Reykjavík Grapevine - 15.06.2018, Blaðsíða 60

60 The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 10 — 2018
In February 2016, the Grapevine profiled
the burgeoning Icelandic black metal
scene in a feature entitled, “Welcome
To The Circle.” The piece documented
the birth of Icelandic black metal and
the newfound domination of the scene
worldwide through the efforts of acts
like Svartidauði, Misþyrming, Sinma-
ra, Naðra, Wormlust, Auðn, and Man-
nveira.
The photos accompanying the fea-
ture, taken by Hafsteinn Viðar Ársæls-
son—who is also the founder of Worm-
lust—form the basis of a new photo
book and exhibit at the Reykjavík Mu-
seum of Photography called ‘Svartmál-
mur’ (‘Black Metal’).
Popcorn
Hafsteinn talks in a soft mumble,
spouting thoughts so fully formulated
and enthralling that you focus all your
attention on him. In one sentence, he’ll
often weave a thread connecting archaic
philosophies to, say, a modern photog-
rapher, all ending with a joke delivered
in a shockingly deadpan manner. He’s
incredibly introverted, so much so that
even in an interview, you feel like you’re
impinging on him.
While he’s been involved
in the Icelandic black metal
scene in some capacity since
the early 2000s, Hafsteinn’s
interest in photography
emerged only years ago. “It
was actually in this build-
ing,” he says, motioning to
the museum. “I saw a photo
book called ‘Popcorn’, it
was about the Icelandic 60s
scene. I knew all these bands
but I had never seen these images, and it
was like they were being brought to life
before me.”
The book deeply inspired him. “I
thought there is nobody doing that for
this scene, so I decided, I might as well
do it,” he says. Going off of the ‘Popcorn’
model, he started casually snapping
photos of bands. Once the Grapevine
feature dropped, and he saw his work
in print, he kicked the project into high
gear.
A new Norway
Loosely, black metal can be defined as
an extreme type of metal character-
ised by shrieking vocals, fast tremolo
riffs, blast beats, and low-production
recording. The genre was most promi-
nently defined in Norway in the early
90s, where bands like Mayhem and
Darkthrone started creating raw, bru-
tal music with misanthropic and anti-
Christian themes. On stage they wore
corpse paint and used satanic imagery.
The music first came into the public
eye when these
guys burned fifty
churches around
Norway. But arson
was only the be-
ginning—eventu-
ally more extreme
acts, like suicide
and murder, fol-
lowed.
In the 20 years
since, black metal
has continued to
hone an extreme
reputation, from
pro-suicide mes-
sages, to ideologi-
cal radicalism, to
arrests for grave
desecration and
murder. At the
same time, the
scene has also con-
tinued a legacy of
anonymity. Black
metal musicians
are notoriously faceless, using pseud-
onyms and obscuring their appearances
in photographs.
The Icelandic scene was born from
this legacy, but has since pushed it to
apotheosis. From the carnal fury of
Misþyrming, to the slow melancholy
of Auðn, to the grandiosity of Sinmara,
to the raw anger from Mannveira—it’s
a clear golden age for the
genre. In the past years,
the eyes of the world have
turned to Iceland as the
hotbed of the genre—a new
Norway.
Primal respect
For Hafsteinn though, the
genre ascends pure aurality.
“Black metal is more of an
internal feeling,” he says. “I’d liken it
to getting into Hinduism [sic], when
you attain enlightenment.” He pauses,
delicately searching for words. “It’s like
when you get into a hot tub, you accli-
matise. [Black metal] is really harsh and
atonal, but after a while you see that it
isn’t, that there’s melody.”
He took to documenting the Icelan-
dic scene with this same comprehensive
attitude. “You have an inner world, and
music is so ephemeral, you can’t capture
it,” he says. “I treat it holy. I studied it.
Lyrics. This is a sacred truth that these
musicians have for themselves.” He
motions to a photo. It’s the band Carpe
Noctem, with a reproduction of their
album art. “I’ve been asked, is it fantasy
or documentary?” he continues. “Well, I
am documenting their inner fantasy.”
Inner fantasies
Much of Hafsteinn’s success with this
book and exhibit is due to his position
in the scene. Black metal musicians are
notoriously standoffish to outsiders,
but Hafsteinn is
one of them and
was thus, as he
explained, al-
lowed into their
inner fantasies.
That said, Hafs-
teinn still views
himself as sep-
arate from the
others. “When
I joi ned t he
scene, I was the
youngest one
and now I am
the oldest one
by far. I am the
elder,” he says.
“So maybe I’m
doc umenti ng
everything be-
cause I am the
one aware of
age and time
creeping.”
Above al l
else, Hafsteinn wanted to aproach the
photos with respect. He contrasts his
book with the famous “True Norwegian
Black Metal” by Peter Beste. Hafsteinn
admires Beste’s aesthetics, but finds
his works derivative. “I didn’t want to
be humorous, and what he did was hu-
morous,” he says. “That devalues it and
makes it less important and it under-
mines the whole point of black metal.
I wasn’t going to put them next to their
mom in corpse paint. Of course, those
photos are visual catchy, but I think
the philosophy was thrown out. There
should be nothing humorous about it.”
Always a ritual
Hafsteinn does, however, have a small
laugh about one part of the exhibition—
but not at its expense. In the corner of
the exhibition lies a mural painted in
human blood by NYIÞ. It’s covered in
runes. Across from that is an altar with
two goblets: one holds wine, the other
human blood.
“They were offering people the cups
to see who would drink,” he says, before
softly smiling. “It’ll smell amazing by
the end of the summer, I’m sure.”

Documenting
Inner Fantasy
Hafsteinn Viðar Ársælsson’s ‘Svartmálmur’ turns Grapevine
photography into a ritual exhibition and photobook
The man behind Wormlust reveals his face
“I’ve been
asked, is it
fantasy or
documentary?
Well, I am
documenting
their inner
fantasy.”
Words:
Hannah Jane
Cohen
Photos:
Hafsteinn Viðar
Ársælsson &
Steinunn Lilja
Draumland