Shit. I mean, wow. Where to begin? Can mere words even do justice to the emotion KK and Árstíðir evoked during two too short hours at Fríkirkjan?
For starters, we’re in a church. Being cramped up on those typical too-narrow church benches where your ass barely fits, that doesn’t even matter. The world comes to a standstill for brief moments, as you gaze down from the balcony and listen to music that massages your soul. In the midst of majestic arches, mighty gold crosses and candelabras… is this man with a guitar in lap.
It doesn’t look like much.
I had never heard of KK before, but upon arrival at Fríkirkjan I was informed that he was perhaps Iceland’s best troubadour, and a lyrical genius. As it turned out, it didn’t matter that I missed out on the actual meaning of his songs. What made it all so magical is KK’s mere presence, which is enough to captivate an entire audience. Silence truly is a virtue. You could hear a pin drop had KK’s voice not been echoing through the room, and the tender honesty in his voice combined with the sense of raw genuineness sent feelgood shivers through your body. When it was all over (oh why did it have to be over?!), the applause never seemed to end.
Next up were the extremely impressive Árstíðir: six young cuties with two acoustic guitars, one baritone guitar, a piano, a violin and a cello. They master their instruments and their powerful harmonies sound almost like a full blown choir at times. And I mean, who doesn’t love some string action?
I don’t know if it’s the church thing, but seriously—this evening may in fact be the closest I have ever come to worship.
(Réttir at Fríkirkjan, Thursday September 25)
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