The Nordic Music Prize, an initiative affiliated with Oslo’s by:Larm showcase, handed its inaugural gong to Iceland’s Jonsi last year, and the nominations for its second incarnation have just been wittled down to a final shortlist.

Including the pick of the year’s records from Iceland, Norway, Finland, Sweden and Denmark the award was modelled on the UK’s Mercury Music Prize. This year’s final shortlist includes:

Ane Brun – It all starts with one
Lykke Li – Wounded rhymes
Rubik - Solar
Gus Gus – Arabian horse
Malk De Koijn – Toback to the fromtime
Siinai – Olympic game
Björk – Biophilia
Iceage – New brigade
Montée – Renditions of you
Anna Järvinen – Anna själv tredje
Goran Kajfes – X/Y
The Field – Looping state of mind

The Norwegian albums in the longlist had been:

Razika – Program ’91
Lars Vaular – Du betyr meg
Jonas Alaska – Jonas Alaska
Team Me – To The Treetops!
Ane Brun – It All Starts With One
Stein Torleif Bjella – Vonde Visu
120 Days – 120 Days II
Montée – Renditions Of You
John Olav Nilsen og Gjengen – Det nærmeste du kommer
Martin Hagfors – I like you

Overall the Norwegian contingent looks a fair bit weaker than last year, where hit albums from Shining, Casiokids, Susanne Sundfør, Kvelertak and Lindstrøm & Christabelle were among those in the running. This time it is country-tinged songstress Ane Brun, who has enjoyed a considerable rise in popularity recently, even touring with Peter Gabriel, and kitsch pop revivalists Montée who are holding up the Norwegian end. They might not seem unduly likely to walk away with the winnings, but then the big names on the bill have hardly produced their best work this time around. Critical reception to Bjork’s multimedia effort Biophilia has been mixed, Lykke Li’s sophomore record has hardly sparked the interest of her debut, and some of the album’s on show (sorry GusGus) are just plain crap. Let’s hope the jury are at least willing to throw a curveball.

The first raft of artists have been announced for by:Larm, Oslo’s annual showcase of new Scandinavian music. Fifty-seven acts have been confirmed so far, including such Norwegian hopes as Lemaitre and Machine Birds, more established bands like Pirate Love and Maribel, and hyped contributions from the neighbours numbering Swedes Korallreven and Danes WhoMadeWho among their ranks.

The first by:Larm was held in 1998 and for ten years the festival rotated between the major cities of Norway, although for financial reasons by:Larm settled permanently in Oslo in 2008. Part industry conference and part musical showcase by:Larm combines a string of meetings, debates and lectures with performances from a whole host of the country’s best new bands in a range of venues across the capital.

This year’s by:Larm will invade Oslo from the 16-18th of February 2012, check out the lineup so far here.

Norwegian daily Morgenbladet have consulted 100 celebrated Norwegian musicians in a bid to generate an insiders take on the country’s greatest ever albums. Figures including Sivert Høyem of Madrugada, Stavanger crooner Thomas Dybdahl and Kaizers Orchestra frontman Janove Ottesen contributed to the list, which is, fittingly, 100 strong.

Some of the records will be familiar to an international audience, whilst others have a firmly Norwegian-only appeal.

The top 20:

20. Holy Toy – Warszawa
19. Sidsel Endresen – So I write
18. Turbonegro – Apocalypse Dudes
17. Åge Aleksandersen og Sambandet – Levva livet!
16. Arne Nordheim – Electric
15. Susanne Sundfør – The Brothel
14. Torleiv H. Bjørgum og Hallvard T. Bjørgum – Skjoldmøyslaget
13. Motorpsycho – Timothy’s Monster
12. Kåre & The Cavemen/Euroboys – A Long Day’s Flight ‘Till Tomorrow
11. DumDum Boys – Splitter pine
10. De Press – Block to block
09. Röyksopp – Melody AM
08. Jan Garbarek, Keith Jarrett, Palle Danielsson, Jon Christensen - Belonging
07. deLillos – Suser avgårde
06. The Aller Værste – Materialtretthet
05. Knutsen & Ludvigsen – Juba Juba
04. Kjøtt – 12″
03. A-ha – Hunting high and low
02. A-ha – Scoundrel days
01. Radka Toneff/Steve Dobrogosz – Fairytales

It’s hardly definitive (i.e. there’s some shit on there), but in its entirety the list does pretty much cover all the bases.

Check out the full countdown (and some of the contributors personal Top Tens) here.

120 Days haven’t been resting on their laurels, however, with members honing their craft on such diverse recent Norwegian musical projects as Bygdin, Serena Maneesh and a recent instrumental Susanne Sundfor experiment, so (especially given the waiting time) it seems fair to expect some exciting sonic leaps.

Out worldwide on Splendour on March 5th, 2012, 120 Days II‘s tracklist looks like this:

1. Spacedoubt
2. Dahle Disco
3. Lucid Dreams Part 1
4. Lucid Dreams Part 2
5. Lucid Dreams Part 3
6. Sleepless Nights #4
7. Sunkissed
8. SF
9. Osaka

120 Days – ‘Osaka’

It is three years since Stavanger – Norway’s oil-rich 4^th city – was named European Capital of Culture, and despite the looming hulk of the impressive soon-to-open concert hall that dominates a section of the seafront there still seems to have been some cultural belt-tightening in evidence since then. Stavanger’s sprawling celebration of, well, new music, Numusic may be making a welcome return for the twelfth time, but the constricted line-up does seem to lack some of the bigger foreign names of previous years. At a festival that prides itself on tracking the intersections between various shades of progressive music and art, both Norwegian and international, though, there is still of course plenty to take in.

My first taste of 2011’s offering draws me to Folken, where a night that seems to have been specifically paced to track the meeting point between electronica and metal is set to culminate in what promise to be visually compelling shows from two of Norway’s most celebrated experimental metal acts. For all that the student union venue is skeletally empty at the start, and the abundance of lanyards suggest that of the ten or so people who have made the trip to catch the first act of the night, US ambient trio Emeralds, very few have actually paid. Emeralds’ introverted swirling blend of everything from krautrock to drone has the odd scintillating progression, but in a room this sparsely populated it is hard to get sucked in. Knalpot do a better job of engaging the (now slightly swollen) crowd. Purveyors of a kind of multitasking bipolar glitch blues, the Amsterdam pair, sporting extraneous visor caps, alternate between powerful riffs and restless electro, although if it is a fair accusation against such a spasmodic act, they ultimately come across a little samey.

If Knalpot took Emeralds’ electro aesthetic and injected it with sporadic bursts of noise, this progression is taken even further by the next act: Next Life. The Tønsberg trio have had twelve years to perfect their singular brand of sample-heavy metal, and indeed every track finds them punching for ever greater heights. Their set opens placidly enough, with founder Hai Nguyen Dinh toying meticulously with the projections that are to play out on a vast back-screen, but when they do launch into their musical barrage the senses inevitably sit up and take notice. Scrolling Tron-like visuals pixelate their way across the taut trio as they deliver incredibly tight and blistering chunks of epic noise. What Next Life write aren’t exactly songs, but rather variations on an explosive theme. Instead of aiming for traditionally structured musical perfection what the band seem to strive for is instead scale. Every time they slam back into motion, every muscle tensed, every body-crushing note synchronised to perfection, they seem to be gathering up the building blocks of the previous emission and trying to reassemble them into something more massive. Projected skyscrapers and mountains loom over them, bubbling Nintendo gurgles try and get a word in edgeways, and at one point the three of them snap into sudden silence after a particularly colossal crescendo and drummer Anders Hangård simply points his stick in the air to cue what sounds appropriately like a sampled avalanche. Next Life won’t stop until their sound moves mountains.

If that was a spectacle, live-only sideproject Killl make it clear from the off that they are gonna go out of their way to trump it. A lurid curtain is draped all across the back and sides of the stage, its multi-coloured optical illusion diamonds already swirling before the eyes – and that is before Killl turn on their dizzying array of lights. Where to start with these guys? The name Killl, with that assured extra ‘l’, suggests a drawn-out death, and that is exactly what Killl subject you to: extended audio-visual murder. It is also (for twenty-five minutes or so at least) pretty damn awesome. Including such genre-hopping luminaries as Erlend Mokkelbost of Montée and JR Ewing and Martin Horntveth (who always sits at the drums at the back with Jaga Jazzist looking like he wants to fuck something up), Killl live plays out like some piece of modernist theatre about four stocky bearded men trapped in a nightmarish neon cube, hoping that if they make enough blistering noise they might somehow make it out alive. At some juncture in the band’s existence (indeed judging by this show it might have been its founding moment) one of the members of Killl obviously walked into a strobe shop and said ‘I’ll take the fucking lot’. As bursts of tense tearing uproar thunder from all around a flickering, corroding, blinding light show turns the claustrophobic backdrop into a hallucinatory reality spasm, as fluorescent bursts organically co-ordinate with every detonation of noise. This is largely an instrumental affair, although the band-members do take it in turns to roar into the microphone for good measure, and it is also clearly a live experience – if you were callous you could say Killl are a novelty act. Truth is, this isn’t even a concert, more of a thing that happens to you. A sensory violation. In fact Killl are almost not a band, just a kind of blinding mindfuck. Like a Red Bull-fuelled explosion directed by Gaspard Noé, by the end I wasn’t sure what hurt more; my ears or my eyes. Killl are definitely something to see before you die, although they might also be what killls you.

First published on nomusicmedia.com, 2011

Wednesday:

My first day at Hove starts with a glance at wistful Bergen surf-pop collective Young Dreams, who would be the perfect summer afternoon festival booking if they weren’t dwarfed by the gargantuan Main Stage and it’s requisite paltry early audience. Tracks like ‘Young Dreams’ are delicious nonetheless, but at a festival with leafy hideaways to spare it seems a shame not to stick this lot in one.

Kasabian swagger about parodically, but they have a scattering of hits that you can’t help but appreciate as part of a big festival crowd, and a rousing sign-off with last year’s disarmingly overblown ‘Fire’ hits the spot. Over at the Amfi stage Tinie Tempah, by contrast, seems initially a bit more interesting than I had had him down for, efficiently channelling the raw beats and London-centric rhymes of underground grime. This isn’t to last, alas, as any credibility is swiftly traded in for massive vapid pop-choruses and faux-heartfelt drivel, so an early exit is beaten to grab a decent spot for The Strokes. What is there to say? Their last two albums have been shoddy at best, live they veer close to self-parody – the feigned disinterest that made them languidly exciting exchanged for genuine disinterest – and today a good half of the show is phoned in. And yet, when they scroll through the early hits – which to their credit they do at length today – you are reminded of what a great band The Strokes can be. ‘Reptilia’ sizzles, but it is the highlights from Is This It that really stand out, leaving you pondering at once how good that record was, but also where it all went dull afterwards.

Soulstepper Jamie Woon is the latest articulate floppy haired UK post-dubstep act to get bloggers in a twist, and his James Blake meets Timberlake murky pop proves every bit as winning in the flesh. Armed with a stunning voice and a shameless willingness to exploit this for all its emotional and catchy potential Woon cuts a charmingly bashful figure. During the interlude of closing hit ‘Lady Luck’ he looks embarrassed at being forced to briefly dance, and one of the highlights of his set is a stonking singalong cover of ‘Would I Lie To You’. His magnum opus ‘Night Air’ is sadly swallowed by its own burping beats, but a moving take on ‘Spiral’ more than compensates.

After that there is just time to catch the tail end of Brandon Flowers’ show at the twilit Amfi, which ends with a curious euro-trance reimagining of Killers hit ‘Mr Brightside’, flooding the venue with latecomers in a manner which must be a trifle demoralising for Flowers’ solo pretensions. Now untz he’s untz having untz a untz smoke untz and untz she’s untz taking untz a untz drag. It went down well, anyway. After a glimpse of Bright Eyes late set (he’s got a massive coat on), which confirms that I’m probably not likely to get into him any time soon, it’s time to crawl into a disconsolate sleeping bag and listen to the patter of insolent rain.

Thursday:

The different factions of precipitation seem to have been united by a common goal and agreed to march in drilled formation on my second day, so shelter is all the rage until I venture to the mercifully roofed tent stage. These New Puritans’ Hidden won numerous plaudits last year, including the questionable honour of NME’s ‘Album of 2010’, but it’s a sparse crowd who have collected in the tent to soak up their horn-infused progstep churning. It’s not too hard to see why, either. The band have hit upon a great sound, but the tunes they have are hampered almost irreparably by Jack Barnett’s (self-acknowledged) struggles with staying in key, and the band have trouble translating the grand scale of the album live. What should be the crunching dystopian epics of ‘Attack Music’ and ‘Three Thousand’ instead end up a little woolly and half-hearted. It’s still reasonably compelling stuff, but deeply flawed.

Over at the main stage Big Boi reliably dishes out a party atmosphere. Generally considered the less exciting half of Outkast, Big Boi went some way to dispelling that assumption on his cracking 2010 record Sir Lucious Left Foot: The Son Of Chico Dusty, and although his show here never feels quite as theatrical or three-dimensional as you would expect a full Outkast effort to be, it does finds him trawling through the hits satisfactorily. Their luggage was lost by the airline he explains, although new clothes were provided by one of the stalls in the festival site (surely a once in a lifetime coup for that lot), and although welcome takes on Outkast hits ‘Bombs Over Bagdad’ and ‘Ms Jackson’ feel a little like karaoke renditions, proceedings really light up with effervescent takes on Left Foot highlights ‘Fo Yo Sorrows’ and the anthemic ‘Shutterbug’. Getting a gaggle of nineteen-year old Norwegian blondes on stage to grind is on the pervy side of magnanimous, but Big Boi is a hit nonetheless.

The main draw on the Thursday is resurgent Swedish pop princess Robyn, and sure enough the Main Stage is heaving. Dressed in peacock print leggings, a hideous bitty jumper and an oversized American Football shirt, sporting a terrible bowl haircut, and throwing laughably aggressive dance moves Robyn might seem to be the ultimate incarnation of our post-ironic internet-fuelled obsessions, but she proves here that no zeitgeist-citing excuses are necessary when it comes to explaining the appeal of her music. It’s just great. She focuses on the beats here, ramping ‘Cobrastyle’ into a pumping beast and twisting ‘Be Mine’ into a house banger, but whatever her incarnation she is an expansive entertainer. Perhaps Robyn is more suited to a dark dance tent than this open stage, but tunes like ‘Dancing On My Own’ and the brilliant closer ‘With Every Heartbeat’ would work anywhere.

It’s Magnetic Man’s job to continue the party, which they manage largely by dint of being seriously loud. Sans Skream – who we are told may be becoming a father ‘any minute now’ – the supergroup dish out pretty hackneyed dubstep-by-numbers. Which is fine seeing as individually they played a big part in defining what that would be anyway, and because the bass is so bone-marrow-extractingly loud that it is hard not to be generally impressed, or to resist the impulse to move around (even if only to stop yourself being blown over backwards).

Friday:

I’ve never seen Rumble In Rhodos before, and late-afternoon at a largely unoccupied main stage wouldn’t seem to be the ideal place to start, but the indie-pop tinged post-hardcore act gamely do their best to combat any obstacles with a catchy and energetic show. Vocalist Thomas Bratlie slips easily between sweet pop croon and punk yelp, and his total commitment is hard to resist. The songs are increasingly in place too: Rumble are touring their well-received third album Signs Of Fervent Devotion, and, after a dedication to the watching Erlend Mokkelbost and Anders Tjore of Montée who produced the record, an increasingly rosy-cheeked and sweaty Bratlie launches into latest single ‘Soft Insulated Days’, which, like this sparkling performance, showcases Rumble In Rhodos at their buoyant best.

It seems Montée are everywhere (they’re not really, only there and here), as they are next up in the tent, and in fine fettle too. Giving a whirlwind tour through the glitzy nostalgia of their fine recent full-length Rendition of You, Montée are at their best when they embrace their poppiest impulses, and a singalong take on recent hit ‘Ghost’ has the crowd in raptures.

The Mars Volta’s ok, but not having any particular investment I opt to collect cups instead. What? I was never into At The Drive In, and what’s the point in a band that is mostly for people who used to be into another band anyway? I get money for the cups!

I want to hate Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All. With a heady combination of vitriolic lyrics detailing killing women, homophobia and general recklessness and the overall impression that these are wild kids in charge of something adults would struggle to control (the members of OFWGKTA range from 17 to 21 years old), this LA collective have swiftly become the most hyped and the most vilified act on the hip-hop landscape. I want to hate OFWGKTA. But they are just so scintillatingly thrilling. With an aggressive energy and caustic belligerence that feels truly momentous Odd Future bawl out blasts of sheer bile-filled dynamism, and this is before leader Tyler, The Creator has even taken to the stage. He is in a wheelchair. He has a broken foot. He doesn’t give a fuck, and dances like some drunken scarecrow, swaying dangerously with every furious stomp of his one good peg. Other members leap bodily into the crowd off speaker stacks, or encourage the frenzied mosh pit to even more violent extremes. The lyrics are shocking and unfortunate, sure, but they are expressed with a wry articulacy, and smack of a mixture of blog-baiting and ‘this is the world I grew up in, so fuck you’ realism. And beneath the ‘Most Wanted’ exterior you get the impression that these are a bunch of kids genuinely amazed by the opportunity they’ve been handed. Tyler has never been abroad before. This was the first time he saw a lake. He throws his camera into the crowd for a few snaps, and of course he gets it back intact (he did admittedly use a few small threats). He had expected, he tells us, to be plonked in front of a bunch of white guys who ‘didn’t know shit’, but he is pleasantly surprised (I suspect that beneath the bravado he’s a rather sweet soul). He’s not the only one. Despite the themes this stuff doesn’t compound the stereotypes of hip-hop; rather it blows away a bunch of cobwebs. Every beat may reprise that engorged cicada chirp of ‘Yonkers’, but A it’s an awesome beat, and B it’s laid down by a child of about eight years old. After a final rallying cry of ‘Kill people, burn shit, fuck school’ the crowds clear, and lying on the chipped bark a prone figure is revealed being tended to by medics – hopefully not a direct result of Odd Future’s questionable crowd-control policy (get ‘em riled). There are many reasons to hate OFWGKTA, but a lot more to think, live at least, that they are something very special indeed.

This is Hove Festival’s fifth birthday, and, fittingly, their first Norwegian headline act are celebrating their tenth. Kaizers Orchestra may have made little impression on the Anglo-American market, but in Norway they are in truth probably the only band with the live chops and the young fanbase to pull off a top-of-the-bill appearance at a bash of this scale. I’ve never particularly managed to warm to them on record, but, led by the inimitable Janove Ottesen, the group are a famed live prospect. Vast oil drums are rhythmically slammed with crowbars, the sinister organist sports his signature gas mask, and – swiftly shedding his trademark waistcoat – bare-chested Ottesen has the crowd in the palm of his hand throughout. Their shtick is an admirably comprehensive Weimar steam-punk, and from the resistance-themed Germanic lyrics to the vast velvet drapes and chandeliers that are revealed halfway through, this theatrical bent makes for a great stage show. The band may be in the midst of a staggered three album 2011, but they rummage through the greatest hits here, and by-and-large the crowd know every word, accompanying their mass chorus with Kaizers’ ubiquitous dainty clapping. ‘Resistansen’ and ‘Ompa Til Du Dør’ are wildly received, and whilst a “Kaizers rap” feels a mite ill-conceived, by the time they bid Hove farewell with explosive closer ‘Maestro’ there are few who would begrudge them their headline slot.

Deadmou5e fills the Amfi arena fit to bursting, and has packed the stage out with expensive looking huge digital cube things and tube lights and screens and stuff. And there he is at the top of the lopsided pixelated podium thing with that mouse-shaped hat on. What a joker. Take it off! He never does. Is this the same song? No? Oh. It’s loud, isn’t it? Does that make it good? I dunno…. do you think he always wears the hat so he doesn’t have to listen to his own music?

Honningbarna won the most recent edition of NRK’s Urørt, a nationwide search for the best unsigned act in the country, and despite the draw of Deadmou5e the nearby tent is full enough to suggest that the band caught some ears during that competition. If OFWGKTA showcased America’s disenfranchised youth, Honningbarna, whilst equally shouty and lively, represent rather Norway’s contentedly franchised youth. The Wolf Gang and the ‘honey children’. That said, however, this straight-outta school punk proves thoroughly entertaining with the tunes to boot. Frontman Edvard Valberg, dressed knowingly in a British-style school-uniform purple jumper, squirms and writhes with infectious enthusiastic sugar-high energy and belts out his band’s curt anthems with the voice of one beyond his slender skinny years. Signature hit ‘Borgerskapets Utakknemlige Sønner’ may be the pick of the bunch, but in the call-and-response interaction between Valberg and his fledgling bandmates Honningbarna have hit upon a stonking, albeit repetitive, live formula. This is basically exactly the sort of music you would expect teens to make if they had few pretensions and liked shouting in public. There are fret-straddling guitar solos, head-banging riffs and Neanderthal thudding drums. It may be Kvelertak Jr., but then Kvelertak are Black Metal Jr. and when was being Jr. a bad thing anyway? Martin Luther King was a Jr. The fact is that being in Honningbarna looks like sooo much fun, and watching them isn’t far behind.

First published on nomusicmedia.com, 2011

Fittingly, given their musical lineage, Pirate Love have always cast themselves apart from the Norwegian musical establishment. “‘Part of a scene’ doesn’t ring too well in my ears”, tuts Dajani, “we’ve always operated on the outside. Or was it the inside…? Whatever. I guess the common denominator for us, and our friends’ bands, is that we’ve found our own sound, on our own terms and we´re not asking anyone for permission.” That sound might nod to Norway’s hard-rocking history, concedes Dajani, but Narco Lux High School has “more in common with Black Sabbath than Black Metal!” Indeed it is names like The Stooges that most commonly crop up where Space Blues is concerned. “I firmly believe you can hear echoes of the Stooges primitive futurism in songs like ‘Sick of You’, which was geniously mixed by Emil Nikolaisen [Serena Maneesh]”, confirms Dajani of one of the last album’s rawer moments, “this time round though we’ve let ourselves be influenced by everything from Steely Dan to The Germs! And it sounds excellent!” If their latest single is anything to go by Pirate Love are indeed both on form and evolving. Three minutes of Jesus & Mary Chain-esque woozy squalid surf-pop, ‘Thirteen/Clean’ has the makings of the perfect summer anti-anthem – just don’t drop the ‘s’ word. “Shoegazey? Please. Other bands can stare at their laces as much as they want”, sneers Dajani: “we´re into Eyegazing.”

Pirate Love might be confident about the finished product, but getting there wasn’t always plain sailing. “It´s like an addiction”, says Dajani of being in a band, “so we just have to keep on going. Like daytime TV soap operas or something.” Bidding to take things to the next level on the new album, the band roped in regular Strokes producer Gordon Raphael, responsible for the zeitgeist defining Is This It, but whilst Pirate Love might claim to be the “laziest band ever”, it seems that they struggle to cede their independence. “Well, Gordon was a really nice guy and it was fun hanging out with him in Oslo and all”, recalls Dajani rather guardedly, “but at the end of the day, I think we knew how to produce our own record. He ended up recording the drums, but nothing else, so yeah – we collaborated, but not to such an extent that his vision eclipsed ours.” But then Pirate Love have seen enough of the world in the last few years to bring considerable experience to any autonomous creative endeavours. “I think we have more fans in, say, Italy and Switzerland than we do in Norway”, notes Dajani, and indeed much of their efforts have concentrated on foreign climes. The group have toured extensively in Europe and the US, taken in prestigious Texan showcase SXSW, and accompanied several heavy hitters on tour, including Black Lips, The Damned and the late garage-punk maverick Jay Reatard. “Supporting Jay Reatard was an awesome experience”, recalls Dajani, “seeing him play was like witnessing the early Ramones or something. I remember being in the front row in Copenhagen and Hamburg, and my jaw dropped. Like, for real! The sheer energy of his performance was kinda scary. He really did give it a 100% – and then some. He was a pretty cool cat to boot; polite and down to earth. But after the first night of the tour he apparently drank a bottle of gin and kicked a fan in the face, or something. But shit like that happens when you´re strung out.”

That said, part of Pirate Love’s appeal has always been the impression that they too are teetering on the brink of self-destruction. The Norwegian broadsheet Dagbladet observed that it would take a long search to find a ‘blacker’ album than Space Blues, and lyrical titbits like “I’m gonna end your life… you’re a slut you’re a cunt” (from the admittedly winningly catchy ‘In A Dirty Cellar’) support the image of Pirate Love as aggressively nihilistic. Whilst Dajani admits that “’Thirteen/Clean’ is our darkest song, like, ever” he is rather more dismissive of any suggestion that Pirate Love are coming from a bleak place. “Angry is sooo 2008/9. We´re a happy band and we wanna rock out with our cocks out. You know, contrary to what you may have heard: Dick AIN´T gonna suck itself…” In the interests of getting head this self-styled ‘Norwegian Psychedelic Space Boogie cartel’ will be unleashing “a varied, dark and sexual mix of punk rock from the 60s, AOR rock from the 70s and obscure 80s adult contemporary soft rock”, in the form of Narco Lux High School. “We considered going to Africa or another third world country to get inspired”, Dajani glibly proffers, “but found out that a few visits to the local tanning bed house would be equally effective. I think we might lose a few fans with this album, but then gain new ones, too. Spend a buck, earn a buck, ya heard?!” “I get high, on my own supply”, sang David Dajani on Space Blues highlight ‘Skin Deep’. He’s not the only one getting his kicks from Pirate Love’s supply of moody punk pleasures. You could do far worse than spend a buck on this buccaneering crew: “Pirate Love, is what I’m looking for” indeed.

First published on nomusicmedia.com, 2011

Disco has long been considered ripe for plundering by cutting-edge Norwegians, but whilst the Oslo-disco crew of Lindstrøm et al twist the framework of the genre into something steely, modern and hip, Montee appear to harbour no qualms about nabbing the more tasteless tics of seventies and eighties pop in their pursuit of something as quaint as a massive chorus and a brash dancefloor-ready beat. This is an album that is completely unironically framed by an opener, ‘Faith’, which sounds like what White Lies would come up with if they had a penchant for Village People choruses, and a closer, ‘Paper Thin’, which is a brazen homage to the work of Sting. It should, of course, be extremely painful listening. But by and large it is quite the opposite.

Trying to genuinely channel classic disco-pop into songs fit for a modern audience without just slipping into the novelty aisle is a tough balancing act, and there are moments when the po-faced brashness stumbles into the cheese counter. ‘Find My Love’ is too smooth and throwback for these ears, whilst ‘Souvenir’ is just about saved from greasy funk inanity by a sweet little chorus. Most of the rest, though, is catchy enough to force you to like it whatever your supercilious intentions. The influences may be unimaginably kitsch, but there are enough changes of pace and splashes of colour here to make a varied listening experience, like watching a ‘Best of the 80’s’ video countdown on VH1. The urgent melancholy of the catchy ‘Rendition of You’ snaps into the swirling camp of the catchy ‘Staying Up’. Hell it’s catchy all the way here really. Indeed it’s ‘catchy’ that saves Rendition Of You, because if sixty years of pop music have taught us anything, it’s that we’re suckers for a hummable tune. “Don’t hold back in fear, when I try to place my arms around you” – could flagship single ‘Ghost’ really be taking inspiration from the least cool film of all time, the pottery-starring Swayze vehicle of the same name? I can’t pin that one on them for sure, but judging by the available evidence; probably. But then it’s got a high-pitched male choir and it’s so damn catchy! Such is Montee’s resilience in their pursuit of A Tune that it is frankly hard not to get swept along.

There are songs that it feels okay to like too. Highlight ‘Gone Today’ marries a moody Talking Heads verse to a stadium-sized triple-barreled pouting pop chorus. Without a wasted note, it is exquisitely-formed pop perfection. ‘Crystal Shore’ conjures a twinkling falsetto folksy refrain out of pulsing downtempo, and even the backdrop of lilting block-flutes can’t tip it too far into the saccharine. Overall, though, you will have to let down your guard to get the most out of Montee. This is a band who have determinedly decided that the intersection between Cut Copy and Alphabeat is worth exploring, and have then had a very decent stab at convincing you they were right. Two-thirds of these songs would make great singles whatever the decade. If you like your pleasures guilty, Rendition of You may well have you in the throes of orgasm.

7.6/10

First published on nomusicmedia.com, 2011

This last proper day of Bergenfest also marked my last day as a Bergen resident. After two years of living in this beautiful rain-sodden cultural haven, cradled in the tumbling arms of its towering seven mountains, it seemed fitting indeed that my last glimpse of Bergen should find the city at full tilt. Sure enough the full cast of supporting characters were out to see me off. There is Lars Vaular clutching a McDonalds by the seafront, there Erlend Øye weaving his way through a crowd on his lonesome. Wild-bearded Homeless Swedish Man plays a fumbling goodbye refrain on his trusty recorder by the roadside, the city’s teens, clad in their red Russ get-up, drag sloppy dead fish around on strings or swig drinks on grassy verges. The sun shines, the streets teem, and, come dusk, I lope out for one last weary but excited binge on Bergen’s musical offerings.

English warbler Marina & The Diamonds is up first, at the former fish-smoking factory USF Verftet, and she is pretty much what you would expect. Somewhat tame Kate Bush-inspired faux-eccentricity, which is a bit samey but skilfully delivered. She clearly has some decent lungs on her, and the packed house goes wild for the robot song. All in all it’s just fine.

But what of the Norwegians, you impatiently cry? I’m on my way to them. Bear with. It’s a light jog, though, to Hulen, the cave-venue that bites into the rock under the city’s needle strewn central park, and I am there just in time to shuffle through the crowds to be near the front when Montée take to the stage. I had reasonably high hopes for this one, having warmed to the band’s recent second album Rendition of You, but it becomes apparent pretty quickly that Montée aren’t really going to fulfil them. Not that there is anything wrong with their performance per se. A bracing rendition of album highlight ‘Gone Today’ kicks off proceedings, and ‘Crystal Shore’ and early hit ‘Isle of Now’ follow with similar polished gusto, but for me it’s just not fun enough. There are big choruses, fancy coloured lights, and the girl has a crazy perm, sure, but this is music that gleefully chomps on the multi-coloured tropes of disco and pop, and yet here it is live being delivered with a defiantly straight faced earnest epic-ness that robs it of much of its potential power. Where is the endearing indulgent silliness I had envisioned? Maybe I’m just too used to fun local bands putting on a stonking stage show, but it turns out there is a bit of a gap between how I imagine Montée, and how they imagine themselves.

Downhill again, then, to the town centre, to lurch for the tail-end of Real Ones’ homecoming show at Ole Bull Scene. There is certainly more to see here. Huge block letters arranged at intervals on stage spell out the band’s name, and the hairy members of Real Ones clutch everything from violins to a liberally called-upon sitar. I’ve heard good things about the band in the live forum, and, for the four songs I catch at least, they don’t disappoint. It’s not forward-looking music and the more ‘adventurous’ moments can stray into pastiche, but Real Ones have a sure grasp of melody and a refreshing taste for variety that renders them ample entertainment. I squeeze into a free space on the upstairs balcony just in time for the double whammy of their 2009 album All For The Neighbourhood’s best two songs. If ‘Outlaw’ isn’t quite the gleeful pop anthem of the studio recording, ‘Every Dog Has It’s Day’ is every bit as liltingly lovely. There is no appearance from Susanne Sundfør for the duet ‘Sister To All’, which is both a shame and a good thing (as the song is a bit crap). But when Real Ones, with all their colour, verve and slight antiquatedness, sing ‘every dog has its day/ And mine’s today’, I feel compelled to agree.

Back at Verftet UK post-dubstep duo Mount Kimbie offer an immersive and exciting flow of echoes, chattering beats and disembodied vocals, but from the crowds packing the larger downstairs room it is clear what people are still here for, in the early hours of the morning. Everybody in Bergen is talking about Young Dreams these days, and the chatter is starting to spread far and wide. To be fair there are enough members in the sprawling collective (I count nine today, but it varies) for the considerable whooping crowds to just be close friends, but there is a genuine buzz in the air as Matias Tellez leads the ‘supergroup’ onto the cramped stage. Members of everyone from The Megaphonic Thrift and Put Your Hands Up For Neo-Tokyo, to The Alexandria Quartet and Casiokids have a role to play here, but it soon becomes apparent that their sound is rather different from any of those component parts. Summery harmonies and drifting warm melodies abound here. If Panda Bear made synth-infused catchy three minute pop songs, this delectable concoction might be what he’d dream up. As jostling girls shriek from the throng and everyone who’s anyone in the Bergen music scene (who isn’t on the stage, which narrows it down considerably) looks on in solidarity, it is clear that Young Dreams are pretty confident with their product and very much enjoy sharing it. The finished-article singles, including the swirling delight of ‘Flight 376’, are stronger than some of the working material, but the potential is dripping from every honeyed note. Their irrepressibly catchy mission statement ‘Young Dreams’ is delivered with a deliciously messy sheen of handclaps and surf-pop backing vocals, but there is a poignancy too to their nostalgically childish golden haze – this bunch of Bergen boys clearly haven’t quite come to terms with growing up, but they have matured musically enough to articulate that wistfulness in a very exciting way.

From a clear sky shimmering stars shine over this special city. I may be leaving now, but Bergenfest has provided yet another compelling argument for coming back sooner rather than later.

First published on nomusicmedia.com, 2011

‘It’s more than two years since we were last in Bergen’, Jenny Hval sheepishly reveals two songs into this show at Bergen’s recently renovated student venue, but despite this prolonged absence only around fifty people seem to have roused themselves to attend Hval’s return. Those of us who have made the effort, however, are in for a treat.

Hval is doing the rounds in support of her third album, Viscera, (her previous two came under the Rockettothesky moniker), and despite the often confrontational and theatrical nature of the material on that record, the initial impression projected by the singer is mild and almost shy. Sporting a silvery blonde bobcut and a traditional Norwegian jumper over a long chequered shirt, Jenny Hval exudes a tomboyish take on glacial femininity as she launches straight into the first lines of latest single ‘Blood Flight’, with only a mumbled ‘hi’ by way of introduction. Backed simply by drums and electric guitar, it is Hval’s distinctive vocals and febrile acoustic guitar that take centre stage, and whilst the sound system at Kvarteret has muddied many of the artists I’ve seen here before, today either they have got it bang on, or Hval’s voice is so pure and controlled that she can shine no matter what. A mixture of the two no doubt, but there’s no denying that Viscera is presented in crisp perfection. Indeed for an artist who largely eschews traditional song structure and embraces minute fluctuations of often jarring sound, Hval presents these songs in a form almost identical to that on the album. Which is not to say that she is unable to shed new light on her music in the live forum.

The simple picked guitar motifs that are woven throughout pristine renditions of ‘Blood Flight’ and ‘How Gentle’ are rendered altogether more majestic and ominous on this grand scale, and every startling fluctuation of Hval’s distinctive and often intentionally abrasive vocals feels even more effortlessly impressive. In these opening moments I can’t help feeling, though, that there is something wrong about the visual side of the show – these songs feel like they would flourish as the soundtrack to some eerie or surreal projections, the life and chiaroscuro of the music married to a comparable visual experience. Instead we have only Hval and her two bandmates, bathed in simple blue or red light.

Throughout those first two songs Hval largely sings with her eyes closed and when she does peek at the crowd she looks quickly away again. By the third track, though, she seems to settle down and start to revel in the theatricality of her music, and the viewer/performer relationship becomes a more comfortable one. She feels like the progenitor of her songs, not just the vehicle, and develops into a quietly mesmerising presence. ‘Not all limbs have… erections’; she opines at the start of album highlight ‘Portrait of the Young Girl as an Artist’, rolling the last word around in her mouth as – eyebrow raised – her glance flits provocatively over the audience. When the song explodes into exhilarating torrents of powerful guitar Hval proves equally adept at matching this musical shift vocally, effortlessly easing her otherworldly croon into a quasi-snarl.

Perhaps the most controversial moment of Viscera is its first: ‘Engines in the City’ opens with the immortal lines “I arrived in town/ With a toothbrush/ Pressed against/ My clitoris”. Quoting this in the headline of their review, Hval muses conversationally, ensured her ‘most read’ status on Norwegian national paper Dagbladet’s website for the first and only time. Her demeanour here, if nothing else, supports her suggestion that that paper took her far too seriously.

Critics frequently dismiss Hval’s work as obscure and dense; the reality is that it is music of subtle shifts, of sudden eruptions of melodic beauty, of imagistic poetry, and of carefully wrought flights of fancy. In other words it is music that needs you to listen carefully. Perhaps because by definition concert performances require your undivided attention, Hval seems easier to accept in the flesh. The tracks from Viscera reveal all their nuances and contrasts, from the lush Kate Bush-esque rallying cry ‘Milk of Marrow’ to the gothic drama of ‘Golden Locks’, and there is even time for a haunting rendition of Medea’s most unforgettable moment: ‘Grizzly Man’. “Something with bear lyrics”, she offers afterwards, her summation falling absurdly short of what is a simply stunning song.

For the encore microphones and drums are set aside as the onstage trio deliver a breathtaking unplugged take on folk ditty ‘Silver Fox’. It’s a moment of intimacy that bridges the gap between sound and presentation most effectively, but long before this there had been no denying the singular talent of Jenny Hval.

 First published on nomusicmedia.com, 2011