Reykjavík Grapevine - jan. 2023, Blaðsíða 14

King Of The
Mundane
Friends and family remember Prins Póló — Svavar
Pétur Eysteinsson, Grapevine’s Musician of the Year
Words: Josie Anne Gaitens Photo Matthew Eisman
The Reykjavík Grapevine’s Musician
of the Year, Svavar Pétur Eysteins-
son — better known by his stage
persona, Prins Póló — died on the
29th of September, 2022. He was 45
years old.
A proud native of Breiðhólt,
Svavar first made his debut in the
Reykjavík music scene in the early
2000s as part of bands like Rúnk
and Skakkamange. Even at this
early juncture
of his career, his
presence as an
artist, as well as
his unwavering
commitment to
the pursuit of
ideas impressed
his peers.
“I don’t remember when I first
met Svavar,” says artist and musi-
cian Loji Höskuldsson, who was a
member of Prins Póló’s band. “But
I remember watching him play with
his band Skakkamange, and I was
starstruck from that moment.”
“Let's make a band
together!”
By comparison, accordionist
Margrét Arnardóttir has a very
strong memory of meeting Svavar
when they were both playing at the
same music festival in 2015.
“We just started talking and he's
like, ‘let's just make a band together!
Let's just make a band! There's so
many musicians here — he's a drum-
mer and he plays bass and let's just,
you know! You start by leading the
accordion band and I start leading
with Prins Póló. You just play and I’ll
just shout out the chords.’”
Margrét laughs: “It was amazing
and it's kind of stereotypical Svavar.”
During this time, Svavar also
met the woman who would quickly
become his wife — and creative
partner — Berglind Häsler.
“We met in 2003… or four,”
Berglind laughs, a little fuzzy on the
details of what was a heady time of
music, arts, friends and parties. “We
dated for six months, and then we
got married — we were just a tight
couple ever since.”
Havari-ing a ball
Berglind would go on to play with
Svavar in his various bands, and
the pair swiftly became known
as a cultural power couple. This
w a s f u r t h e r
c e m e n t e d
w h e n t h e y
were invited
to run Havarí,
a record store
/ venue / arts
space in down-
town Reykjavík.
“It was hard to leave Seyðisfjörður
[where they were living at the time],”
says Berglind. “But we were always
about new ideas and new things, so
we just said, let’s give it a try.”
“It was the place where you met
all of your colleagues, all of the other
musicians and bands,” says Loji, of
the space.
Making space for
others
Over time, Havari developed into
an important touchstone within
the cultural geography of the city,
hosting concerts, art exhibitions,
recording sessions and much more.
Svavar’s friend and former band-
mate, Kristján Freyr Halldórsson,
has one particularly fond memory
from a Record Store Day concert at
the venue that sums up both Svavar’s
creativity and his genuine interest in
making space for others:
“There was a packed schedule
that day,” Kristján explains. “Some-
times there were concerts in Havari
where there were not so many
attendees, but this was like the polar
opposite: the store was completely
full, there were people in the street
and there was a lot of commotion
going on — a fun concert.”
“For some reason, my son —
who was like the shyest individual I
know — gets the idea that he wants
to perform,” he continues.
Kristján, aware of the fact that the
venue was heaving and that the gig
was already running late, tried to put
his son off the idea. Finding his dad
unresponsive to his plan, Kristján’s
son went straight to Svavar.
“It was such a Svavar thing,” says
Kristján. “Even though there was a
tight schedule, the place was packed
with people, he was like, ‘that's a
fantastic idea!’”
Kristján explains how Svavar
brought his eight year old son on
stage, lowered the microphone and
told him he had five minutes to
perform whatever he wanted.
“At the end he [his son] received a
standing applause,” Kristján remem-
bers. “It was just such a Svavar
moment.”
From music to...
hot dogs?
Havari closed in 2011, a victim to
the endless desire for more hotels
in Reykjavík. Berglind and Svavar
considered other spaces in the city,
but ultimately decided to leave
the capital and head east. They
purchased the farm Karlsstaðir,
which became the new Havari, and
the birthplace of what was perhaps
Svavar’s wildest idea of all: Bulsur.
Kristján remembers when he first
heard of Svavar’s plan to make his
own vegan hot dogs:
“He told me, ‘if I miss one thing
out of eating meat, it’s the hot dog,
and I really have to do something
about it.’
So began the trials — and errors —
of Svavar’s hot dog experimentation.
“I was with Svavar in a studio
in Skúlagata,” reminisces Svavar’s
bandmate Benedikt Hermann
Hermannsson. “I remember he
was working on “París norðursins,”
recording all the songs. And then all
of a sudden, he got like a stomach
cramp. Like, ‘oh, it's killing me.’ I
was like, what's wrong? Have you
got the flu or something? ‘No, I’ve
been making vegan hotdogs…’”
Berglind chuckles at the memory:
“Our house smelt of barley for three
years after this,” she says.
The Prins of the people
But of course, it is Svavar’s musical
output — predominantly as Prins
Póló — that the public will remember
him for most. In particular, his ability
to shed light on the commonplace,
and somehow make it beautiful.
“Some people call his lyrics a
little naive,” says Bóas Hallgrímsson,
Svavar’s friend and fellow musician
“But I think they were deep in their
naivety. They were on mundane
subjects often but still, there was
something touching in almost all of
the lyrics.”
“I’m just really glad that he
asked me to take part in the Prins
Póló adventure,” Kristján says. “I'm
just really grateful to have had that
opportunity to get to work with him.”
“He had this drive,” Berglind
shares. “You know, if he had an idea,
he had to finish it — and he did, he
sure finished a lot.”
“Every morning, he woke up with
a new idea,” She continues. “What
I’m going to miss most are his calls.
I would always get the feeling like,
oh this is this sort of phone call.” She
laughs: “You know, ‘Hi, I have an
idea!’ And I would be like, oh boy…
Kids, start packing!”
In Svavar’s own words, from an
interview with this paper in 2013:
“It doesn’t make a difference if I’m
making an album or a poster or
sausages, it’s just about creating.”
“Every morning,
he woke up with
a new idea.”
MUSIC FEATURE
14 The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 1— 2023
The First Dumpling
House in Iceland
dragondimsum.is
GEIRISGATA 9,
REYKJAVÍK
EYRAVEGUR 1,
SELFOSS