by Chris Sea

I’m in hresso listening to puff the magic dragon writing this the day after the pomp and elation. it’s better than the led zeppelin they were playing , and then light my fire…how annoying and old. i put on “brick in yo face” on my headphones instead.

pre show…

The ever affable KRAKKBOT greets me. BOOM. Already a punch in the face of delight, like meeting Lil B in person. Such a kind fellow. Fucking huge ass glasses. I glance around for fellow musical travelers. No one in sight. Inside the drinking area there are out of place tourists in high lighter coloured Jack Wolfskin windbreakers – probably Germans. I pay my 500 ISK and enter the concert area of Húrra. Inside, Indian incense burns, and Bollywood music blares. There is an empty stage. A sad and lonely stage. Húrra makes a valiant effort to be arty; there are Pollock-esque paintings all over the venue and fake paint splatters on the bar table. It’s as if were like a dive bar that has been here for 50 years, but not really, shining like a light on Ed Harris’s chrome skull.

In a way, this venue is a Paloma tributary, sucking away its lifeblood and clientele. What will soon become of Paloma… as it always is prior to a show, anarchic disorganization of who goes where, what goes where, etc. ensues before clusters form and folks enter the venue. Oh, I saw so much full slicked back hair and tweed around me. a 1953 time warp if there ever was one. THIS street. This street is the estuary of cool, where the tide meets the 101 stream. It fractions the the nicer factions of rvk’s hip cognescenti. can’t add -ster. they are good folk. For this show, Lady Boy Records were at the wheel and slowly, the masses gathered…

The security guard who looks like Stitches minus the AK with extendo. This is Stitches:

 

The music playing before Pyrodulia’s set is a bizarre Hendrix Little Miss Lover cover in fucking Hindi. NICE!

It’s so good that this place knocked out the wall Harlem constructed. It was like a Fun Dam.

Pyrodulia

These men produced dark, dark ambience. As is the case with all programmers, these men spinning plates, keeping things flowing, as per the custom, switching a button here, turning a knob there. It was quite a technocrat’s technocratic affair.

So what did they sound like? A bit like Bohren & Der Club Of Gore. I generally find noise irritating, but as one of the members of Pyro swiveled an analog antenna, i knew they could be classified as bedrock purveyors of rvk underground beat culture. This band was a floor band. and the absence of an Apple product on stage was very nice. One member was enshrouded in a red hijab of sorts. It worked; not over the top like Sunn 0))) or something. There was this sadgasmic volume pedal manipulation which I enjoyed, and a tasteful swell of noise from a e-guitar, a cascade if you will.

there was also A COMPETENT SOUND MAN, who any musician knows is vital to the performance. I give these guys a thumbs up for not being boring and typical.

DJ flugvél og geimskip

In the words of Brian Eno, My My My.I have a bias. I already like this artist. As she adjusted her effects on casios, I thought about her personality. In general, I would say that to silence the naysayers who might accuse her of being excessively childlike or insincere in her demeanor, truly is a nice person, a genuine, bubbly person, at least ostensibly shielded by aural darkness and pain that is twee Icelandic musical output.Some folks draw comparisons of her with Björk, but I think Björk has a far more bitter, cynical sense of humour in her compositions. DJ is devoid of the tired postmodern tropes of self-effacment – she is Heisenberg’s Blue Sky, pure – a New Honesty talesman There was an uncomfortable delay in starting, but thankfully also prior to start there was neon extravaganza with the geodesic dome she turned on for effects for fun. the Princess then hides in the shadows, and then the Princess arrives.

In the words of Brian Eno, Baby’s On Fire. Pitch shifting commences, and out comes the purity and honesty, the playfulness that´s missing in adulthood. it’s actually really fun to watch and listen to. she offers up good bantor between tracks, eliminating any awkwardness. She is a bit of an artful master at her craft; even though i don’t speak icelandic, she translates good vibes just the same. She handled tech difficulties with grace – playing Demo Version Beethoven on her keys as she spoke with the soundman across the room. I must admit the full audience was somewhat docile, but still receptive.

And she stood on tip toes. And there were high pitched yells. And she was angelic. I loved hearing Trommuþrællinn – the Drum Slave, but missed hearing GLAMÚR Í GEIMNUM!, which has an awesome video on youtube, which I believe was made by the same folks who did a Ophic Oxtra video some years back in the same way i dont understand, and still angelic. The angel then Flew to Heaven.

KRAKKKBOT

Damo Suzuki’s devils disappeared for Herr Krakkk. Yes, yes yes. There was a torrent of dischord, a man with laptop in hand. Is that RedTube he’s watching? Baba Booey? So whackety whacked at first glance, like a man covered in sticky icky.

….. Sorry I had to pick some bugs off of my apple power supply cable.

This Baldur is so cool. scary and suave. he pinches the mousepad as if it were a lubricated clitoris HE is an insane mane, who fucks my ears with his hands. THE MAN JUST STANDS THERE and proves that laptop beatmaking can be very cool. he was also under DJ flugvél og geimskip’s geodesic dome, perhaps an oversight. I heard 4/4 Baldur. A lot of it.

The music defines artsy. this music is a great conduit for sexual activity in the moment, it’s all swagged up, like mitt romney on acid and dmt and mdma. like the sound of men riding penny farthings backwards in the lunar sea of tranquility. Many shifting sonic patterns. I gazed at him from the ground as Bucephalus gazed at alexander. bye bye bucky, wave bye bye.

Only a scattered audience remained, and yes I occasionally heard aa bit of brown note, but all the while I felt his aural come sliding on my face. his beats actually made my teeth rattle at one point

BALDUR. I looked through your GLASSES. 40% of the screen was the reflection of his angular sperm milk (Ableton Live). What was going on in that 60%? Hmmm……? The man was jesus my savior, and my savior fucked me hard, this krakkked bot. an encore ensued. it seems now my friend theres a special tickle in my asshole for you he made cosmic shakes with his ass muscles, the epitome of Dickzilla. Baldur is crazy. Praise Jesus. I went back to talking to a girl I was talking to.

A good night, overall.

-Chris Sea

photos: Simon Steel