Every year I think about the need to build up my festival stamina, the same way people train for ultramarathons — increase the distance you can run slowly but steadily, do a longer run every now and then, shop for the right gear, maybe check your tolerance for standing right next to a giant loudspeaker without earplugs. Every year, my inner voice whispers, “No, not this year.”
So, by the time Saturday rolls around, I am very tired. Or, let me put it this way: I’m overloaded with the amount of good music I’ve listened to in the span of the last three days. But I don’t really have time to process it, to come home after a concert and put on an album of a certain artist, to acquire a taste for them. Most of the time, I need to run to the next concert, hoping that my memory (and the notes app on my phone) won’t let me down and I’ll listen to everything I want later.
Rocking the tower
Slowly dragging my feet, I make my way downtown for Grapewaves. It’s bloody cold, but the square around the Lækjartorg tower is alive. I think about a quote from the Iceland Airwaves Conference, something along the lines of how “punk used to be very important for the city, and it seems that there’s a new interest in punk from young bands.”
BKPM might be one example of that. I’ve seen most (all?) members of this relatively fresh post-punk quintet (though today they’re a quartet, missing their keyboardist—not sure if they didn’t fit into the tower or just couldn’t come) in other music projects popping up at festivals and DIY gigs. I’m dancing to their “Snjóstormur” (snow storm) in the rain, my big mittens becoming not just essential gear, but part of my dance moves.
Members of BKPM are also rocking their looks, all wearing neon yellow construction vests. “This song is called ‘Number 8’ even though this is the sixth song we’re going to play today. It will all make more sense on the album,” says the frontman, but the people around don’t really care about the name — give them more of this raw punk energy.
All of the bands playing in the tower today deserve a special mention. I first heard about Amor Vincit Omnia maybe two weeks ago (even though a quick fact-check confirms I probably should have seen them at Hátiðni this year), but they’re already rocking more than one Airwaves off-venue. I heard they even had a pyjama party at Bíó Paradís — two things that go so well together. I make use of my eight years of Latin in school to translate the band’s name for those interested, and while love didn’t conquer all today, it certainly conquered the cold outside. The duo brings on danceable beats with a dreamy pop polish. Such good vibes!
Next up, SiGRÚN is enchanting the tower with her voice. She’s popping out of the tower’s windows, making me think of some classic fairy tales where a princess is stuck in a castle. SiGRÚN has made quite a career touring with Björk, Sigur Rós and Florence + The Machine. It’s amazing to see an artist of this calibre performing within the tiny space of the Lækjartorg tower.
There’s a little break until the next gig and the square empties out. But as soon as CYBER begins, people suddenly appear from all directions. It’s my second time seeing them this Airwaves and, god, they don’t disappoint. Everyone I know keeps saying how weird it is that they’re not in the official Airwaves programme, having just released a banger of an album. Salka and Joe actually break out of the tower — their dance moves, the energy, the lyrics, it all combines into a spectacular show. They get the whole square chanting “I’m a porn star!” and “NO! NO CRY!” It was something else.
By the time CYBER finishes, I’m excited for my next engagement of the night — dinner finally! A bowl of hot pad thai at Krua Thai hits the spot, and conveniently, the next venue is right next door. I take back my words about Oyama. They’re amazing at 12 Tónar. The sound is incredible, and compared to Iðnó, where the audience was mixed between those who actually wanted to see the band and those who ended up there randomly, tonight’s crowd is almost hand-picked.
Sacred spaces, modern beats
I then take a walk down Bjargarstígur to Fríkirkjan, enjoying the misty sight of the city. lúpina takes the stage in layers of pink ruffles, with two decorative jellyfish lighting up the church as she sings. I’ve watched this artist emerge from the depths of TikTok, through the Hátiðni festival and onto the stage of Iceland Airwaves. “This has been a dream of mine for so long,” lúpina says of performing at Fríkirkjan. Her set is dreamy, and it fits the space just right. She plays a mix of new songs, but I don’t get to hear her famous “Ástarbréf” as the Art Museum is calling.
Charlotte Day Wilson was one of the artists I added to my playlist ahead of the festival, her track “Work” playing on repeat in the days leading up to Airwaves. Charlotte’s band is great — I love the trend of seeing harps on the stage this year. “This is a very special moment for me,” says the artist. “I’m actually Icelandic. This is my first time ever playing here.” Say what, Charlotte? One more reason for us to dig into the heritage of Nýja Ísland in Canada.
I relocate to NASA for a while where soulful indie Casey Smith Project is on, followed by hip-hop artist Air Jazz — both from Alaska. Air Jazz, African American and Alaska Native, actually sings partly in Tlingit and it’s amazing — I love Airwaves for the opportunity to experience indigenous and endangered languages on the big stage, a refreshing departure from the usual English-dominated soundscape.
My next act is back at Fríkirkjan, and I arrive a bit too early, just in time to catch the last two songs of Róshildur who’s great as always — and One To Watch at the 2024 Reykjavík Grapevine Music Awards, by the way. Davidsson takes the stage paired with composer Skúli Sverrisson. The show is completely instrumental, and it’s amazing to finally just sit back and soak the music in. “I love that it’s raining outside,” says Þorleifur Gaukur Davíðsson, before introducing his solo project and explaining how working on it and bringing Skúli in was therapeutic in processing the death of his father.
I wanted to check out bar italia at the Art Museum, but I’ve never heard harmonica sound so good, so I just stay in the church, watching through the window as the mist envelops Reykjavík more and more.
Land of the tyrants
I use the break in my schedule to check out DJ Margeir and Matthildur, who have literally set Iðnó on fire with their set. It’s hard to dance, walk or breathe, so I leave for Gaukurinn, making sure I have enough time to finally get into the venue. Arriving almost 30 (!) minutes in advance grants me access. Don’t get me wrong, Gaukurinn is great, but it’s become way too small for shows booked there during Airwaves. All I’ve been hearing all weekend about this venue is “Oh, it’s at Gaukurinn? We’re not going to make it in.”
Atli Freyr Steinsson for The Reykjavík Grapevine
Well, this time I’m lucky, and the show is even slightly delayed. I’m genuinely thinking if it’s going to be weird if I use the time they’re trying to set the stage for the next act and go get bagels at 10-11 to save time later. But I choose to stay and Benefits make the night for me. They’re a great example of spoken-work, politically charged, industrial rock/electronica. “Do not beg, do not bow, do not curtsy!” screams Kingsley Hall and Gaukurinn screams back “Do not beg, do not bow, do not curtsy!” There’s synth and noise, anger and dance, making it all quite powerful. The band just announced a new single with Pete Doherty of The Libertines and are working on a sophomore album. Do check them out.
This concludes my Iceland Airwaves 2024 musical exploration. Now, there’s finally a bit of time to soak it all in. Until next year!
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