Iceland review - 2013, Side 24

22 ICELAND REVIEW
MUsIC
Laugarbakki’s surrounding. Listening to the soulful grain of Ásgeir’s
voice on songs off the new album, it’s difficult not to draw a red
line connecting the dots. When Hemingway wrote, his youthful
experiences in Michigan framed his imagination. Bon Iver’s Justin
vernon retreated to a cabin lost in Wisconsin’s forest to create his
heartbreaking first album, For Emma, Forever Ago. Just the same,
there’s something of Laugarbakki’s small-town solitude in the soft-
ness of Dýrð í dauðaþögn (‘Glory in the Silence of Death’).
“Songwriting for me is a state of mind. I need somewhere quiet,
like Laugarbakki, where nothing’s going on, and only 40 other
people are home… And then, it’s incredible how the music just
takes over your mind,” he explains.
The true story of Ásgeir’s success, however, and that of his
upbringing, is more than the fantasy of his musical escapism.
Behind each track is a network of trusses and supporting actors—
artists and lyricists whose flourish makes Ásgeir’s conceptions a
reality.
Seven lyrics on Dýrð í dauðaþögn were written by Ásgeir’s father,
Einar, and three by his friend and collaborator, Júlíus Aðalsteinn
Róbertsson. On songs like ‘Hærra,’ as many as seven collaborating
musicians are listed working in the studio. In concert, the number
of performers onstage for the full Ásgeir Trausti experience jumps
to ten.
Drawing more red lines from Ásgeir to his lyricists; to former
Czars headman John Grant, who is preparing English lyrics for
a new version of the album; to Júlíus, his brother, his father and
all the other contributors; to the agents and producers who go
between—it’s clear that Ásgeir Trausti is a masterpiece of coordi-
nation.
“All the people I’m playing with now—I’m amazed because I’ve
never played with this talent before. I don’t have to tell them what
to do. I just tell them the patterns. Not how to play, just what to
play—and they add a lot. And the producer (Guðmundur Kristinn
Jónsson), and my brother, Þorsteinn, they’re teaching me things
too,” says Ásgeir.
DouBLe viSion
The Ásgeir Trausti live experience comes in two flavors. The full
band puts Ásgeir at the helm of a tour de force that unites a legion
of grungy hipsters, adoring fan girls, young professionals and pink-
haired men with all the virtuosity of Peter Gabriel. You might call
it a ten-piece layer cake heavy on electronic swirl.
“For the full band, we’ve put the most time into the electronics.
It’s a lot of work to keep it going onstage,” he explains.
His duo with Júlíus, meanwhile, produces a stripped-down ver-
sion of the songs. Relying on four years playing together, and an
even longer friendship, they rarely practice offstage. Listening as
they build the album’s soundscape solely through finger-picking,
the intimacy is logical but surprising. Call it molten syrup poured
on clean white snow.
“When there’s just the two of us, we have to do everything the
best we can. You can’t hide like you can when there are ten people
in the band,” he says.
What ties the full set and its comparatively skeletal counterpart
together is Ásgeir’s voice, which beams warmth and closeness
regardless of setting. His high-pitched vocals are the touchstone for
a sound that’s ripe for layering in other collaborations.
It’s tempting to look at the difference between sets as a configu-
ration of the greater contrasts in Ásgeir Trausti, like the dual lives he
leads first as a breakout rock star, and second as a quiet resident of
Laugarbakki where two days a week he teaches guitar, drums and
piano to young children.
Before Iceland Airwaves, Ásgeir spent months on the interview
circuit and shot out to Seattle for KEXP radio’s ‘Reykjavík Calling’
showcase of Icelandic artists. Looking ahead to January, he’ll play
another festival, Eurosonic Noorderslag, in The Netherlands.
But even topping local sales charts with Dýrð í dauðaþögn isn’t
enough to undercut Ásgeir’s modesty and devotion to songwriting.
Finding himself with free time in Seattle, he didn’t choose to go
partying, but instead paid homage at the Lake Washington home
of his childhood idol, Kurt Cobain, with Júlíus. And before this
year, he’d never attended Iceland Airwaves. He’s more excited to
talk about his new Martin OM-28 than wherever he’ll be come
January.
“I just don’t think about it,” he laughs. “I don’t notice the hype
a lot. I don’t go downtown a lot, I don’t see people that much. I
try to just be alone as much as I can. It’s really just after concerts
or something that I notice the reception. And I don’t mind it at
all—it’s great that people want to listen to what I’m doing.”
Listening to his modesty routine, it’s easy to be taken in. But
when you see him leading the band or appealing to hushed audi-
ences with Júlíus, there’s no doubt it’s an artist that’s at work.
gooD viBraTionS
Ásgeir’s come a long way from the head-banging child clenching
Nirvana records. Even so, he describes his current sound, the poly-
phonic mix that echoes Bon Iver’s expression and the electronics
of James Blake, as the progress of just a few years’ songwriting. The
results are stunning, just as much so for their chart-topping popu-
larity. But Ásgeir isn’t content settling into just one sound.
“I’m very young, and I’d like to think that my music is always
progressing,” he says. “And electronic music is the scene I want to
progress into. On the next album, maybe you can expect more of
that.”
You can also expect more collaboration. Ásgeir’s recently lent
his vocals for a track, ‘Hvítir skór,’ with the Icelandic rapper Blaz
Roca. He’s talking with his brother Þorsteinn about a project that
would transplant Þorsteinn and his guitar from the reggae scene
into a semblance of rock. At the root, Ásgeir is an artist just begin-
ning the process of spontaneous collision with other members of
Reykjavík’s vibrant musical community. The sphere of possibilities
has yet to be filled out. 