Norðanpaunk Forever: Ten Years Of Iceland’s Best Festival

It was Merchant’s Day Weekend 2024 when the independent DIY underground music festival Norðanpaunk turned 10 years old. This great weekend shall not be soon forgotten, no matter how much Prosecco was chugged from a large plastic bottle in front of a bonfire.

My first Norðanpaunk was in 2016, when my former band Antimony played our next to last show. This year, I was heading up to the festival for my fifth time and the first time where I was not performing. I was still doing my part for the festival team, hauling up the joints for the merch tent that were forgotten in the basement of Andrými.

Parked my car and popped a bottle

I finally pulled into Laugarbakki — the hometown of Ásgeir Trausti that barely qualifies as a village — just after 22:00 on Friday night. Philomena Cunk’s favourite song “Pump Up The Jam” came on shuffle as I turned off the main road. I parked in front of the community centre, lit a smoke, flopped out of my car and popped a bottle of bubbly as I walked over to my friends in the Börn/Dauðyflin crew, who were posted up in their usual camping spot, hollering at each other across the field.

This moment is my favourite of each festival; coming in hot, finding my friends and opening up the proverbial pit.

While catching up with friends from abroad, someone suddenly came barrelling out of the front door of the hall screaming in people’s faces. My first instinct was to look for a member of the harm reduction team from the Matthildur Association to diffuse the situation. Then I saw the microphone in her hand.

Messiness and minimal-wave

This was, in fact, the frontwoman of Dutch band OUST and, like a Pied Piper of hardcore, she lured everyone hanging out front back inside. This was the first thing I watched at this year’s festival and their energetic and messy set was a delightful start, full of interstitial banter and edgy one-liners like “I’d rather be a fuckup than a fascist!”

“We hoof it to the bonfire pit under the watchful monument of a sword stuck in the ground.”

Closing the first night on the mainstage was the elusive and enigmatic minimal-wave artist Aska. I’ve been a long time fan of his polished and unique take on dark synth music and, for the first time in years, I went right to the front and danced for the entire set.

Once the programme in the hall ended, we all hoofed it towards the bonfire pit under the watchful monument of a sword stuck in the ground. The fireside concerts that close each night of the festival have become an iconic part of the Norðanpaunk experience. On this night, dreamfolk band Emma played an acoustic jam-style set that was truly beautiful.

Smudge the pain away

The next day, however, I am mortified to learn that I was belting out “Freebird” during Emma’s gorgeous and ethereal performance. Not just yelling the title like a douche; singing the actual song. Emma, if you’re reading this; I truly apologise for my sloppy inebriated transgression.

Luckily, Osmē ease my shame with their heavy meditation improv drone. The hall is thick with sage and smoke — with the heavy vibrations of guitars and synths, it’s a full sensory experience. Later I run into band member Þórður Bjarki Arnarson (also of XARG) and suggest they collab with Fischersund.

Sharing ideas

Following Norðanpaunk daddy Árni Þorlákur Guðnason’s band Norn, an impromptu discussion in the hallway is led by music scholar Arnar Eggert Thoroddsen and organiser Ólöf Rún Benediktsdóttir. Under the guise of talking about DIY festival ethos, the discussion is pretty loosey-goosey but a nice moment of sharing ideas.

“Ultimately this happens because people want it to. Everyone just wants a good, safe, drama-free time.”

“When you’re here, you can’t spend any money,” chimes in Kolbeinn Hugi Höskuldsson of Retrön/kvltgörn. “You’re not a consumer.” Harm reduction team leader Svala Ragnheiðar-Jóhannesardóttir also speaks up about the importance of creating a safe space at the festival, and how this approach has bolstered the quality of Norðanpaunk. The model has also rippled out to other independent DIY/DIT ethos events, such as Hátíðni and Sleikur.

The longevity of the festival seems secured by the fact that it’s not based on “growth” in the sense of expansion, that it rejects sponsorships and corporate funding and that, ultimately, this happens because people want it to. Everybody on the team — volunteers and attendees alike — organically participate in the holistic experience. No one is “getting something” from it in a material sense; everyone just wants a good, safe, drama-free time.

My Saturday is rounded out by lovingly struggling through amazing sets by Brött Brekka, Börn, MASS and Retrön. But my Friday night shenanigans have caught up to my middle-aged millennial ass and I go to bed at 2:00.

The kids truly are all right

The Sunday vibe at the festival is always pretty special. Everyone is exhausted but still trying to have fun. A lot of the die-hard every-year Norðanpaunkers are now parents — many with their toddlers in tow — so there is a distinct patina of back pain. Three different people come and ask if I have any paracetamol.

“A lot of the die-hard every-year Norðanpaunkers are now parents with toddlers in tow.”

Luckily for us olds, the younger generation have got a perfect handle on this festival, which is best exemplified during Gaddavír’s joyously chaotic and affirming set. Their youngest loyal fans hold down the frontlines, going absolutely bonkers in the pit, screaming into the mic any time frontman Kristján points it towards them, and diving from the stage and the rafters. It’s the most crowd surfing I have seen during a 30-minute set in a long time. It rules.

Back outside, I catch up with my good pals Þórir Georg and Júlía Aradóttir (fka ROHT/Kvöl), and we all agree that the scene is in good hands. We can put away our “Music Band” t-shirts, take our skateboards off our shoulders and let our fellow kids do the work.

Punks in the club

While doing some much needed sitting in the field with friends, we suddenly notice the singer of OUST coming back outside shouting in people’s faces. “They’re making that long ass cable everybody’s problem,” says Sturla from Brött Breka/Bucking Fastards, agreeing that this was way more appealing on Friday night.

The next to last set of the night comes from Norwegian powerviolence band TÆL who were my festival roommates at the Langafit Guesthouse, where we had many fun drunken/hungover kitchen chats. Their set was absolute pandemonium, peppered with hilarious transitional samples, a saxophone and a cover of Britney’s “Toxic.”

Closing out the final set in the hall was electro-baroque performance art duo Geigen. The lineup committee never shies away from booking at least one act that is so distinct from anyone else in a way that could be puzzling, but is just perfectly chosen. With their blacklight and laser-filled props and moving around the entire space, Geigen take the crowd through a dance journey ending in full on clubbing. It’s fucking fantastic.

Grill party and call of duty

At the end of the night, I make it to the final bonfire where performance art duo kvltgörn smash each other while covered in beer cans, soundtracked by four of the festival’s favourite drummers. I stumble back to the campsite with Laufey Soffía of madonna+child where we join some friends for a witching hour grill party. “How you decorate your pulsa says a lot about your personality,” she says as I maniacally squeeze ketchup onto my vegan hot dog.

Driving out of town the next day, I waved out my passenger side at the crew by the community centre. Then my phone rang. Organiser Ægir Freyr Birgisson pleaded that I come back and help take some gear back to Reykjavík. As desperately as I wanted to get home to my cat, I pulled a U-turn at the crossroad and went back for the gear, plus a stranger who needed a ride. Because that’s what this festival is all about.

Norðanpaunk is about friendship. Norðanpaunk is about community. Norðanpaunk are my people. Norðanpaunk forever.