Komedia, 23rd October 2008

For such a small country, Iceland seems to produce more than its share of talented musicians. We all know Bjork and Sigur Ros, but how many can say they are down with some of the country’s other musical delights, such as Mugison, Stafrænn Hákon and tonight’s headliner at the Komedia’s intimate Studio Bar, composer Olafur Arnalds? With his bashful choirboy charm and aubergine v-neck sweater he is utterly removed from any scene or trend, happily making the sort of dreamy piano-and-strings drenched contemporary classical music that has brought artists like Max Richter and Craig Armstrong so much acclaim.

Support tonight comes from a towering minstrel introducing himself in a half whisper as Finn. Slightly overdressed in his ill-fitting britches and puffed-sleeve shirt, socks up to his knees, his charming bowl cut topped off a look that seemed to want more attention than his music. I can’t deny the fellow has a lovely voice, but indistinct songs and more than a slight whiff of trying too hard combine to delete him from my memory.

Crammed onto the tiny stage with three violinists and a cellist, Olafur sits behind his massive keyboard, various electronic toys spread out on top. The music is by turns delicate and intense; drifting strings float over minimal electronics, forms gradually rise and fall, coalescing into beautifully moving laments. It’s wonderfully evocative stuff, slowly working on emotion and memory while the intensity is palpable, each note drawn out and raw, presented without distraction or escape.

For music that is actually quite simple in structure, it managed to exert a powerful meditative effect, at times truly moving, yet undeniably lapsing into somewhat soporific territory as the set wore on. This is never going to appeal to the masses, but those willing to embrace its dark power will be rewarded. Just don’t operate any heavy machinery and keep those tissues handy.

Words and Photography by Jody White