Iceland review - 2002, Page 27

ICELAND REVIEW 25
After all the coughing and wheezing coming from last night’s accordion enthusiasts,
it’s good to see some young faces. But why did these girls take up this forgotten instru-
ment?
Playing the accordion “makes me feel happy,” Rut Berg, the 17-year-old soloist, says
shyly. This gangly teenager looks awkward holding her accordion. It’s as if the 20-plus
pound instrument is a burden to play. While Rut looks like an oddball, she’s very much
a normal teenager. She enjoys boy bands and her favourite musician is Kylie Minogue.
For Rut and her 16-year-old friend Maren Lind, the accordion was something different,
so why not give it a try?
“My friends thought it was weird, but they think it’s okay now,” says Maren Lind with
a wide smile across her face.
Ballroom dancing
All the young musicians have disappeared by the time my friend and I arrive to the gala
event, but the sports hall is tightly packed with over 1,000 older accordion fans. There
are so many elderly people that I begin to wonder who left the doors to the retirement
centre open. Still, the atmosphere is electric, as these fun-loving seniors display their
moves on the dance floor, fueled by the rockin’ sounds of the accordion and drink after
drink of hard liquor.
Ásgeir Sigurdsson, the president of the West Fjords Accordion Club, in his museum.
My friend suggests we get a drink. After
a few glasses of coconut rum, we summon
the courage to try this ballroom dancing
stuff. After all, nobody knows us here.
Psyched up, we make our way to the floor.
Unfortunately, we never get the chance,
because the dance floor is packed. There’s
not even a smidgen of wiggle room.
Defeated, we return to the bar.
From my perch, I can see Ásgeir, the pres-
ident of the West Fjords Accordion Club,
sweating to the oldies. I spot the man from
Spain and THM (he’s everywhere). Ásgeir’s
daughter comes up to say hello. She’s
readying herself to leave. Looking around I
begin to feel like the proverbial fish out of
water. Deciding to leave the partying to
our elders, my friend and I walk to the
downtown pubs. The youngsters are
geared up for their Saturday night out on
the town and the music is thumping. But
the pulse is flat. Tonight, in Ísafjördur, ball-
room dancing to the sounds of the accor-
dion is where the thrill is at.
Edward Weinman is a staff writer.
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