Iceland Airwaves raises the roof

Music blares down the streets, beer glasses are clinked, and off-colour banter can be heard further and louder than the conversationalists intended. Iceland Airwaves has started.

This year marks the 25th anniversary of the festival which has been held annually every year except 2020 and 2021, with the former being a live streamed event and the latter being a hybrid live/streamed performance.

Since the early noughties Airwaves has been a harvest festival for the local music scene. For most bands with ambition, the only way to turn music into a full-time career is to tour internationally and attain popularity overseas. That’s why for the first decade of the century, and well into the second, many local bands chose to sing in English and emulate what other American or European outfits were doing at the time (even though the most successful Icelandic acts were all trailblazers of their own sound irrespective of genre).

Airwaves had the best ticket sales and saw the greatest number of international journalists and tastemakers. Bands that had released new material and performed well earlier in the year were given preferred slots at the festival, which meant a greater chance to be noticed and ascend to greater heights. Even for acts without such lofty ambitions, performing at Airwaves meant a bigger audience than one could hope for on any other Friday or Saturday night. Following the closure of numerous venues to make room for more hotels or tourist shops in recent years, for many bands today it is the biggest stage on offer. The ceiling has been lowered, but Airwaves consistently lifts the roof.

The festival has waxed and waned in size. Gone are the days of filling the entirety of Harpa music venue and every imaginable bar, club and shoe shop in town with musicians and festival goers. But also absent is the latent fear that this might be the last Airwaves after the festival’s bankruptcy in 2018 and subsequent uncertainty over its future. Instead, this year Airwaves seems to have settled on size, tickets sold and scale of venues.

As Canadian singer-songwriter Jasmine Netsena says in between her songs, at most of the festivals she’s performing with acts that all sound or look like her. Meanwhile Airwaves is a showcase festival where electronic music, guitar rock and hip-hop all coalesce to give a flavourful experience.

Besides the expected rain and harrowing winds, this year is marked by a degree of comfort. Long lines seem to be a part of the past, and with particularly clever scheduling on Thursday and Friday of this three-day event, there’s always something to catch. Wandering between venues and checking out unfamiliar bands is no longer a luxury only afforded to holders of the most expensive passes.

For this year’s experience I take to the streets and keep my ears to the ground. Besides trying to catch as many of the Airwaves virgins as I can, I hop between venues to see as many shows as possible.

Thursday night starts like so many other metal shows at Gaukurinn, with the air smelling like beer, sweat and (surprisingly) fish jerky before Vampíra take to the stage. The winners of this year’s Músíktilraunir (Iceland’s Battle of the Bands), Vampíra are fast, methodical and fun. Their tight riffs are reminiscent of Misþyrming’s first album Söngvar elds of óreiðu: dirty but structured.

Oyama, Iceland’s premiere shoegaze band, return after a long hiatus playing songs from new album Everyone Left. Soothing, calm, cool and collected. K.óla, a long-time member of Iceland’s DIY indie scene, plays her first show at Airwaves hot on the release of Skiptir mig máli (matters to me), an album with the same songs as this summer’s Sex on a cloud but in Icelandic. Performing her off-beat pop songs about falling for someone, flawed/doomed love, desire, friendship and more, she is gentle, soft, bittersweet. Her set includes hits like autonomy-focused “Glerkastalinn” (glass castle) and melancholic-infused “Hoppa meira” (jump more) as well as newer material.

Sykur talk about how their musical journey started with an Airwaves gig fifteen years ago. Thumping bass and synth lines, powerful vocals and an electro aural kaleidoscope is the signature of this band who play through new songs like “Pláneta Y” (planet y) and older bangers like “Strange Loop”. End with “Svefneyjar” (dream islands), a song singer Agnes Björt Andradóttir says is “about having sex while feeling super tired.”

While very familiar faces close out the first day of the festival, fresh ones open the second with the promising virgin orchestra. The fresh and dramatic post-punk band outputs a very full-bodied sound. The cellist, guitarist and vocalist each compete for the audience’s attention through structured chaos, only then to slip into very surprising harmonies. Think Godspeed You! Black Emperor with healthy doses of Björk and Mammút; it's an energetic offering that's voraciously accepted by the crowd.

Another welcome addition to the festival is Arnór Dan’s solo performance. Having been absent from the stage for the past five years, Arnór takes a confident plunge from being a band’s frontman to being front and centre to the performance itself. He fills Fríkirkjan to the brim and unveils solo material he’s been cooking quietly. Arnór Dan plays an emotive, evocative and vulnerable show talking about finding himself again, ending the set with a cover of Destiny’s Child’s “Say My Name”.

At Hafnarhúsið, Brighton feminist activists Lambrini Girls play a muddy and explosive punk show with songs about bodily autonomy, being anti-patriarchal/-monarchist/-lad culture, and anti-TERF. At one point they get the thousand plus concert goers to chant ACAB with them before the singer dives off the stage and surfs the crowd. They have relentless guttural energy and left the crowd with many fantastic expletive earworms.

After such an energetic performance, it's Teitur Magnússon who lowers the tempo as he glides through his catalogue of (mostly) gentle indie pop. He plays with band Mýtlarnir, which consists amongst others of old members of Sigur Rós and Teitur’s old reggae band Ojba Rasta. Cool, warm, humorous, with plenty of sing-alongs. Spacestation then start their set early and energetically, playing an energetic rock show. Sweaty, fun and young.

Over at Iðnó Sunna Margrét plays, as promised, a set with a full live band. Her electronic and experimental pop is rearranged for a completely live experience, offering a very different rendition of earlier works. Spacey, dramatic, rhythmically hypnotising. “Chocolate” seems the most familiar, with numerous electronic pops, but is also bass-driven and features an intrusive and abrasive guitar riff. “Amma”, meanwhile, starts slow before looping and expanding into an unfamiliar form.

Through her whole show she employs the venue’s wonderful sound system to its fullest and throws in a cover of the Feelies’ “When To Go”. Before finishing a thicker and juicier version of “Fuck it”, Sunna says she resonates greatly these days with her guitarist’s other band’s newest album name: Sometimes Depressed… But Always Antifascist.

While Kaktus has been an Airwaves mainstay, and The Vaccines return for the first time in twelve years to the festival, it is the last-minute surprise addition Kælan Mikla that leaves the biggest impression as they close the Friday evening in Kolaportið. Clad in black with faux leather, chain, lace and veil accoutrements, their show is lit in blues, red and purples with a cinematic video backdrop.

They start their set with their eponymous song rearranged in a major key. Dramatic synth waves flood the flea market venue along with a thumpy and distorted bass, and a haunting voice that oscillates from soft to shrieking. They bring out all of the goths and the colourfully-haired as they perform siren songs about being called back into the ocean, sleepless nights spent thinking about abandoned hopes, and being emotionally draped in the cold northern lights.

Lúpína starts the Saturday festivities with a pre-recorded public announcement that the audience does not have to turn off their phones, only tag her in their photos and videos. She charmingly admits playing at Airwaves has been a long dream of hers before diving into her soft sing-songy pop. Her songs are about trying to rediscover herself, falling too hard for someone, searching for balance, and climate anxiety, showcasing clever songwriting and a clear sense of identity.

Another first-timer at the festival is Róshildur, who performs an intimate show at Fríkirkjan, talking about the challenges of being a young woman and femme. Her last two songs feel like they’ve got wings and showcase her potential as an artist with good electronic compositions and a sense of progression. Her penultimate song is about the territorial Arctic terns, and she closes on her newest release, “Öndunaræfingar” (breathing exercises), which is replete with drops and more gravitas.

Inspector Spacetime definitely get the memo that the final night of Airwaves is supposed to be a party as they merrily bounce around the stage belting out electronic dance greats to a bopping audience. The four piece end their lively set with the fantastic “Dansa og bánsa” (dance and bounce).

Manchester and Berlin-based Mandy, Indiana also take this message to heart as they lay out seductive beats and an industrial noise performance that begs to be listened to on repeat. Groovy and dance-inducing newcomer Jónfrí had so much fun performing that they accidentally broke their guitar during their first song.

Venerable noughties rockers Mínus introduce a whole generation of Icelandic youngsters to heavy music and draw a sizeable (ageing) crowd as they tear through their classics while South Londoners Wu-Lu similarly jam through hit after hit. Over at Gaukurinn, Teesside duo Benefits perform a fiery sermon to sleek electronic beats. Class aware doom-laden techno that confronts apathy and elicits loud cheers for shouting: “Fuck Trump!” and: “Free, free Palestine.”

As the hour grows late Juno Paul refuses to go gently into that good night, offering a rock set that halfway through ditches the guitar for glitchcore playback. Endearing, full of awkward teenage energy, self loathing and irreverence. Skrattar finish the festival with a tantalising and sweat-inducing show that might even pull the people from Plato’s cave outside.

When the final note is played the crowd chants desperately for an encore to no avail. People flock out, one after the other. Confused, yawning, dawdling outside. And then the streets grow quiet again. The clock has struck and yet another successful Airwaves has concluded.