Reykjavík Grapevine - nov. 2019, Side 13

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can say, ‘I am going to make this
rhythm, or loop this thing, or
chop up this vocal,’” she says. “It
gives you a new way to find that
‘Oh, that’s interesting!’ feeling.”  
“We opened up the process,”
Raggi concludes. “It opened up a
whole new world for us.”
Shining stars
Writing separately using com-
puter software allowed for the
creation of more varied songs,
and freed the band up to play
with structure and tone. “There
are songs with no guitar in
them, because that’s what the
song was meant to be,” Nanna
explains. “If we’d recorded to-
gether in person, we’d say, ‘Oh,
but I’m a guitar player, the piece
has to have guitar.’ So it’s things
like that which changed it.” 
Changing up their writing
process also allowed the band to
progress lyrically. “We separated
a bit,” Raggi adds. “We’ve done a
lot of the lyrics together, which
is fun, but it does limit you in
how deep you go personally.” 
“We let each other have our
own space,” Nanna agrees. “Be-
fore, I think we were always
trying to fit each other into the
song.” She pauses, looking to
Raggi for an explanation. “It’s
something that we changed,”
he adds. “We’ve always believed
that everyone has to be involved
in everything, everyone has to
have a voice.” Nanna smiles.
“We’re super democratic.” 
Jettisoning the idea of pleas-
ing everyone at all times turned
out to be useful. “Sometimes
when you do that, everything
mushes into something that’s
in the middle,” says Raggi. “But
on ‘Fever Dream’ there are more
moments when people shine by
themselves.” 
A proper rock
anthem
The first single from the album,
“Alligator,” is a case in point.
The song puts Nanna’s voice
front and centre in a haze of
guitars, thumping drums, and
fierce, gasping vocals. To put it
bluntly: It’s a proper rock an-
them. With such a desperate,
clawing feel, it’s hard to believe
this is the same band propelled
to fame by “Little Talks.”
The video is just as intense.
Featuring the band in per-
son—an unusual departure
for the group, who usually an-
imate their videos—the video
features Nanna’s dismembered
head growing alligator-like ten-
drils, while the rest of the band
resides in creepy masks. Is this
really the same band who used
to sing about forests? 
We’re actors now?
 “At the beginning, we were hor-
rible at being in videos,” Raggi
admits. “We’re musicians and
all of a sudden, we’re supposed
to be actors as well?” 
“I did act in the video though,
I knocked on a door,” he con-
tinues. “What you don’t know
is that in every scene in every
movie, there’s like 50 people
staring at the actor. Is the light
good? Is his makeup good? He’s
just there knocking on a door.”
Raggi shakes his head. “How do
they do that?”
For Nanna, the video was
an equally intense and hilari-
ous experience. “I had to crawl
on the floor,” she adds, a small
smile l ighting up her face.
“When you’re crawling on the
floor in front of a camera, it’s a
lot.” 
Waiting with
bated breath
But making the video was only
one step toward what they are
really excited for, their current
world tour, which will feature a
homecoming show at Airwaves.
“We haven’t played in three
years,” Nanna says, incredulous.
“This album was such a process
to make. It’s taken a long time.
We wanted to get it really right,
but it feels good to finally be at
this point.” 
“We’re just waiting to play it
live,” Raggi adds. The two look
at each other fondly—the famil-
ial bond they share resurfacing
as they look together towards
their future. “We’ve been re-
hearsing.” He pauses, a mischie-
vous look painting his face. In
typical Raggi and Nanna fash-
ion, he can’t help but end with
a joke. “We’ve been playing our
old songs, and we still remem-
ber them,” he grins. “So that’s a
great start.”
Of Monsters and Men
SAT 8th, 23:45, Valshöllin
“A fever dream—that’s
what these two or three
years have been.”