Atlantica - 01.04.2006, Blaðsíða 16

14 AT L A N T I CA
When I spot José González at the
corner table, I feel like I recognize
him from somewhere – like he grew
up down the street from me. He’s
wearing a disheveled, long-sleeved
orange shirt, baggy cords and a pair of
black, weathered, lace-up Vans.
I compliment him on his packed
show the night before at NASA, a
clubby venue in downtown Reykjavík.
González’s eyes wander to the coffee
shop’s dark wooden floorboards. He
thanks me, and mutters something
softly about not expecting 600 people
to roll in on a Monday night to watch
him play. Especially not (he cracks his
first smile) the reigning Miss World,
who is Icelandic and was rumored to
have made an appearance.
Imagine flamenco, samba and
bossa nova woven with the sounds of
an intimate classical guitar. With crisp,
simple lyrics and his hushed, assured
voice, González plucked his Alhambra
guitar (“It’s not the best kind,” he tells
me...) all the way to a Swedish Grammy
in 2004, earning top honors as the
country’s best new artist for his debut
album, Veneer.
With a recent appearance on Conan
O’Brien and an upcoming summer
tour in Europe, José González is riding
the indie-circuit-boy wave.
I keep waiting for some hint of
insolence, a trace of punk, a tinge
of crusty rock and roll to surface in
this 28-year-old an Argentine Swede
from Gothenburg. There’s none. José
González is the paradigm of polite.
And he can make music. Quiet really
must be the new loud.
González is one of three children
born in Sweden to Argent ine
parents who fled South America
after a military coup threatened
their livelihood. They escaped first
to Brazil and then finally to Sweden
with the aid of the Swedish embassy.
His family lived in an immigrant-rich
suburb of Gothenburg until he was
seven. He learned English in school,
spoke Swedish with his friends and
Spanish with his family while one of
his great musical influences, Cuban
Silvio Rodríguez, played on the
family’s stereo. “It was the kind of
music my parents listened to when I
was growing up,” said González. “He’s
probably the biggest reason why I
started playing this style.”
González picked his first guitar
when he was 14, the same year he
formed a punk band with his childhood
friend Elias Araya, also a musician and
the artist behind the design of Venee.
González experimented with a bass
and an electric guitar, and got to work
developing a style for his hobby. He
didn’t play music full-time until three
years ago, when his 2003 album was
released. At the time, he was more
than a year into a PhD program in
biochemistry. He didn’t have time for
both, so he opted for the music route.
Less research involved.
“There was someone who once
said that people listen to music like
tapas – in bits and pieces,” he said.
“And that’s how I enjoy it.”
González is often referred to as
Sweden’s answer to Britain’s late Nick
Drake, whose name he hadn’t heard
until someone compared their styles
a few years ago – soft, hushed and
melancholy. “Since then I’ve been
really inspired by him,” González
said. “I thought a lot about his album
Pink Moon when I compiled my own
because both of ours are so short. But
I think the album works fine being
that short and simple. I didn’t have any
more songs to put in.” Which is why his
album clocks in just shy of a short but
very sweet 31 minutes. Drake’s is 28.
González also credits indie rock
goddess Cat Power and one-man show
Jason Molina of Songs: Ohia for some
influence on his acoustic interludes,
and is also quick to mention “post-
rock” acts like Tortoise and bands
from Canadian record company
Constellation, which represents
provocative and repetition-oriented
Godspeed You! Black Emperor.
His lyrics are bare bones: simple,
uncomplicated and intentionally
vague. “If you sing about your ex-
girlfriend, it’s kind of like hanging on,”
González explained to me. “Why not
say it to her instead of writing it to
the whole world? I never really liked
singer-songwriters who moan in that
sense.”
González has just finished his first-
ever tour in the United States, though
American audiences have already had
a sampling of his mellow sounds: his
original track “Stay in the Shade” was
featured on the American twenty-
something hit TV show The OC. More
recently, his cover of The Knife’s
“Heartbeats” was the accompanying
track to Sony’s latest high-profile
commercial featuring colorful bouncy
balls in the hills of San Francisco. The
clip has spread widely on the web,
thanks at least in part to the whimsical
mood González lends it.
Even the Dalai Lama, attending a
conference in Gothenburg, has heard
him play. “He was backstage. It was
strange, really strange,” González told
me, sipping his latté. “It’s something
to put on the merit list, I guess. I
was walking out and he was standing
there in his robes and with two monks.
He smiled at me and waved.”
But taking such company in stride
appears to come naturally to González.
He is as low profile as they come. No
one in this Reykjavík café stares at us
while we’re chatting. No one points,
ogles or gawks. His phone rings in the
middle of our conversation. He takes
the call, and tells his friend in Swedish
he’ll call back when he’s done: the
paradigm of polite, while quiet is still
cool. a
So does Conan O’Brien. Meet José González, whose classical guitar and quiet demeanor are going to be
mellowing the indie world out one bossa nova beat at a time.
LISTEN
The Dalai Lama Loves José
By Sara Blask
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009 airmail Atlantica 306.indd 14 23.4.2006 22:18:40