Reykjavík Grapevine - feb. 2022, Blaðsíða 12

The Cold Li!ht
Of Ni!ht
Kælan Mikla have a dark new universe to share
Words: John Pearson Photo: Ása D"radóttir Album cover: Førtifem / Merch Babe
The mercurial Kælan Mikla
defy description in many ways.
Although it might appear that
many of the band’s motifs and
themes could be huddled together
under the big black umbrella of
“goth”, that just seems too simplis-
tic. Not to mention somewhat
reductive.
Besides, when we talk, Kælan
Mikla—that is, Sólveig, Margrét
and Laufey—laugh. In fact, they
laugh quite a lot. Now that’s not
very goth, is it?.
Pigeonholes are for
pigeons
“We have never put a label on
ourselves,” says vocalist Laufey.
“And we think it's really difficult
to do, because all of our albums are
different and we never know what
we're going to do next.”
“Then when you release a differ-
ent album, people are like, ‘What?
This is not what I signed up for!’”
laughs bassist Margrét. “We always
have the same essence even though
we're using different genres. And
truthfully, when people ask what
kind of music we make, I have no
idea.”
“I think that our genre is Kælan
Mikla!” concludes Laufey.
Cold northern lights
Their most recent album, ‘Undir
Köldum Nor!urljósum’ (‘Under The
Cold Northern Lights’), continues
Kælan Mikla’s tradition of evolving
that genre through each musical
project. For this one—produced by
Bar!i Jóhannsson—the band spent
18 months in Bar!i’s studio, as
opposed to recording in a garage as
they did for the preceding record.
“We were working with Bar!i for
one and a half years, really trying
to make every sound perfect,” says
Sólveig. “And it was really nice to
try that out.”
“It was the first time that we
worked with a producer like that.
And he was pushing us a lot to go
all the way and you know, try every-
thing,” says Laufey.
That spirit of growth and
experimentation shines through;
for example, the album’s tender
closing track “Saman” is written
in waltz time rather than a more
common “rock” time signature.
And generally, the band’s refined
production focus on this album
shines through in enhanced sonic
sophistication. The sound of
‘Undir Köldum Nor!urljósum’ is
a seductive whisper rather than a
strident shout; its feel is expansive,
not oppressive.
The Kælan Mikla
universe
The band are named after the
beautiful but deadly snow queen
in Tove Jansson’s Moomin books,
an idea around which the band
have created their own universe;
a fantasy version of Iceland where
‘Undir Köldum Nor!urljósum’
takes place.
Laufey explains: “It is made up
of stories that are kind of based
on Icelandic folklore and nature.
They’re these little fairy tales that
we made ourselves, and what they
all have in common is that they
happen in the universe of Kælan
Mikla, under the cold northern
lights.”
“When we talk about the spirit
of Kælan Mikla, and the universe,
we're talking about the three of us
together,” Margét says. “We always
feel like we conjure this femme
fatale spirit, like together we are
stronger. Together we have the
alter ego of this femme fatale ice
queen.”
“I think that this is the most
visual a lbum we have ever
released,” says Laufey, “because
a lot of it talks about the Kælan
Mikla universe and shows people
the environment that we imagine
our music to happen in.”
The importance of
appearance
A strong and deliberate visual
identity is a core part of Kælan
Mikla, and music videos form an
important part of their creative
offering. Four tracks from ‘Undir
Köldum Nor!urljósum’—almost
half the tracks on the album—have
had excellent videos created for
them and, despite being made by
four different directors, the band’s
visual concept runs as a solid
thread through them all.
Perhaps most notable is the
video for “Hvítir Sandar”, which
was directed by Máni Sigfússon
and won Video Of The Year at The
Grapevine’s 2022 Music Awards.
Kælan Mikla had first worked with
Máni in 2015, when band and direc-
tor were paired up to make a promo
video for the Iceland Airwaves
festival.
“We were trying to think of
video artists, and then we remem-
bered this thing that we made with
him,” says Laufey. “Yeah, because
the lyrics in the song are a lot about
texture and feelings and how it is
to touch things,” Sólveig chimes
in. “And opposites like black liquid
and white sand. We just thought he
would be perfect, and he was!”
The importance of
appearing
Another crucial element of
Kælan Mikla is the live show. The
band augment their sound with
costume, stage theatrics, video and
even incense to hit the senses.
“It is theatre; essentially Kælan
Mikla is a live band,” says Laufey.
“The music is made to be live. It’s
not meant to be on records, you
know?”
Sólveig nods in agreement:
“It’s such a journey. When we go
on stage, we always plan the intro.
We plan how it builds up and
goes down, and it's like the songs
are building a story that we are
performing.”
“And we become hypnotised. We
get so connected on stage, and we
feel like we are conjuring the spirit
that is Kælan Mikla. We become
one unit when we are onstage,”
concludes Laufey.
Longing for a tour bus
bunk
Naturally, like many musicians, the
band feel thwarted by the ongoing
pandemic disruption.
“We have a release tour in
Europe,” says Margrét. “I think
it’s 29 shows or something that is
supposed to happen in April, but
now we’re just crossing fingers.
When you release the album, you
want to perform it. You can’t just
put an album online and be like,
‘Hey, here's the album.’ You need to
back it up; promote it, travel, meet
people and perform it.”
“We did all those shitty base-
ment shows for five people,”
Margrét continues, harking back to
the band’s early days. “And now we
play for like 2000 people!” inter-
jects Laufey. “But we put in the
work,” Margrét says. “And now we
can’t do that work.”
Farewell in Berlin
The band start recalling tales of
their “shitty basement show”
tours from back in the day, when
they would traverse Europe’s train
network unaccompanied—carry-
ing their instruments in tote
bags—to play bookings secured by
Sólveig in a bout of pushy teenaged
enthusiasm. Like the time Margrét
stopped a man stealing her bass on
a railway platform, only to lose her
breakfast croissant to him instead.
And the time a random lost Turk-
ish guy, who spoke no Icelandic
or English, decided to join Kælan
Mikla as their bodyguard/porter in
return for the band guiding him
to Berlin.
“And when we got out of the
train station, he just walked away,”
recalls Margrét. “After travelling
with us for 24 hours, he just looked
at us like ‘Okay’, and walked away
like he had done his job. And we
still think about him today!”
“I just want to hire him again!”
says Sólveig. “And next time we
will pay him!” says Laufey.
Cue the Kælan Mikla laughter
again. Now that’s not very goth, is
it?
Pre-order the Exquisite Deluxe
Edition of 'Undir Köldum Nor!urljó-
sum' on blue vinyl: shop.grapevine.is
12The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 02— 2022Culture