Words by

Irina Shtreis

Photo by

Eva Schram

Musicians Magnús Jóhann and Óskar Guðjónsson create beautiful connections on Fermented Friendship

Being idiosyncratic artists with a distinct body of work, Magnús Jóhann and Óskar Guðjónsson share connections that extend beyond the realm of music. Such details were discovered during the year-long exchange and communication that resulted in Fermented Friendship, a ten-piece instrumental album, featuring Magnús Jóhann on piano and Óskar Guðjónsson on saxophone. Although the musicians would not entirely agree with the concept of the record, all of its tracks pertain to the overarching theme.

“Fermented Friendship is something that we were discussing,” Óskar explains. “We were discussing our friendships with other people. When Magnús suggested we do this record, my first thought was, ‘OK we have to get to know each other.’ Doing something for a longer period, you usually ferment something.”

“Some fermentation processes go absolutely wonderful, some go sour. For me, the connection in music has always been linked with friendship,” Óskar adds.

The Kjarval connection

The two discovered their differences and similarities that fuelled the creative process. Consequently, interesting parallels can be found in family histories, too. Both Óskar Guðjónsson and Magnús Jóhann had grandfathers who worked as harbour keepers in Höfn and the Westman Islands, respectively.

“I remember these magical stories of my grandfather jumping from one ship to another to steer because the Höfn harbour is so difficult,” Óskar reminisces. “The water is always changing, you must understand and feel nature to do this job. Jumping from a smaller to a bigger boat was kind of a magical fairy tale thing for me,” he confesses.

The shared cultural experiences and personal revelations are manifested on the opening track “Jóhannes Kjarval.” The iconic Icelandic painter has been an inspiration and a formative influence for several artists, including Björk, who dedicated a track from her debut album Björk to Kjarval.

In the case of Magnús Jóhann, the connection with the painter turned out to be somewhat more psychic. “My grandfather was the keeper of the Westman Islands’ harbour,” he says. “There was this boat travelling to the east coast of Iceland. Kjarval was supposed to be there but was missing from the boat. Though the boat was about to leave, my grandfather made them stay and sent a party to find Kjarval. He was sitting on a cliff and painting,” he recounts.

“Eventually, Kjarval caught his boat and was so impressed with my grandfather doing his job that he started sending him letters and prints of his paintings. My grandfather would send him cod heads and dried fish in exchange,” Magnús smiles. “So they had this little acquaintanceship or friendship.”

Fermenting music

Similar to the long-term correspondence — “fermenting” the connection — the album documents the evolution of friendship through pieces where the saxophone and piano are in a constant dialogue.

Some pieces, such as “Salt and Vinegar,” reference fermentation more directly. The exotic spice of harmony delivered by Óskar dissolves in the waves of piano gently manipulated by Magnús Jóhann. At some point in the conversation, the album’s parallels with Icelandic food tradition — which relies heavily on fermentation — become apparent.

Meanwhile, other compositions suggest more oblique references, such as the album’s second track, “Greindargerjun,” which translates as “fermentation of intellect.”

“I think it’s a bit of a happy accident because ‘fermented friendship’ is something Óskar scribbled on the sheet music for this composition,” Magnús describes. “It gave us the title for this record as well as the realisation that it encapsulated what we were doing. We would meet up for the whole winter, once a week, talk and play music. When we finally went to the studio we were kind of so marinated and fermented in this vacuum space.”

“It’s a good title that implies attempts to try things and see what happens,” adds Óskar.

Perhaps it’s the shared cultural landscape the two derive from that creates an almost synonymous connection on the record. Does being Icelandic allow friendship and collaboration to run smoother than between people of different backgrounds?

“We share common ground because we know a lot of the same people. We were born in the same country, we have similar upbringings,” Óskar muses. “People make very fine threads where they connect on the emotional level just by eating the same food.”

“It would be different if one of us would be foreign,” Magnús agrees. “I grew up listening to Óskar’s records with [contemporary jazz unit] ADHD, so in a way, the common ground was already there.”

Fittingly, Fermented Friendship features a version of the track “Stelpuskott” from ADHD’s 2024 album 9. “A song is a song and it can be played by anybody whenever they want to,” Óskar comments on the continuity between the work with the band and the duo’s project.

“What matters is beneath the surface,” he philosophises. “In music, I look for something that touches me in a way that makes me either laugh or cry. It’s always a very emotional thing to try to understand what is there.”

Catch Magnús Jóhann and Óskar Guðjónsson exhibit their fermented friendship at their release show in Harpa’s Norðurljós on Friday, January 17. Tickets are from 7.990 ISK, available at tix.is. Listen to Fermented Friendship on available streaming services.