Emilíana Torrini, GKR, Airwaves 2.0.
It's such a big and small world!” Steinunn Önnudóttir says of the art book community. She’s standing in the newly opened back room of Harbinger Gallery, where she and Halla Hannesdóttir have set up “Books In The Back”—Reykjavík’s only art book shop.
Gabrielle Motola makes eye contact. When she speaks, she speaks directly to you. And when she listens, she invests herself in what you are saying. If there were such thing as “ear contact,” I’m sure that Gaby is making it.
Amongst the berries and sheep and children for school, Oddný is also a collector of stories. She has kept a diary, writing in it almost daily, since she was eleven years old. It was her way of absorbing the her ever-changing surroundings.
While we don’t disregard the incredible richness of Iceland’s literary past, it’s also good to keep a firm gaze on the future. That’s why we asked Vala for five writers to watch.
Two and a half years ago Emilíana Torrini quit the band. There was no drama, no hard feelings. “I just promised myself if I started to think about other things on stage then it was time to stop."
On December 10 Yamaho is booked to play Berghain for the legendary Berlin techno club’s twelfth birthday celebration. “I will take them on a journey,” she says confidently.
The colour, I am certain, has never existed before, and will never exist again. It has something to do with blue, grey, purple, orange, and yellow and yet is none of them.
While many Icelandic artists are quick to cite nature as their inspiration, Haraldur is fascinated by the built environment. “Building is a state of mind,” he says. “Architecture affects the way we think.”
Katrín Gunnarsdóttir’s bare feet pat the plexiglass mirror on stage. It’s the only sound in the theater. The patter quickens with her pace, she starts to breathe louder, louder, louder, faster, and then cut.
Pan Thorarensen and Þorkell Atlason are craftsmen of electronic music. They think things through.
“Gakktu hægt um gleðina dyr,’ it’s something like, ‘Calm down, take it slow,’” Árni says above the clamour of pinball machines and jingling tokens. “My dad used to always say it to me before I’d go out. It’s the best Icelandic phrase.”
In practice, the development of virtual reality has been driven primarily by military and gamer interests. It was not until a couple of years ago that the medium began to invade the realm of pop culture. Filmmaker Andrew Huang is on the front lines.
All the music videos you missed this month because Airwaves.
Björk Digital opens TODAY at Harpa. At first we thought it will be a nice way to spend an afternoon, to take a breather, experience some air, some art; find clarity in the whirlwind. It’s not.
A "nonference" on Icelandic rap. Part of Iceland Airwaves 2016.
Sveinbjörn Thorarensen is a recurring pattern in the patchwork of Reykjavík’s culture collage. As a solo producer he’s Hermigervill. On the afternoon that I meet him, in the basement headquarters of the Icelandic Dance Company, he has three gigs lined up after our interview. The last time I saw him he was banging his head against a piano and hypnotizing the Reykjavík City Theatre crowd with his theramin.