Iceland review - 2002, Síða 26

24 ICELAND REVIEW
The gymnasium looks as if it has been decorated for a wedding
reception: streamers and balloons hang from the basketball hoops and
along the walls small lights cling to white netting.
It’s 2:30AM. “Time to head back home,” says the filmmaker. We all agree to call it a
night, some four hours before the party ends and the last accordion is packed away into
its black case.
Sound check
Saturday morning. The scoreboard clock inside the local sports hall reads 10:37. The
gymnasium looks as if it’s been decorated for a wedding reception: streamers and bal-
loons hang from the basketball hoops and along the walls small lights cling to white
netting. In less than 14 hours, the sports hall will play host to the festival’s grand finale,
a night of ballroom dancing.
About ten men supervise the sound check. A few are dressed in tacky sweatsuits, oth-
ers in leather jackets and slacks. It looks like something out of a scene from The
Sopranos. The accordion Mafia.
A 15-piece band from Akranes (west Iceland) has just stepped on stage. The band is
mostly made up of teenagers. Eleven members of the band play the accordion. The
drummer is...wait a minute...it’s THM, hunched over the drum set. Even though he
looks like a living fossil juxtaposed against the teenage accordion players, he can real-
ly jam. A teenage girl shines on a solo, her accordion nearly smothering her body. The
Mafiosi clap when she finishes. Embarrassed, she disappears behind her instrument.
Drummer Thórir Magnússon with up-and-coming accordian players Rut Berg and Maren Lind.
20 IR302 - Harmonikkumót bs-km 2.9.2002 14:30 Page 24