So let’s sort out some truths here. Iceland is a country in northern Europe. It consists of the island of Iceland and its outlying islets in the North Atlantic Ocean, between the rest of Europe and Greenland. It has a population of approximately 313,000; and roughly 93% percent of this population is made up of cod fisherman. The other 7% tend to be in eclectic minimal musical groups, crafting glacial soundscapes and defying musical norms of structuring and balance.
No, but really. Let’s not generalise. Iceland is actually incredibly rich in culture and history, and it’s not down to me to label them all as fishermen or post-rock pioneers. That’s for the really scathing music critics. And I actually like the guys, so let’s give them a break.
So most of us remember Yesterday Was Dramatic, Today Is Okay, (if you don’t, close this window and seek out your local music merchant). This was the album with which Múm exploded onto the sparse electronica scene. Well, I say exploded, but their music really demands more of a casual stroll onto the scene. Either way, they were here and gradually gaining some kind of subtle momentum. After a few albums, and subsequent departure of twin sister singers Gyða Valtýsdóttir and Kristín Anna Valtýsdóttir, Múm returned last year with their newest offering, Go Go Smear The Poison Ivy – an oblique yet warming panache of naturalistic beats and daydreaming synthesisers.
The band came on over an hour and a half late, thanks in part to the Manning Bar’s “Oh, let’s just see what happens” war-cry*. An admitted ‘early-work’ fan boy myself, I was disappointed to see a set almost entirely populated with material from the new record. But as disillusioned as I was, I can’t help but wonder if it wasn’t slightly for the best. Old Múm songs without the delicious infant-like whispering twins singing would’ve likely been unbearable.
After soaring emphatically through the first couple of pieces (the band themselves looking like a visual aid to their haunted lullabies, in striped sweaters and plaited hair) without interruption, founding member Örvar Þóreyjarson Smárason Smárason introduced the band, bemusedly dealing with a couple of light-hearted hecklers: “There will be no shouting”. At this point, a friend turned to me with moist eyes and whispered, “Oh, god, they all sound like Bjork.”
The new album is both endearing and menacing, and that’s exactly what they brought to their live experience (two melodica players, indeed). The hypnotising arm movements of the drummer proved to be a highlight, providing a rough rhythmic map for the other members to sprawl their loose melodies out over, like a picnic blanket in the wind.
Overall, Múm were a dynamic live group, who seem at their happiest when lost in the wordless wonderment of their genre-dipping noises. Let’s all hope it’s not another six years before they return to our shores on the back of a new record.
*No, really; I don’t mean to insult the Manning boys. But these problems also haunted Broken Social Scene’s set a couple of weeks ago.
