Reykjavík Grapevine - 10.11.2017, Blaðsíða 21

and Reykjavík’s downtown leftist in-
telligentsia, his social media recently
seemed to indicate a big win for the
centre-left in last month’s general elec-
tions. The result, however, turned out
quite different. “Technology is creating
echo chambers,” he says. “We’re living
in a bubble where we see only people
who agree with us, because we’re fed
information that supports our world-
view. But then reality is completely dif-
ferent.”
Music
withdrawals
Högni had a musical upbringing and
started playing the violin at five years
old, while his older brother played the
cello. His father played jazz piano, but
his mother would listen to Bach on
the stereo. “They later divorced and,
who knows, maybe it was because they
couldn’t reconcile jazz or classical,” he
jokes. When he gave up the violin at age
fifteen, he went into withdrawals from
music, bought a guitar and started
composing.
Nu-metal and hip hop were among
his first influences, but after return-
ing from living in Belgium for three
years, Högni found inspiration from
his future bandmates. “I’d just start-
ed school and really didn’t have any
friends,” he says. “I joined the choir and
got to know kids and formed bands. I
befriended the Hjaltalín guys and we
got really close. They were much bet-
ter musicians than me—they could
play anything. I could write songs and
I worked on getting better on the piano
and guitar, but I really admired their
musicality.”
Becoming a professional musician
wasn’t something teenaged Högni even
considered. He was into the visual arts
and took some classes, while also be-
ing active in sports with his local club,
Valur. In choir, he even got made fun of
a little for his voice, his now-trademark
falsetto. “My voice was never consid-
ered great, but at least it was clean,” he
says, with a smile.
The wild east
After the release of Hjaltalín’s second
album, the Broadway-esque ‘Termi-
nal,’ Högni started performing with
GusGus, eventually becoming a full
member. When asked about his time
with them, he launches into a Pinoc-
chio simile. This is vintage Högni.
He segues into something seemingly
unrelated, which only starts to make
sense when you’ve followed his entire
thought process, as he works it out. By
the end, his point is more than insight-
ful enough to warrant the trek.
“GusGus swallowed me whole,” he
explains. “The lifestyle, the touring,
the parties. It was like being on Plea-
sure Island. Pinocchio is a great story.
He’s supposed to be a good boy and go
to school. But then he gets lured into
joining the circus. They tell him ‘you’re
so great, you can dance, come join the
party.’ It’s fun and games the whole
time. He chases the temptations, de-
spite the protests of his conscience,
and joins the entertainment business.
But he keeps being tempted again and
goes to Pleasure Island where he’s
turned into a donkey. He ends up as a
real boy. I was in this world of luxury
for a while. I may have turned into a
donkey.”
Last year, he left the group. As a
member, he’d achieved increasing rec-
ognition outside of Iceland, especially
in Eastern Europe, touring countries
such as Poland, Ukraine and Russia,
where he was treated as royalty. He’s
set to return to Poland in December,
following up his new album with a few
European dates. “It was wild, the Wild
East,” he says, laughing. “Touring with
GusGus took a lot of energy from my
album and my life. It didn’t affect me
well personally and health-wise.”
Fighting the ego
“I’m bipolar,” Högni continues. “I got
very sick and it has affected my life
drastically. This album bears witness
to it.”
The disorder is characterised by pe-
riods of depression and periods of ele-
vated mood, known as manic episodes.
Högni has described these stretches
of ecstasy and energy, which at times
played out in public, followed by sad-
ness and shame.
“I was pretty bad this summer,”
he says. “I flew a little too high in the
spring. The last few years, the swings
have decreased in size. When I was
the most ill a few years ago, I felt ter-
rible, even if you couldn’t see it. There
was just so much going on, lots of fun,
and even excitement about going to the
psych ward for the first time. Like I was
going down a new path for myself. But
I haven’t seen it as exciting since then.”
Högni’s illness coincided with his
rise to stardom in Icelandic music.
He had collaborated with GusGus as
a guest on their 2011 album ‘Arabian
Horse,’ before joining full time. Hjal-
talín’s most critically acclaimed album,
‘Enter 4,’ was about to be released. He
was becoming highly sought after for
collaborations and public appearances.
But at the same time, he had problems
being around people and didn’t know
how to behave in public.
“I felt anxious and I began to isolate
myself, being eccentric and closing
off from my people,” he says. “I’ve had
to really make the effort to retain the
connection to my family, friends and
environment. Long-term, I’ve had to
apply myself to being a good person.
I’ve fought my ego in the past, tried to
contain my pride. I think everyone has
faced something like this, but being on
stage all the time will exaggerate it. You
can become guarded about what to do,
how to be. As I grow older, I’m calmer
about this and lean more towards nur-
turing my relationship with creativity.”
Destination
success
This internal pressure, which could
be interpreted as the universal human
feeling of anxiety, is exacerbated by
Högni’s notoriety. “I know I sound like
a teenager, but what do people think
of me?” he wonders. “I may feel like
I’m not doing anything new and every-
body’s laughing at me. What if I’m not
cool anymore? What does this certain
group of people think of me? I do feel
confident in being myself, being dif-
ferent and saying unusual things. I’ve
been controversial and I’ve accepted
being eccentric.”
He recalls how he went on a stream
of consciousness “rant” onstage at
the Icelandic Music Awards this past
spring, at a time when his mood was
elevated. For Högni, the big stage
heightens every vulnerable moment.
“In Iceland, we all have eyes on us,” he
says. “But people are different and we
should let some things slide. If we lived
in a big city and some guy’s ranting,
people would go: ‘He’s a bit crazy, this
guy. He must be having a good time or
something,’ and move on. In Iceland, it
gets blown up. We keep thinking, ‘Did I
do something wrong, did I look bad, am
I comparing myself to someone from
high school who is now doing some-
thing with their life?’ We shouldn’t fear
all the eyes.”
While it may seem silly to talk about
celebrity in a country of 330,000 peo-
ple, there’s no denying Högni’s status.
He doesn’t shy away from the spotlight,
but fancies himself a living example of
how fame and success don’t automati-
cally deliver happiness. “It’s the biggest
cliché and everybody kind of knows
it,” he says. “I’m proud of the music
I’ve created, but there’s no destination
called success. I say goodbye to each
album, and I move on. If I don’t keep
creating, I feel bad.”
A bit of anchoring
After the release of ‘Two Trains’ and
subsequent touring, Högni is excited
to compose a still-secret film score,
and work to expand his range further
from composition and arrangement
into the production side. Additionally,
he’s already looking forward to a new
solo album in the near future—hope-
fully not another six years away.
His main focus, though, is taking
better care of himself. To that end, he’s
rekindled an old passion of his: bas-
ketball. He plays as a guard for Valur,
his childhood club, which just started
its season after being promoted to the
premier division of Icelandic basket-
ball. For Högni, this means going to
practice every day and even putting
in extra time in order to improve the
skills necessary for top-flight hoops,
such as 3-point shooting and finishing
around the basket.
“My life is untethered, in many
ways,” Högni says. “I try to focus on
making good music and seeking inspi-
ration, chasing experiences, travelling
and finding adventures. The routine
that comes with being on a basketball
team is very helpful. A bit of anchor-
ing. Being a teammate, having this dai-
ly commitment, and playing defence
even if I don’t feel like it. Basketball is
the best psychiatric medication I’ve
had—and I’ve tried a few.”

21The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 20 — 2017
“The lyrics had a wider perspec-
tive than that. But the two trains
remain as a metaphor for change
and metamorphosis.”
“It was a turbulent time in
Europe and Iceland felt like a
microcosm for these trends.”