Reykjavík Grapevine - 05.10.2018, Page 20

20 The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 18— 2018
Logi Pedro Stefánsson’s studio,
101derland, is under renovation. Furni-
ture is piled up in the corners. Loose
electrical cords snake across the floor.
Echoing around the rooms, people
discuss video shoots and meetings
as they meander about, occasionally
interrupted by a singer or beat.
Logi moves through the chaos
unfazed. At each room, he stops and
explains the thought processes behind
the renovation; who works in each
room, what it used to be, and what
it will be in the future. As he enters
the final room, the newly opened
101derland media department, it’s
hard not to be impressed, both by him
and the empire he’s built.
MOVERS, SHAKERS
The 26-year-old is probably the clos-
est thing Iceland has to a music mogul.
His accomplishments in the scene
are almost too numerous to list. He’s
created, produced, or championed
many of the biggest acts in Icelan-
dic hip hop, co-founded the label Les
Frères Stefson, created the infamous
101derland studio, and, oh wait, did
we forget Retro Stefson? If that’s not
enough, Logi recently released his
own solo album, ‘Litlir svartir strákar’
(‘Little Black Boys’), which took the
Icelandic hip-hop scene by storm this
May. It’s clear there’s very little this guy
can’t do.
Still, in person the artist is anything
but cocky. Soft-spoken, thought-
ful and, above all else, honest; he’s so
humble it’s almost disarming. That
said, in some moments, the glimmer
in his eye shifts and Logi, the busi-
nessman, comes out in full force. With
sharp astuteness, he transforms into a
prophet of what will be cool tomorrow.
If there’s anyone to bet on, it’s Logi.
THE NATURAL
TASTEMAKER
Logi moved from Portugal to down-
town Reykjavík at the age of three.
Not long after, he began studying
music, starting with the classical flute
and moving on to guitar and drums
in the coming years. At age 11, he
wrote his first song. “We got an Apple
computer then. It had Garageband on
it and I started playing around with the
programme,” he says. “I can’t remem-
ber it at all, but it started then.”
In 2006—at the tender age of four-
teen—Logi found his first musical
success with Retro Stefson, a band
he founded along with his brother,
Unnsteinn—also now a successful
solo musician—and their friends. “It
was really natural,” Logi says of the
the band’s creation. “It was a group of
friends coming together, and we had a
lot of drive. Everything clicked.”
The band, which had an eclectic,
almost all-inclusive style that mixed
together pop, funk, dancehall and
more, became one of the most popu-
lar acts in the country. They toured
the world, signed with Universal and
released platinum records. Logi and
Unnsteinn quickly became emblematic
figures of Icelandic culture and—more
importantly—respected tastemakers.
HIP-HOP PHOENIX
It was during the height of Retro Stef-
son that Logi began producing hip-hop
on the side, working with artists like
Emmsjé Gauti and eventually master-
minding projects like Young Karin and
Sturla Atlas. “For the first Retro Stef-
son albums,” Logi explains, “we were
always trying to do something new, to
create something different. But with
producing, I wanted to make music that
felt familiar. I wanted to feel comfort-
able. It was a different approach.”
During these early years, Icelan-
dic hip-hop was underground, having
collapsed after the initial surge of acts
like Quarashi and XXX Rottweiler in
2003. Indie music—specifically that
of the krútt genre—ruled the country
and dominated the image of Icelandic
music internationally. For many, the
future of Icelandic indie looked unstop-
pable, but for Logi, it was a bubble.
“I just had enough of the indie krútt
Icelandic thing. I didn’t want every-
thing to be soft and cuddly and full of
nature,” he says, flashing a boyish grin.
“I wanted to make cool music that was
progressive, and the indie scene always
frowned upon trying to be cool.” He
laughs. “But they were trying to be cool
by actively not being cool. It was so
forced.”
And as indie declined, Logi explains,
Retro Stefson became the pivotal
champion of Icelandic hip-hop, the one
that tipped the balance of public atten-
tion in favour of the genre. “We were a
really respected brand in music and we
vouched for the scene,” Logi explains.
“We started to record artists and
brought Icelandic hip-hop to a profes-
sional level.” He pauses. It’s clear the
compliments make him uncomfort-
able. “Look,” he says, “I’d say we gave it
credibility.”
THE BIG BET
Then, suddenly but seamlessly, Logi’s
voice abruptly switches from soft to
strong. “See,” he continues, “at that
time, hip-hop was a leading genre
everywhere else in the world and I
knew that hip-hop was about to be
the biggest genre in the world.” Logi,
the famed businessman, has finally
shown his face. “So we bet on hip-hop
in Iceland. And it became big.”
But even Logi couldn’t have antici-
pated just how big the scene would
eventually get. “It’s funny. When we
were starting to record the Sturla Atlas
projects, we were using the equipment
and facilities we had for Retro Stefson,”
he explains. “But when I was record-
ing them, I wasn’t using the expensive
mic. I wasn’t using the fancy things.
We didn’t realise it would become as
serious as it became. We didn’t know
people would like the music the way
they did.”
But people more than liked the
music, they loved it. And the rise of
Icelandic hip-hop can easily be seen as
a mirror of Logi’s activity in the genre.
From Sturla Atlas to Flóni to Joey
Christ, Logi’s always been there stir-
ring the pot, the silent puppet-master
behind the rap curtain.
EXTREMITY
ENCAPSULATED
In May 2018, Logi moved from behind
the scenes to centre stage with the
release of his first solo album ‘Litlir
svartir strákar.’ “It was fun,” he says,
of the album process. “It was really
therapeutic. I started writing it when I
was taking paternity leave. I just had a
lot of emotions and feelings that I felt
I really had to let out.” He pauses, his
voice delicate. “This time though, it
didn’t make sense to make other people
express them like I have always done. It
was due time for me to do it myself.”
The album chronicles a dark time
in the artist’s life. “To me, it is kind of
a memoir of a time when I was really
depressed,” Logi explains, looking
down at his hands. There’s no sadness
or shame in his tone, just stark honesty.
“So the album deals a lot with depres-
sion and with me being in a vulnerable
state. It’s really personal. It was a diffi-
cult period.”
BEST AND WORST
This period included the end of his
long-term relationship as well as the
birth of his son. It was, in many ways,
the best of times and the worst of
times for the musician. “During that
year, 2017, when you look at it in retro-
spect, it was like I was born again,” he
says. “The most happy days, the most
sad days of my life. Having my son was
amazing, but the period leading up to it
was extremely stressful.”
At his lowest point, Logi made the
fateful decision to seek help. “I just
had this personal journey. I decided
to deal with my depression. I decided
to take back control of my life, of the
state I was in,” he says quietly, lower-
ing his eyes. While he speaks calmly,
the confidence of businessman Logi
is long gone, replaced by a resigned
vulnerability. He takes a deep breath.
“I had to figure out what I had to do to
feel better.”
And so Logi’s journey to wellness
began. Over the next months, he went
to therapy, began taking medication,
and stopped drinking. “It wasn’t like
I needed to drink,” Logi clarifies. “But
when you’re worried, if you feel like
you have the weight of the world on
your shoulders, drinking just magni-
fies those feelings.”
THE NECESSITY
OF LONELINESS
Concurrently, he created a sanctu-
ary for himself in the 101derland
studio. Logi wrote and recorded all of
‘Litlir svartir strákar’ there, almost
completely alone. “It was perfect to
do it like that,” he says. “I was going
through this rebirth, you know. I had
been hitting walls that I didn’t realise
because I wasn’t feeling well. I didn’t
want to run into people. I couldn’t
communicate with people because I
wasn’t able.”
This put Logi in a strange posi-
tion when working with the guest
performers on the album. “I felt like I
didn’t want to share the working space
because it was all so personal,” he says.
“I asked Guðrún—who performs as
GDRN—to just record it separately and
“The album deals with
depression and with me
being in a vulnerable state.
It’s really personal. It was a
difficult period.”
Photo: Sunneva Sverrisdóttir