Months ago, when my husband Mike and I were trying to decide how to spend our ten-year wedding anniversary, we never expected we’d be representing Copper Press at Iceland Airwaves music festival in Reykjavik, Iceland. Initially, we held romantic notions of renewing our vows before the King himself, Elvis. You see, my husband and I have always been keen on music. It’s the one vice we still hang tight to, having allowed the responsibilities of adult life to lead us to the weaning off of the others. Over the years, we have built an eclectic music collection that includes most forms of the music media spanning the gamut from vinyl to cassette to CD to mp3 (we have no eight-track player). Some gems from our library include classic Gordon Lightfoot on vinyl, some modern standards like Paul’s Boutique by The Beastie Boys and Nevermind by Nirvana as well as work by Mark Murphy and Lee Perry. There is even a spot in our library for Shawn Cassidy (nostalgia, baby!). And yes, we do own an Elvis Christmas LP on vinyl as well. Mind you, we are not music snobs, nor are we professional music critics; we are just two people who are moderately in love with music. Incidentally, we don’t really like listening to the radio. Instead, we rely on independent investigating, word of mouth and recommendations from our music loving contemporaries, such as our friends at Copper Press, to whet our musical taste buds. So what better way to renew our love for each other, we thought, than to spend it in the symbolic presence of the big man himself? But after hours of online research, which included virtual tours of tacky wedding chapels and reading the countless biographies of sub par Elvis impersonators, we were not feeling the love. Sub par would not do. We needed something different, something that personified our ten crazy years together. Something that spoke to our inner drummer, the drummer who marched to the different beat.

Airwaves Over Iceland
This is what happens when you know the right people.

Pen: Jessica Schiewe - Lens: Mike Schiewe

 
I had been researching Iceland for a few years. It doesn’t make it onto most peoples’ radar, but to me it was a place that begged to be seen. It sits up in the North Atlantic, quietly minding its own. Its location and obscurity held a mysterious allure and it had some pretty impressive statistics to boot. It is a well-educated land possessing near 100% literacy. It is a rich land, both figuratively and literally, having low unemployment coupled with low inflation. It is rugged. It is fire and ice and legend and lore. It is the epicenter of all that is right in the world. It is the drummer born with the different beat. Through my research over the years I learned this land also holds a little secret, that the different beat has been passed on to its inhabitants and that for five short days each October the eclectic talent are encouraged to strut their stuff at Iceland Airwaves, an international music festival that has been rapidly gaining steam since its birth in 1999. The King had been dethroned. We had found our destination.

Acting on a whim, and with the gracious backing of Copper Press, Mike and I applied for press passes. And, to our delight, we were granted them by the generous promoters of the festival, Mr. Destiny. Some 600 journalists attend Iceland Airwaves each year. Just being there to witness the festival was privilege alone. With the backing of Copper Press, we would now be there to witness it up close. Armed with a self-proclaimed cynic’s insight and a 1981 Canon AE-1P camera, we took on the roles of roving reporter and dutiful photographer. When word got out to our friends that we had been granted press passes, the special requests came flooding in. Requests that included trying to procure a pit-stained autographed t-shirt from Bob Volume to professing a friend’s love to Björk (on the off chance we should bump into her) to my own personal agenda of stalking José González. We had no idea what to expect.

We touched down in Reykjavik bright and early (well, not so bright - the sun didn’t rise until nearly 9 AM - but definitely early) on Friday morning, 10.21.05. We arrived at our hotel and after a speedy check-in we were on a trek to find coffee and our coveted press passes. We had already regrettably missed the first two nights of music. Nights which included the likes of The Foghorns, Mr. Silla, Apparat Organ Quartet, Bob Volume (a funky Icelandic/Danish Orchestra) and José González. Needless to say, we failed miserably at fulfilling the above-mentioned requests; but when your mothers agree to watch your 3 1/2 year old twins for six days so you can take the trip of a lifetime, well, you take what you can get. And we were determined to take in as much as possible in the time we had left.

 

 The city was eerily quiet. If one didn’t know better, one would never guess there was a music festival going on. We shared a quiet laugh at the idea of mass numbers of concertgoers fostering their hangovers, predicting that we would be part of that statistic the next morning. We found our way to Hressingarskálinn (Hressó), which was a large but intimate restaurant that doubled as the media center. On a side note, this place had great food and quite possibly the best coffee in town. We casually drank our coffee, in awe of our surroundings, relished in the surreal ness of it all, and observed the city as it awoke. Then we retreated to our hotel room for a much-needed nap before a big night out on the town.

The bulk of the festival takes place over four nights at six different venues around the city center. Some of the artists played additional small sets at bars or record shops (12 tónar record shop is a great little shop) around town. In fact, we arrived at the media center later that day to retrieve our passes only to find out we had missed a live performance from José González by just an hour. Rumor has it that the room fell silent. I cursed the human body’s biological need for sleep the rest of the afternoon.

The city center is relatively pedestrian friendly and such a format made it easy to jaunt around from place to place. However, with 100+ bands and solo acts offering up their best, it was hard to narrow down where to make our home base. I know we missed out on some great artistry at other venues, but we chose Nasa as the place to be.

Highlights from Friday night’s lineup included Au Revoir Simone, a keyboard and drum machine trio from Brooklyn, NY. Although their audience seemed only moderately interested, they put on a nice, sugary sweet set. This is the music we should be playing for our young children. It is poppy and feel good-ish with dreamy vocals. If fashion catalogues had a soundtrack, their music would play in the background of the pages of Anthropologie. This trio of chic catalogue model look-a-likes really seemed to be enjoying their time in the spotlight, although it seemed as if they were restraining themselves a bit.

Perhaps my personal favorite of the evening was Architecture In Helsinki. This exuberant ensemble from Australia stole the show. If you haven’t seen them live, do so; they truly keep the crowd entertained with their multi-horn variety show. The flow of the crowd became unavoidable as the resistance to bop around became futile. It’s always a good show when the performers are just as excited to be there as you are. Their energy was contagious and a symbiotic musical experience was born. They almost seemed humbled by the crowd’s enthusiastic reception to them. That experience was born, raised and weaned in what seemed like a flash of light because the venues offered the artists just enough stage time to show off their stuff without the excess that can often distract.

 

The headliner for that evening was Hjálmar. And as interested and curious as I was to see an Icelandic Reggae act, I was hell bent on seeing Jagúar, a funky James Brown-ish retro band. It was time for a change of venue. We made a quick stop at the hotel so I could change into some appropriate disco clothes, commune again with the green fairies (Absente cocktails) and dump the old notebook and camera (it was dancing time!). There are rumors that the green fairies will guide your way under their influence. You just have to believe. They failed us miserably. While skirting our way around the flying bottles and international hooligans, chasing the fairies through the streets of Reykjavik, we realized they were hindering our map reading skills. Did I mention that we are Cartographers? No, really, we are. But we never did find Jagúar. And, come to find out, we missed out on some damn fine Reggae too.

Saturday night was a night of hits and misses. As amusing as watching Icelandic TV was, we cut it short and made our way back to Nasa. It was 10 PM and we wanted to get there early enough to stake out a good vantage point for Clap Your Hands And Say Yeah. One of the perks of having a press pass meant bypassing the near-riot crowd of the non-press waiting to get in. But although we got to side step one horrendous line, we still had to wait in a separate, slightly less horrendous press line. We waited two hours. At precisely 12:05 AM we made it into Nasa just in time to see Clap Your Hands And Say Yeah walk on stage. To be quite honest, their set wasn’t that memorable. They lacked interest and didn’t have much stage presence. The music was dance worthy, but I was expecting more from the hype that they’d been getting. Or maybe I was a little jaded from waiting in a two-hour line and I expected them to put on a killer show. Instead, they were just cranky and loud. Another Brooklyn, NY band, Ratatat, came on next and gave a rave performance. No lyrics, just some classic, genre twisting, in your face music. They were one of the only bands to have interesting visuals going on in the background.

 

 I can’t say enough about the headliner of the night. This band, Gus Gus (rhymes with cous cous), has been a mainstay since the inception of Iceland Airwaves. Their show was beyond words. They are four musically robust members who throw out some great dance music. I’m usually not a dance music kind of girl, but this band had my full attention. The front man, President Bongo, walked on stage in a full suit wearing a knitted cap. By the end of the show he was half naked, hair past his shoulders, spraying champagne on the crowd. Earth, the female vocalist in the band, was inspiring. She was this voluptuous, soulful woman and her singing and dancing made you feel naughty without really understanding why. The crowd was entranced. The Icelandic locals really show up to support their own. It was evident all over town and it was blatantly evident that night at Nasa by the number of people still at the concert at 4 AM. I have never left a concert at 4 AM in my life. You better believe that Sunday morning found us sleeping through breakfast. Again.

This mystical island in the North Atlantic will cast a spell on you. Iceland Airwaves is a festival that offers up just enough outstanding local talent mixed with just enough emerging international talent and then lets you walk away to sort it all out on your own time. You’re left begging, not screaming, for more. The screaming comes days later, when the spell begins to fade as everyday life takes hold again and you realize you can’t live without the most amazing music you’ve just experienced. Then the wheels start turning and your mind starts scheming and grasping at ways to get back to this amazing land.

The promoters of Iceland Airwaves, Mr. Destiny, put on a great show. Their website is an excellent resource for artist profiles, venue locations and schedules and useful hints to help elevate your experience. Check out Icelandairwaves.com to see what they’re up to and to get artist info on the 100+ bands and solo acts. If you’re really ambitious, The White Stripes will be in Reykjavik on 11.20.05. And, if you hurry, there is still time to get your tickets! If you have any thought or desire to visit Iceland, do it now, before the secret gets out and the world spoils it. The King has forever been demoted.