The Reykjavík Grapevine presents our daily, comprehensive coverage of 2025 Iceland Airwaves. This year, we are pleased to introduce a number of new writers joining as as we try to document and explain what makes this specific festival so unique.
Iðnó Finishing off the OPIA Community and Wise Music Showcase at Iðnó at this year’s Iceland Airwaves was The Vernon Spring. He positioned himself casually, back to the audience, among his gear: an upright piano with the front panel removed, a bass-heavy electric piano, a tiny sampler, and a microphone. The set was a beautifully simple mix of these elements, and when he sang, his voice was calm, honest, and quietly beautiful. The music carried a serene, almost spiritual stillness—something close to a prayer. He dedicated one of his last songs to the children of Palestine. The audience hung on every note; a woman in the front row was moved to tears. The Vernon Spring grounded me completely, leaving this humble writer feeling both safe and in awe.
Kári Egils and his band hit the stage like seasoned veterans, even though their oldest song is only three years old. The set balanced everyday reflection and daydreams, the songs being happy pills with just a few mildly sombre moments. Kári played the electric piano and synthesizer wonderfully, and the band seemed to hit every note perfectly. They finished off the set with a medley of three unreleased songs. Before starting, Kári playfully asked for forgiveness: “We only had five days to rehearse since I’ve been studying abroad,” but you’d never have guessed. The performance was pretty tight and the audience seemed to love it.
Kolaport OMG, it’s Flóni! He’s here to close out the night at Kolaport, looking better than ever. Dressed in all-white, he took the stage with a colourful light show engulfing both the stage and the mostly local crowd. He opened with “Kominn aftur” (English: Back Again), the first track from his sophomore album, and played all his hits. What I love about Flóni’s tracks is that they span both joy and melancholy in a neat package. When Flóni sings about “being fucked up at the club,” it comes across less as bravado and more like a way of saying, “I’m human, too, and I get it”, creating a genuine moment of connection. The crowd was fully locked in, singing along word for word. By Alexander Le Sage de Fontenay
Fríkirkjan Creature of Habit, a funky-country-groovy band, brought the desert into Fríkyrkjan. They dressed like hipster-cowboys and didn’t take long to get locked into the music. In the middle of their set, it was like the lap steel and electric guitar were dancing with each other on the stable dancefloor that was the drums and bass. One of their songs had a line so catchy people started whistling it after the song ended, turning the audience into a whistling and stomping choir. If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to be a cowboy in space their performance of the song gest(-ur) would have brought you right there with its experimental and electronic elements.
As Creature of Habit packed up their instruments, a new crowd entered Fríkirkjan, quickly filling the benches. Ólöf Arnalds stepped on stage and captivated the audience with humor and sincerity. She stood alone with her unique voice and sweet guitar as she sang lyrics full of poetry and fun rhymes. Her songs, being mostly about connections with people and processing feelings, put common experiences into beautiful words. Looking around I saw how everyone was listening and deep in their feelings. It even looked like one person was praying with their eyes closed and hands clasped. In this moment, Ólöf was the priest and music our religion. A funny part of the concert was her new song, “the tuning song”, which is just her tuning her guitar. She said this was what she thinks is “the future of elevator music,” and I hope that our elevators will all be playing this song soon.
Bird Mukka was a psychedelic experience with strange visuals. While a dark and dreamy soundscape played, spiritual and spooky messages appeared on the screen. Projected were images of flowers, fireworks, skeletons, ducks and even an animated dog doctor. The band seemed to be one with the sound as they all nodded in tempo with their eyes closed. You could feel the community of fans in the crowded Bird, clapping loudly in between songs and demanding more when the set ended.
Kolaportið The Orchestra (For Now) came in with a bang and kept that energy going throughout their set. Their songs were dramatic and heavy, flowing between a simple piano and a big blend of sound including electronic cello, two guitars, bass and amazing drumming. The progressive art rock performance had a lot of energy, especially from the singer and keyboardist Joseph Scarisbrick. Like a modern rockstar he took hits of his vape right before singing and screaming into the microphone. With the songs building up and down, the music and lights took the audience through a sensory and emotional journey that felt like walking on mountains. By Francis Laufkvist Kristinsbur
Reykjavík Art Museum “It is very difficult to play a trombone solo and wear a hat,” Valdimar Guðmundsson told a full house tonight. He had just completed a strangely impressive trombone solo, his three-piece horn section sitting out while he expanded a riff. Yes, he was behatted, but an audience member explained this is the problem with life after Of Monsters and Men –- these strangely Amish-looking hats are essential for musician types in of a certain ilk these days. There was no reason for the hat. The band Valdimar is a polished nine-piece of clearly professional musicians. They locked into a solid, albeit sometimes expected, groove immediately. An adoring crowd, almost entirely Icelandic, almost entirely dads, lapped it up. For a foreigner, it was memorable and pleasant. The musical equivalent to plokkfiskur. Was I annoyed that Valdimar explained it’s hard to play trombone in a hat, but then kept his hat on and put down the trombone, never using the instrument as well the rest of the night? Not entirely. How much trombone does one need? The full one-hour set was atmospheric and polished. You could picture the whole band as a background act for a Nordic Justified. (I assume such a show would star Ólafur Darri Ólafsson who shares a passing resemblance to the Valdimar frontman.) When they hit their restrained 2012 hit single “Yfir borgina,” there were nods of approval from the crowd.
The living embodiment of white-man’s-overbite, Fat Dog was properly introduced to an audience full of comfortable shoes and thrusting hips by an emcee. The band has everything, the emcee pointed out, violin, guitar, drums, and a great singer. The seven piece indeed had a lot, though dance beats usually drove each song. The instrumentations often were like a seasoning instead of the main driver of the song. When it worked, as when the violinist pushed klezmer inspired riffs into a strangely foul-mouthed jam, it worked. Fat Dog brought energy. Singer Joe Love, wearing a trademark hat, (take a drink every time someone has a trademark hat), did what he could, jumping into the crowd and seemingly conducting whole songs from inside the crowd. This was an enthusiastic gesture, though it rendered him wholly non-visible for most of us. The highlight for me was the baritone sax player, who, like so many saxophonists, seemed able to find just the right emotional vibe to get through the night. By Bart Cameron
LEMMY Opening up the evening at Lemmy was Ragnar Finsson. A Faroese singer-songwriter, he had the unenviable task of warming up a crowd on the 1st eve of Airwaves. Armed with an electric guitar, a loop pedal and autotuned vocals, he took to the task with confidence! Singing about Chevys breaking down, among other things, his vocal delivery had me doubting he was Faroese, his country twang was that convincing. Playing mostly unreleased material, he invited a collaborator, Marianna Winter, to perform the newly released song “Let Me Love You.” A huge standout was a somber song about his grandmother “losing her mind,” written from her perspective and most definitely reminded most audience members to reach out to their grandparents ASAP.
Next up was indie rock outfit Flesh Machine. Quite the departure from Ragnar Finsson, they opened their set with a wall of sound so loud the crowd had to hold their hats to not lose them. Normally a five piece (two guitars, bass, drums and a singer dabbling in synths), they sport an additional percussionist for this performance (who wore an impressively red shirt I must say). They energize the crowd from the get go, sweeping them into a hurricane of a journey, switching from gritty to groovy tracks filled to the brim with confidence and precision. During the track “F is For Failing,” their frontman jumped into the crowd and jostled some unsuspecting audience members, much to their pleasure
FRÍKIRKJAN Singer-songwriter Snorri Helgason and backing band welcomed us into their laid-back aesthetic, the heavily facial haired band seemingly fitted like a glove in front of the wooden pews. Quite the wordsmith, Snorri’s lyrics hit the home crowds’ funny bone, throughout the show you could hear people snickering. Starting with the track Ingileif, a song about a popular girl who peaked in high school but her life has gone downhill since, it sets the mood for the rest of their set. About halfway through the set, an accordion emerged from a chamber of keyboards, which might strike fear in polka haters but added to the ever-changing soundscapes of tracks. Ending their set with an eight-minute epic that seems to switch styles every two minutes, it tied a mighty fine bow on this whirlwind of a set.
The ever-charismatic GDRN was next to take the stage, bringing her mix of pop, R&B and jazz. She was accompanied by guitarist Reynir Snær for what was an unexpected, stripped back performance, a long ways away from her past appearances sporting a full live band. Her silky-smooth voice ensnares you into a warm embrace, however an unexpected vocoder choir of GDRN’s vocals made an appearance in the third song “Utan þjónustusvæðis,” a welcomed addition to this cozy performance. A brainworm of a pop track “Þú sagðir,” with a simple refrain for the crowd to latch onto (ooh ah ooh ooh ah) closed out this first evening at Fríkirkjan and sent us collectively singing and dancing out the venue and into the night. By Sævar Andri Sigurðarson
Fríkirkjan Usually, the first sounds at a concert come from the performers, but this one began unusually — with the audience humming a note given by violist Karl James Pestka. To the accompaniment of those timid hums and the pleasantly reverberating accordion of Margrét Arnardóttir, Jelena Ćirić sang “Fig Tree” from her album Shelters Two. After this warm-up, the audience received a slightly more demanding task — this time, they had to sing an entire phrase from completely new, unreleased material. “Stay in motion” they sang, while Jelena wove her story with the grand piano. It’s not often that live performance to surpasses studio recordings, but the melismatic embellishments on the high notes in Lines certainly did — they resonated through the church with deep intensity, sending shivers down the spine. After “Rain,” Jelena admitted that she rarely writes happy songs and enjoys making people cry. Yet, the audience around her seemed dreamy, smiling — perhaps even a bit more clearly than the Mona Lisa herself. Especially since between songs, the artist did not shy away from jokes. The concert ended with a Serbian folk melody — a gesture of solidarity with the protests taking place there, and with the spirit of hope for a better future. (Jelena was born in Serbia, grew up in Canada, and has lived in Iceland for almost 10 years now.)
Iðnó Rakel’s greatest strength lies in her deep voice with its characteristic whispering vibrato. It shifts seamlessly between fragility and strength: at one moment trembling as she speaks of pain, the next blooming into full, resonant tones that proudly embrace her emotions and sing her desires aloud. She also has that ability to weave moving melodies and tell stories over simple, looping harmonies and still keeping the audience’s attention. While the textured arrangements by Sara Flindt and the ensemble’s colours added depth and atmosphere, Rakel hardly needed them to get to the listeners. Her almost lonely performance of “11:11” was enough to bring tears to some people’s eyes. It felt fitting that she was placed on a raised platform, for without it, firstly the giant flute would towering everyone (contrabass flute played by Björg Brjánsdóttir), secondly because her modesty might have made her retreat behind her guitar — though her voice, undoubtedly, would still have found its way to us.
The Polish instrumentalist and composer Yana performed pieces from her album Daydreamer, which she described as “a journey from anxiety, darkness, hesitation — from the place you definitely don’t want to be — towards the light.” As she spoke, she steadied herself by resting a hand on the piano, as though drawing strength from its familiar surface. That quiet bond between artist and instrument was visible in her playing. Also the hypnotic dance of the hammers was visible and hearable through the open lid of the piano. Her music could easily be selected by an algorithm to follow an Ólafur Arnalds track, and many listeners might not even notice the transition. Yet Arnalds himself recognized her artistry, releasing her album under his own label, OPIA Community. Maybe we are simply witnessing the emergence of a new style — tender, minimalist, and hypnotic piano music, intertwined with deep synthetic basses and strings? By Aleksandra Siatkowska
Bird I start Iceland Airwaves 2025 with the exciting and unfamiliar, exactly how Airwaves is meant to be: I am listening to Emma, a band that I am catching live for the first time, at Bird, a venue that is celebrating their Airwaves debut. The group is marked by their diligence and versatility; their drummer swaps the sticks for a trumpet at one point, a vocalist trades singing for the violin, siblings Sindri Snær and Breki Hrafn harmonise perfectly without looking at each other. As they present intricate song after intricate song, the crowd gladly takes it in — even the bar staff pause their work to enthusiastically clap. The group’s debut Halidome is squarely set at my pick for Icelandic album of the year, and hearing the songs live only solidified that.
The ever-tender Andervel played later than I’ve ever seen them perform, with their emotional and raw songs creating a warm environment inside Bird. This late slot worked in frontperson José Luis Anderson’s favour; in their song “Faðmaðu mig,” which asks for the audience to sing, the crowd sang louder than I’ve ever heard. José even joked, “This is very easy for you,” concluding that now we “are all part of Andervel.” Towards the end of the set, which was the end of Bird’s first night of Airwaves, Andervel announced the upcoming release of Ironclad and Palm Trees. I’d venture to say that attendees exited into the cold night excited for both Andervel’s new releases and for the next two nights of Airwaves.
LEMMY Bashar Murad is no stranger to the Icelandic stage. After competing in the 2024 Söngvakeppnin, the 32-year-old Palestinian singer is back for Airwaves and continues to captivate with his signature energy. His work is often a call to action; in this show, he used an instrumental break to express simply that he hopes for a “beautiful place where we’re all free” where “you can be what you want to be.” He sang into a megaphone, much like those often used at protests, and projected videoworks throughout his performance, one where he dances waving the Palestinian flag. As I exited, someone remarked behind me, “That was, like, the best show of the night,” which is an undeniable marker of a great show. By Ish Sveinsson Houle
Gaukurinn The first act of the night at Gaukurinn is Geðbrigði, and what a great opening! The band brings a blend of riot grrl punk and death growling metal. From sobbing, to screaming, to singing, to speaking and almost rapping, the vocal diversity is outstanding. I briefly speak with the band members and bassist Ásthildur Emma Ingileifardóttir explains to me, “Our lyrics are very much about the things that are wrong in society, in how it treats women, how it treats trans people, queer people, and everything that is unfair in life and what it has to do with us and all the emotions with that as well.”
The next act offers something entirely different from the angry punk energy. Ari Árelíus takes his audience into a relaxed, dreamscape environment where the sun always shines. His chill and genuine presence is contagious and the whole audience is just vibing along the great music. You can see and feel how much fun all the musicians are having. The whole band is bopping along while playing tightly together. From psychedelic rock on guitar, to whimsical harp and groovy saxophone, Ari Árelíus creates a feeling of warmth with his music.
The crowd turns into a loyal Icelandic fanbase for the next act, Máni Orrason. People are singing along with the lyrics and Máni is putting all his emotions in his words. Still, the performance does not fully keep the attention of the audience as people keep talking and moving around. Perhaps Gaukurinn is not the best venue for more intimate concerts like this one.
Hands down the best act of the night is Knackered, who, with her explosive energy and playful electronic sounds, turns Gaukurinn into the hottest nightclub of the town. The room is absolutely packed and the energy is frenzied. ‘’You can dance in the front, or in the back, just be whoever you are,’’ Knackered says. As she starts playing, the audience is immediately with her. Knackered layers ear-tickling beats with a deep bass and scratchy sounds while retaining lightness in her overall sound. It is impossible to not be dancing and smiling to her music as she dances on stage and lifts up the energy of the room.
While the music is building up, suddenly the audio drops out and there is silence. There seems to be a problem with the sound. Without stressing out, Knackered solves the problem while the audience shows their support. As if nothing happened, the sound comes back on and so does the energy. Everyone is jumping and screaming, now the party has really started. The audio unfortunately drops out once again, still Knackered keeps her cool and it makes the audience love her even more. It is truly a magical feeling, reminiscent of club culture and community way beyond Iceland. As people in the audience are discussing after the show, ‘’[Knackered] could be playing in London or Berlin every night, she is the real deal.’’ By Eva Yuki Mik
Gaukurinn Both The Slits and Bikini Kill come to mind during the Panic Shack set, colliding in a glorious feedback loop of noise and nerve. Neither reference is bad news, unless you came here expecting sincerity without a few bruises. Their songs cleverly depict the struggles and the everyday gymnastics of being a woman—territory I’m clearly unqualified to comment on. When they spit a line that lands, the room answers like it’s been waiting to agree for years. It’s messy, it’s loud, it’s smarter than it lets on. Gaukurinn shakes, the amps buzz with self-righteous joy, and everyone leaves pretending they weren’t just a little bit converted.
Zamilska had me at the pitch-shifting snare slicing through the room, rearranging the oxygen. From then on, a barely controlled but exhilarating chaos. Zamilska deals in many genres of electronic music with surprising pairings but somehow always a bit reminiscent of techno. The whole set keeps coming back to it, and it is far too cool to care if you’re keeping up. One minute, we’re gliding through a comfortable 120 BPM pulse, the next gabber explodes out of nowhere, stomping all over the idea of restraint, only to melt back into trip-hop haze. It shouldn’t work. It absolutely does. The precision is clinical. The mastery of electronic sub-genres is the kind of thing music journalists pretend to understand, but here it just hits in the gut. You can intellectualise it – the structure, the transitions, the surgical control of energy – or you can admit that it fucks, and loudly. By Aðalsteinn Jörundsson
Kolaportið Trying to honour Scandinavian punctuality, which is something as unnatural to an Icelander as an economy without raging inflation, this writer shows up five minutes too early to the opening show at Kolaportið, and the debut show of band SCAM. Scammed was not the sensory experience anyone in that room felt. The venue, big as it is, already had at least 50 people waiting for SCAM to go on, and once they did, punctually, the room was comfortably full and the band, consisting of Hollywood-level film composer Herdís Stefánsdóttir and singer Salka Valsdóttir, standing gracefully in matching striped beige dresses, immediately hit the crowd with a solid bass beat and Salka’s dark and gloomy vocals and rough distorted guitar. Herdís laid on some good synth lines. The venue was at this point already filled up, and the crowd bobbed their heads, approvingly. The second song went harder into techno territory with a faster, harder beat. The duo looked confident, in their element and in control. The fourth song featured local singer Bríet and has a killer “this is a hit” type chorus, early in the song, which leaves you begging to hear it again, and while the song does make you wait for the chorus to return, the wait is worth it. By the fifth and last song the energy of the set reaches a climax, with an aggressive vocal delivery from Salka, some tom-tom action in the beat and a crowd that by that point has started dancing and is left wanting more. While SCAM would have fit better later in the night’s programme, they delivered a great set.
From London, England, Maya Delilah is in her mid-twenties and started releasing songs in 2020. While one may presume that someone who started a music career in that era of lock-downs may not have had the best opportunity to hone their stage skills, Maya however, seemed relaxed, comfortable and approachable, sitting alone, on a stool, with a Strat, no feedback to cover her ass, strumming or fingerpicking with great skill and grace and good unpretentious tone, while also demonstrating a beautiful, smooth yet smoky singing voice. The room, which had emptied out after the first set, had already filled up again during Maya’s first song. The audience stayed silent and attentive throughout her set, which is unusual for a crowd in Iceland. The songs were simple, yet well-crafted, and by the third song she drifted, accurately, into a self-described Americana style song, written, of course, while on tour on that continent. During an instrumental called “Jeffery” where Maya, with eyes shut, demonstrated that she knows her way around the neck of her guitar, delivering a sweet tasteful lead guitar over a loop of her own strummed chords, never using a pick. The next two songs, in many ways traditional singer/songwriter style songs, shared a lyrical theme on bad relationships, something that Gen Z seems to suffer more than previous generations. Jokingly, Maya says, “you can mosh pit if you want” before covering Coldplay’s “Sparks,” which was not her set’s highlight. The highlight was her last song called “California,” which she tells us, was released last Friday.
Columbia’s BALTHVS, owned their set. The trio, whose playing skills are nothing to be fucked with, moved from straight disco beats, to funk, into surf, and something else in-between. Light on vocals in general, but when delivered, they were a whispery duet between the guitarist, who dressed like Stevie Ray Vaughan and the bassist, who dressed more this century. The focus was one the groove, which the bassist and drummer delivered in full, while Columbia’s Stevie Ray, got all the time in the world to get to work on his guitar, not needing to worry about the rest, which he did, with demonic skill. Apologizing for their allocated time slot not being longer than 40 minutes, the band left the stage under loud applause from the audience.
This Icelandic band Superserious has been around since 2021. Their bass player looked comfortable and happy on stage, and so did the keyboard player, but otherwise the lack of live performance opportunities during the pandemic, and subsequently in the meager pickings of live venues in Reykjavík, may have left a mark on Superserious, whose stage presence left much to be desired. Drawing on noughties rock bands in their sound, the band also had elements of more polished late 90s radio-friendly West Coast pop-rock, demonstrating good instrumental skills and great singing. The singer/guitarist engaged in some crowd-pleasing chat, saying that he had met a festival goer that claimed to have travelled furthest to be at the festival, “all the way from Vancouver.” This claim was immediately challenged by someone in the crowd claiming to be from New Zealand, which the singer — correctly — declared the winner of that contest. As the band announces their last song, the crowd boos disapprovingly. “I hate it when bands say, sing along, so I won’t say it, but it is an easy song to sing along to” the singer says as the band count in “Bye bye Honey”, the best song of their set.
LEMMY Otto Høgh, Amma Raastoff and Oscar Bjerrehuus are BOABOA. They are from Copenhagen. A city in Denmark. Coincidentally also the longest standing capital of Iceland. In their good ‘ol Danglish, they call Reykjavík a “town,” which is somehow just typically Danish of them. (Editor removed expletives about colonialist language.) The crowd is sparse, but not in an embarrassing way. And they are into it, dancing, waving hands, and otherwise doing what is asked of them by the Danish trio, while the band plays their dance music off of playback, interrupting frequently with hype and crowd commands and occasionally (and skillfully) beating a drum pad, dancing and sometimes holding each other. The crowd is young, the bass is booming, only one bald spot spotted, bodies are moving. Let’s hand it to the Danes, it’s a good vibe for a Thursday night. In the sense that the customer is always right, this is hard to argue with, as the customers are enjoying themselves immensely. Jón Trausti Sigurðsson
Art Museum I arrive at the Art Museum when lúpína is already on stage. Once she finishes the first song, she says, “OMG, this is crazy,” looking into the audience. “I’m lúpína, welcome to Iceland Airwaves 2025.” She continues, “I played Airwaves for the first time last year. A lot has happened since. I’ve travelled, I’ve made music, but mostly I’ve been in the studio making music.” I’ve followed lúpína’s career for the past three years or so — first seeing her perform at a former slaughterhouse during the grassroots festival Hátiðni, then at our home-grown Grapewaves in Djúpið, and finally witnessing her progression from her first Airwaves gig last year at Fríkirkjan to tonight’s main stage at the Art Museum. It gives me a clear picture of how and when she started, which allows me to say that lúpína’s music and performance have matured immensely. On stage tonight, you no longer see a girl making songs for just TikTok to notice; you see a seasoned artist with a thought-through set, incredible decorations and backdrop animations, performing old bangers like “Ástarbréf,” material from her 2024 album MARGLYTTA, and even a special guest — none other than Daði Freyr, who joins lúpína for “Ein í nótt.” Somewhere in the audience are lúpína’s parents, wearing her merch and probably being proud of her. To be fair, I’m proud of her too. Her set is dreamy and energetic, her career is on an upward trajectory, and the only thing I wish is that her gig were later in the night, so more people could experience lúpína’s dance-electronica paired with her unique vocals.
BIRD Next up, I squeeze into the packed Bird and try to get as close to the stage as I can. Ironically, I end up right next to the wall with photos of stars showing a finger, and, of course, here’s Paul McCartney doing just that, quietly saying, “This is for The Beatles, Bart” [our office joke gone too far]. SIGRÚN, wearing a tight bodysuit with what seems to be offcuts of raincoat layered on top, is already on stage. She sings a lot of tracks from her Monster Milk album, which won the Kraumur Music Award last year and whose cover art deserves an award of its own. Drawing from her career as an instrumentalist for big-name artists, SIGRÚN enchants with her vocals mixed with electronica. I don’t know whether it’s the amount of time we’ve spent talking about Björk in the current issue of The Reykjavík Grapevine, but I can’t shake SIGRÚN’s resemblance to B, both vocally and aesthetically, at least tonight.
Art Museum CYBER are already on stage. It honestly feels like Airwaves shows start 10 minutes earlier than they should, or otherwise I don’t know why every time I’m right on time, I’ve already missed the first song. I properly discovered CYBER live at Airwaves last year, when they played perhaps every single off-venue, saying they were kinda boycotting Airwaves since they weren’t invited. Salka Valsdóttir and Jóhanna Rakel for sure know how to put on a show: there are air guitars, a Britney Spears cover, and theatrical commentaries to each song, like, “This is a song about a breakup. We’re heartbroken, going on the girls’ trip to Mallorca, now shaking our asses in the club.” It doesn’t read really well, I know, but trust me — these two know how to do a gig to remember. By Iryna Zubenko