things I’ve heard
in my life, but never really consciously
noticed, and they get expressed here, I
guess.”
The point
Although he’s just starting to come out
of a self-imposed years-long hiatus as a
composer, Páll has been an active part
of the acclaimed SLÁTUR experimental
composer collective. His eyes light up
when he mentions their work. “I feel
like we’re onto something new with
SLÁTUR,” he enthuses. “There’s a feel-
ing of discovery, and being at the fore-
front of something, and that’s exciting.
I don’t know where it’s going, and there
are no objectives. There’s a commu-
nity around it. Seeing our thoughts
and techniques and methods become
a thing in a larger context, in Europe,
America and Australia, is so exciting.
It feels like we’ve really contributed to
something. I don’t feel that excitement
with the pop music.”
And yet still, Páll plugs away at
making his colourful, compelling, lo-
fi songs. Over his own protestations,
he quietly admits that he’s learning to
taking pleasure in the feedback—or at
24 The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 18 — 2017
“I categorise Ariel Pink just as
pop. Sure, maybe he’s singing
about schnitzel or something,
but I can relate to that. I mean,
everybody’s had one.”
From the music video EXPANDING