Helen Pidd discovers Iceland's coolest music festival - it's free, family-friendly, and it even features an underwater gig.
Water music ... festival-goers float in a swmiming pool at an underwater gig. Photograph: Helen Pidd
I
have never had to tread water at a gig before. Normally it's sore feet
and a cricked neck I get watching bands, not wrinkly fingers and toes.
But this is no ordinary concert. The venue is the municipal swimming
baths in Bolungarvik, a tiny fjord-side fishing village in the north
west of Iceland, and for the best acoustics you need to be underwater,
in the deep end, by the waterproof amp.
The Icelandic singer
Olöf Arnalds, dressed in a turquoise bathing suit and swimming cap - a
slick of fuscia lipstick the only hint that shes not actually here do
to lengths - is strumming a guitar and singing on the poolside. Beside
her is a DJ from the experimental band 'múm and David Thor Jonsson',
the mulleted wunderkind of Icelands jazz scene. Burly, bearded men are
wearing fluorescent orange armbands on their arms and legs so that they
can float effortlessly in the water with their ears just under the
surface, to hear the otherwordly music at its ethereal best. Those not
into the music are outside, countering the sub-zero temperatures by
basking in one of the geo-thermally heated hot tubs and enjoying the
mountain view.
This gig is part of Aldrei fór égsudur, a
weekend-long music festival in the Westfjord region of Iceland. It's
organised by the 30-year-old sailor-turned-musician Mugison (real name
Örn Elías Gudmundsson) and his marvelously jovial dad, Mugi.
The
pair came up with the idea for the festival while gigging in London in
2003. It was the hottest day of the summer, Mugison had just played at
a festival at the ICA, and was thinking how cool it would be to put on
an event in and around his hometown of Ísafjördur, the capital of the
Westfjords (population 4000 and a 40-minute plane ride from Reykjavik).
But
it wasnt going to be any old festival. There would be three guiding
principles: first, it would be free and open to all ages. Second, the
acts on the bill would be predominantly Icelandic, and half of these
would hail from Ísafjördur itself. Lastly, no one would get paid, but
would perform in the name of good old fun.
This
years festival, held over the Easter weekend, was the biggest yet,
spread over two days, showcasing 38 bands and based in a warehouse on
the harbour-front.
The venue, a prefab blue-roofed box built out
of corrugated metal, is nothing special. The lack of insulation makes
it rather nippy too, which doesnt bother the local hipsters who have
decreed that this seasons must-have is the kind of woolly-mammoth
jumper grandmas knit for Christmas.
Its location, however, is
awesome, set in some of the most jaw-dropping scenery in Iceland.
Ísafjördur is built on an L-shaped spit of land, which stretches out
into the narrow waters of the Skutulsfjördur fjord and is surrounded by
towering mountains on three sides, and another fjord on the other. Even
the portaloos have a vista that could grace the cover of any guidebook,
making going for a festival wee a real treat rather than a grim
necessity. Mysteriously pristine all weekend, they back onto the serene
blue waters of the fjord, behind which snow-covered hills rise up to
meet the sky.
To mark the festivals opening, Mugi, Ísafjördurs
leather jacket-wearing harbour master, has lent his son Mugison and
some friends a boat to take out into the fjord, armed with industrial
bangers and coloured flares left over from another event. As the vessel
maneuvers around the harbour, they set off the flares, leaving a
striking trail of orange smoke, ensuring that everyone in Ísafjördur
knows that the party has officially started.
Another thing that
sets Aldrei apart from other festivals is the number of children around
the place. Although you do see an increasing number of posh buggies and
kids at British festivals like the Green Man and the Big Chill, the
music there is still almost exclusively for the grown-ups. But here one
of the weekends biggest acts is Pollapönk, a pair of nursery school
teachers whose album of punk songs for kids was number one in Iceland
last Christmas.
Accordingly, the moshpit is jammed with
salopette-clad fans who are too little to tie their own shoelaces but
big enough to use their elbows to jostle for the best view of the band.
The tiniest devotees are being held by their mums and dads, some
wearing super-cute ear defenders. Many know the words to all the hits,
such as the story of the little boys arguing over whose dad is better,
and about the other boy who fell asleep in a cupboard at school. The
subject-matter might be child-friendly, but the music is not at all
namby-pamby. It is, as the Ramones would put it, pure, stripped down,
no bullshit rock 'n' roll.
Kids love loud music, not just stuff
like Britney Spears, says singer Hali, as his small fans clamour for
autographs afterwards. Hali and his bandmate Haraldur were previously
in one of the most popular underground bands in Iceland, Botnledja,
whose sound heavily influenced Damon Albarn indeed Blurs Song 2
borrowed the catchy "woo-hoo" riff from a Botnledja track.
As
befits this unashamedly "local festival for local people", the
weekends biggest draws are the two community groups. First up is the
Lúdrasveit tónlistarskólans, a huge brass band from the local music
school, whose spirited versions of We Will Rock You and Smoke on the
Water raise the warehouse roof. Even more unforgettable and just as
unpronounceable - are Fjallabaedur í Önundarfirdi, a burly male choir
from the neighbouring fjord, whose noise can most charitably be
described as raw. They go down an absolute storm.
Another treat
is a band called Aela, which charmingly translates as puke. The
temperatures may have dropped well below zero and outside the snow is
falling, but that doesnt deter these four young lads from stepping out
in their best fish nets, nighties and, most startling of all, patent
PVC waders. With that sort of fashion bravery the music is almost
incidental, but their breakneck, Dead Kennedyish pop-punk should set
trends too.
And of course the catering isnt run-of-the-mill
either. Someones grandma has been roped in to make industrial
quantities of creamy fish stew, and a monster cash-and-carry run,
coupled with a firm commitment to not making any money, means that the
beer is quite possibly the cheapest in Iceland. A can of the local
brew, Thule, costs 300 kronur (£2.30). This is astonishing when you
consider that the same thing would set you back at least twice as much
in a Reykjavik bar.
The compering too, is unusual. At British
music festivals you tend to get some gurning Radio One presenter
skipping on to introduce the band, but here, you get Mugisons dad
bellowing out the groups names and getting the crowd giddy.
The
only real downer is the lack of accommodation in Ísafjördur, which has
just three hotels and guesthouses operating out of season. Friendly
locals do offer beds to festival-goers, but demand far outstrips supply.
And
the best thing about Aldrei? Probably it's the feeling you go away
with: namely, the conviction that if one leftfield musician and his dad
can organise one of the coolest (in both senses) music festivals in the
world by a half-frozen fjord, 50km south of the Arctic Circle, a plane
ride away from anywhere sensible, then anything, absolutely anything,
is possible.
Getting there
Icelandair
flies up to 21 times a week from the UK to Iceland with departures from
Heathrow, Glasgow and Manchester, from £171 return including taxes. Air
Iceland flies to Isafjordur from Reykjavik from £48 one way - also
available at Icelandair
aldrei.is
mugison.com
myspace.com/aelaspace