The Reykjavík Grapevine presents our daily, comprehensive coverage of 2026 Iceland Airwaves. This year, we are pleased to introduce a number of new writers joining us as we try to document and explain what makes this specific festival so unique. The reviews are posted by venue and in order of appearance.
CeaseTone
Photo by Art Bicnick
Hafsteinn Þráinsson, AKA CeaseTone, is a beloved Airwaves veteran (over 10 years of festival experience!), and his Friday performance was proof of why. Armed with a charming stage presence, dexterous command over the guitar, and songs that echoed the sentimentality of “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard,” his setlist included known hits like “Ég var að spá”, “The Bright Side”, and “Continents.” He garnered loud cheers and laughter throughout, and I became less concerned with whether the music was my thing and more appreciative of Hafsteinn’s professed optimism for his own life trajectory: “I’m 33 and only getting started.” Happy engagement, Hafsteinn and Una! AP
PIXY
Between the TikTok alt-pop girlies and hip-hop tyros on Soundcloud, you might find PIXY screaming in auto-tune: “Fuck school!” Known for the trending hit “LEGACY” and its remix featuring the famously grassroots artist North West, the UK-based singer-songwriter arrived on the Kolaport stage with confidence and charisma to a modest audience. As much as I wanted to just admire her Zodiac jokes and self-possessed vision, much of PIXY’s set revealed less about who she was as an artist and more about the people who inspire her. A darkwave cover of Tove Lo, a near-duplicate of Far East Movement’s “Like a G6,” and a bizarre girl-against-girl rendition of Akon’s “Smack That” left me feeling like this was a jukebox club show and not a festival debut. But that’s fine cuz I still like gettin’ slizzard. AP
Nori
Seeing the young UK Grime artist Nori step onto the stage was bewildering and charming. His intros drew heavily from old school video game themes like Zelda and Mortal Combat. (When he stepped off stage, he noted “I’m headed home to play Zelda.”) Through the set, the deeply familiar video game melodies descended into the extreme bass 140 BPM tempo beat standard to the genre, and he would swing into his bars. Nori did absolutely nothing the easy way. Calling out to the crowd, demanding they complete his four-letter moniker in response, he smiled through his platinum grills, then delivered rapid-fire. The bars he was rapping stood up to scrutiny. Without the slightest bit of vocal effects, without autotune, he was note and syllable perfect. And the lyrics contained surprising pathos. At 140 BPM, he casually worked “smile on my face telling lies through my teeth,” as he explained in song the experience of homelessness, of watching the doubletalk of communities around him, and emulating it in part. A song about his UK community drifted into alarm about watching the events in Palestine from afar and being stunned by the damage. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see music critic Arnar Eggert pop up next to me after the show and joyously declare Nori the future of Grime. If Nori is the future of the genre, he is taking absolutely no shortcuts, and his audience is in for a ride. BC
Cobrah
Reader, beware: a gay person wrote this review. Clenched against the Kolaport stage barricade with glittery faces and drinks in hand, my queer posse and I were already screaming before COBRAH uttered a single note. But that is exactly the energy one must summon for an artist of this caliber, dare I say, this level of sheer c*nt. COBRAH’s reputation, extending far beyond Stockholm, precedes her as a woman vulcanizing the margins of kink, feminine representation, and dance music. Her greatest hits, all of which she performed on Friday night in her signature latex suit and Lady Deathstrike nails, speak for themselves: “BRAND NEW BITCH,” “GOOD PUSS,” “FEMININE ENERGY,” and so on. Fortunately, the house was packed with the right (gay) people and the sultriest of basses, and thus the market was transformed into COBRAH’s dark sanctuary until the very end. We were all elated to be there — except probably that one security guard. AP
SCAM
Live show of Scam was a mesmerising experience. When something makes such a big impression,it can be so hard to describe the experience in words. The electronic-pop duo’s performance is accompanied by a well-coordinated light show, featuring both found footage and original SCAM visuals, VJ-ed by Vikram Pradhan. Silver faces, Marie Antoinette-who-just-woke-up-from-a-long-nap type of hair, big yellow rubber gloves, simple
choreography, big stage presence. Salka passionately drums on the sampling pad(?), Herdís plays a synthesiser, and they both sing with ever-changing vocal effects, ranging from angelic to low-pitched, almost computerised, demonic voices. I truly wonder if there was auto-tune, or my brain just absolutely glitched and got rewired. During one of the songs, they provide their audience with rubber gloves too. When the right moment comes, they raise their hands in fists, and the audience follows, punching the air to the rhythm of the track. At some point, a mysterious singer covered in a long veil joins them on stage, only to reveal herself in the middle of the song, to be no one else but BRÍET. They made a collaboration with her, which was recently released (SCAM – Pleasure (feat.BRÍET)). 100/10 experience. YV
Emmsjé Gauti
There is something almost admirable about Emmsjé Gauti’s unwavering belief in his own brilliance. He clearly wanted his picture taken: at one point he climbed the stage ladder, hung off it and shouted, ‘’I did this all for the photo, are you having fun?!’’ He’d been a little nervous before going on stage, he told the audience, ‘’but now I feel like gold.’’ The bass was unnecessarily loud, and between the English banter and his famous song ‘’Reykjavík,’’ the show was clearly built with visitors in mind. And yet it worked. The crowd went wild for the song about the kind of girl he wants to be seen with, a Limp Bizkit cover went down well, and when he announced ‘’this is fun, really fun,’’ the audience was happy to back him up. I arrived a sceptic and left, somewhat reluctantly, entertained. NC
Oyama
Photo by Art Bicnick
Photo by Art Bicnick
Six months ago, I first heard Oyama playing on the stereo at Reykjavík Record Shop. Spinning at home the 2024 LP Everyone Left— still their most recent album — I jumped to see the five-piece band open the six-act City Hall schedule Friday night. Oyama dipped into that album’s “She Fades Away,” as well as its entire catalog dating back to 2013. Their overall show didn’t disappoint with a guitar-heavy sound that reminded me of mellow mid-1990s shoegaze like Mazzy Star and Cigarettes After Sex from the past decade. Oyama’s two lead singers trade verses in English lyrics and then join on some choruses.They debuted a few new songs, including one not yet titled and more aggressive than the rest of the set, reminiscent of My Bloody Valentine. LJ
Esmeralda Road
Photo by Vikingur
Photo by Art Bicnick
Photo by Art Bicnick
The first thing that catches the attention is the vocalist’s stage presence: how good it is to see one expressing himself in such a theatrical, fierce and visceral way. Somehow, after a couple of frenetic movements, blood starts running from his nose as he gets up from the stage floor. The crowd moves closer to capture the money-shot moment of the show. And he just keeps playing without a care. More reserved, the remaining band members play with the same intensity. The songs are unrestrained and move between genres. They bring a raw, high energy with sudden shifts in groove and feel, moving through jazz-syncopated rhythms to soulful melodies. Just to take you somewhere else immediately after. It’s what Esmeralda Road does best. And to fully appreciate all these magnificent songs, you need to see them live! ST
Sísý Ey
Photo by Art Bicnick
Photo by Art Bicnick
Photo by Art Bicnick
Photo by Art Bicnick
Photo by Art Bicnick
Local legacy act Sísý Ey fell victim to truly bizarre scheduling. Known for their chart-topping 2013 single “Ain’t Got Nobody,” the vocal forward electro trio got slammed tonight by something truly beyond their control. Something called J-Day, the night that the Christmas beer was released by Tuborg. While loyal Icelandic fans still got through, because they correctly planned for it, our reviewer got stuck outside for a good portion of the event. Leaning on insight from our photographer, Art Bicnick, who had a proper station, sisters Sigga, Elísabet, and Elín Eyþórsdóttir pulled off the impossible and overcame J-Day*. BC
Agent Fresco
Photo by Vikingur
Photo by Vikingur
Photo by Vikingur
Photo by Vikingur
Photo by Vikingur
A shit ton of people show up in City Hall to witness Agent Fresco’s return. It is honestly the largest amount of people any non-arena-level act could hope for. “Our last show in Iceland was seven years ago at Airwaves, it’s good to be back” Arnór Dan Arnarson, the lead singer, states just as soon as the first song is done. It is pretty clear from the get go that the five-piece is thrilled to be reunited and rolling. I come across a fan in the smoking area: “Man, it has been a long time since I saw them live, I missed it.”. The comeback of Agent Fresco is undoubtedly a big success, some would describe it as good, honest, well-executed rock music. You often don’t really need much more than that. GLV
Formal Sppeedwear
The crowd is packed before I ever make it to Formal Sppeedwear. It takes a minute to weave my way into the front through the masses, but I make it there with only a few minor scrapes (beer puddles that make my soles stick to the venue floor). Once they come out on stage, Formal Sppeedwear wastes no time getting into the meaty bits. They’ve got a kind of funky, bass heavy groove to them that reminds me of The Talking Heads, and gets the crowd amped up pretty quickly. A gaggle of fans have gathered at the front, dancing to their hearts content, and bringing with them what I thought was a banana but turned out to be a banana shaped maracas. The band itself is almost elusive, and doesn’t speak to the crowd at all over the course of the set. This doesn’t stop the crowd (or the band) from getting fired up regardless, and soon enough everyone’s forehead is caked with that thin sheen of sweat that suggests it might be time to take a break from all that jumping you’re doing. “You know this already/ But you’re wasting your time,” they sing, and it strikes me that this is a band uninterested in frivolities and wasted time, focused on the art and the art only. MP
Spacestation
Photo by Vikingur
Photo by Vikingur
Photo by Vikingur
Photo by Vikingur
What can one say about Spacestation that hasn’t been said before? Closing off the night at City Hall, an unshakable sense of nostalgia washed over me, from the moment they started playing and the stage lit up. Immediately, a black & white video of Reykjavík (a relatively dated one if I had to guess) began playing at their backs, the band’s logo layered on top in glaring Spacestation red. Looking around, I notice this is the first time this year I caught a crowd so engaged with its artist. There’s a charm to them that can only really come from years of being on stage and doing this, and the crowd goes crazy for it. A collective sensation of being present for something significant floods the room, and over the course of the set I watch as some kind of physical and emotional connection seems to form between the crowd and the band. At some point, I notice the drummer has shed his shirt, and I am unsure whether that happened before or during the set– I had been too busy letting the music wash over me. “Are you ready to fucking dance your ass off?” they shout mid-song at the already forming dance-pit at the front of the stage. I feel like the masses are coagulating into one big entity, like we are all individuals becoming a collective. People around me are scream-shouting the lyrics to each other, shaking ass and arms and every other limb in-between. Everyone feels like they are part of something while remaining entirely themselves, and I guess that is the magic of Spacestation. MP
Sakaris
Friends and family hurry to the front as Sakaris takes the stage with a band of seven all dressed in summery pastel. A warm welcome intros a run of fun and funky electronic pop. This all seems to come naturally to Sakaris with tracks like “Thank You,” for which he declares “some words came to me and I just decided to scribble it down.” During this same song, downright magical audio feedback elevates an already electrifying drop into something spectacular. Sakaris coolly plays off a keytar dying mid-solo to recover in all the more style for “You Complete Me.” Members of the band battle with keyboard and guitar solos bathed in bright lights, the whole thing is a party. The overwhelming feeling throughout is that this is a show by friends, for friends. Put simply in the opening of final song of the show Allarbesti: “You’re my best friend, And with you it’s playfully easy” (translated from Faroese “Tú ert mín allarbesti vinur, Og saman við tær er tað leikandi lætt”). JM
Tunghoyrt
Photo by Art Bicnick
Photo by Art Bicnick
Photo by Art Bicnick
Photo by Vikingur
Photo by Vikingur
The “heavy disco band” commanded the crowd from the off. “Not good enough!” the drummer cried as he drew a bigger and better cheer from the room. Everybody was called forward to the stage to get up close and personal (the first act this writer has seen do so, and it was excellent). What followed was 40 minutes of shrieking guitars, drums and feet pounding until the floor rumbled and a vocalist erupting into atavistic screaming. Laced with sinister yet dreamy guitar riffs and Thom York-esque singing whilst rolled over and legs reaching for the overhead lights, for these Faroese teens “To show you how fucking capable [they] are,” such as on the track Eysturav. The band threw themselves around the stage throughout and the vocalist leapt into the crowd for an “intimate moment” of screaming into the beaming face of one member of the crowd before sending everybody off with the hallmark tinnitus of a truly colossal show. JM
RSP
I arrived early at Iðnó and spotted two middle-aged American women who had already claimed their spots right in front of the stage. I asked if they were there for RSP. Of course! They had come all this way, so why not check out some Faroese rap? The room slowly filled with people of all ages. Then the lights went down and five guys appeared on stage. Three rappers, Heini Ronnason, Bjarki Jónasson and Steingrímur Hallsson, handling the vocals and lyrics, Rasmus Rosendahl on DJ duties and production, and guitarist Eli Finsson, who looked like Rambo. They immediately reminded me of Quarashi but more R&B. RSP kicked off with “Ball í bil” and the place went wild. Jumping, shouting, Faroese hip-hop at full blast. Then came “Fresh”: “Are you not fresh, Iceland? Hey, hey, are you fresh!” I spotted a mother pushing her 12-year-old son closer to the stage, right next to a bald, heavily-bearded guy bouncing around like a madman. The crowd welcomed the young lad straight into the madness. During “Hygg eftir mær”, Heini jumped off the stage and sang right into the faces of the front-row fans. Brilliant stuff. Things turned emotional with “Rúmdin”, dedicated to their friend Aron Höskuldsson, who had recently passed away. For the finale, “Reisa þig”, they had everyone crouching down before the whole room exploded into one last jump. From two curious American women to a 12-year-old boy, RSP had everyone hooked. GFI
BLUAI
Antwerp trio BLUAI put out their second album, The Way You Talk Reminds Me Of Home, a week before playing in Iceland for the first time. They drew a smaller, wholesome, mostly older crowd that applauded politely and rarely did more. Catherine Smet’s vocals were consistently strong, and the bass was the standout, right up to a hard bass solo near the end. Even one of the strongest songs of the night drew only a few bopping heads, and when Smet closed with their song ‘’Sober’’, promising it was ‘’really easy’’ to sing along to, the room mostly just nodded. One audience member told me she’d been excited to see them, but came away ‘’a little disappointed.’’ The songs began to sound alike, and something was missing, but on stage, BLUAI did their part. NC
Úlfur Úlfur
Iðnó was filling up by 23:55, with younger people streaming in after BLUAI, and a minute into Úlfur Úlfur the cheering was already loud. People were dancing before the first song had even started, and it was so packed that someone spilled their beer all over me. ‘’We’re very good at foreign languages,’’ they told the audience, ‘’but when I’m up on stage only Icelandic comes out. We need to show the foreigners the energy, show them the tra-la-la.’’ The Icelanders in the crowd were losing it. People shouted ‘’úr að ofan’’ (shirts off) and a dramatic country harmonica joined in. Then came English, after all. Frontman Helgi Sæmundur Guðmundsson used to work at Hotel Rangá, and he explained ‘’And for those not from here, we’ve had great weather.” The next song was a love song to the Icelandic weather. They released an album last year with “lots of cowboy hats,” and whatever doubts I had about the hats were gone by “Dínamít,” which had the crowd going wild. It was J-dagurinn, the night Tuborg’s Christmas beer arrives, and I felt like I’d ended up at Þjóðhátíð: older people in lopapeysur, the crowd that had come for the Tuborg Christmas beer, tourists, lads, two in the queue who’d been microdosing mushrooms, young and old well into their drinks. “Meira, meira, meira.” “I’ve got tears in my eyes, I’m so in love with them,” one fan said. A man in a lopapeysa who’d only ever heard them on the radio told me: “Brilliant gig. So much warmth, such a great atmosphere.” NC
Janus Rasmussen
The stage at Iðnó was dark, with a collection of electronic controllers, drum machines and synthesizers set up in the middle. Suddenly, Janus Rasmussen appeared, accompanied by a cameraman who spent most of the set circling around him. Janus quickly had the audience under his spell with hypnotic beats, pulsating drums and his beautiful voice. His friends described the music as “deep nurturing techno,” and it certainly got feet and hips moving. One audience member was particularly impressed by the way Janus played with tempo changes and rhythms. Behind his equipment, Janus swayed back and forth, constantly shaping the sounds and beats. About ten minutes into the set came “Fumes,” where his remarkable vocal range and soaring falsetto really stood out. Shortly afterwards, “Doom” picked up the pace, the beats grew heavier, and hands began rising into the air.It was fascinating to watch how effortlessly Janus moved between dreamy melodies and powerful dance rhythms, taking the audience along for the ride. Janus brought the set to a close with “Spiraling,” rounding off a performance that had kept the crowd moving from beginning to end. GFI
Alien Chicks
Alien Chicks take the stage with no ceremony. Donning instruments and detonating into high-octane post-punk arsenal of gatling-gun verses and explosive hooks, bridged by tightly-executed instrumentals. The London group made the audience theirs, introducing the head-bobbing masses to the mosh pit, encouraging sheepish participants to try again after a shaky first attempt. By the final song, bodies were bouncing, crowds were surfed, and this writer found himself between three different couples making out. The band had a visible blast on stage, leaping around and jamming together constantly. I caught them after the show and asked about their philosophy on the balance of work, message and fun in music. Bassist Stefan Parker-Steele responded: “It’s hard…we wouldn’t do it if we didn’t love it…what matters to us is that we entertain the crowd, I think we did.” They did. JM
Einakróna
Photo by Art Bicnick
Photo by Vikingur
Photo by Vikingur
Photo by Vikingur
Einakróna opens their set reciting a poem of theirs I already know. “Google maps er tímavél,” Björk, the lead singer, begins: “bíllinn snýr aftur, tíu árum seinna, í október, í fyrra” (Google maps is a time machine. The car returns, ten years later, to October, last year – my translation). Her voice bounces off the walls of the venue. I catch the glimpse of her distorted reflection in one of the mirrors on the wall across from me. Last I saw this band, three years ago, they leaned more folk-indie, but as they make clear between songs: “We don’t really do that anymore,” and indeed, they do not. Instead, the booming layers of drum, bass and vocals with a healthy dose of keyboard mixed in emanate from the stage like shockwaves, sending chills down my spine. It’s the kind of music that keeps you still, pensive. It is unfortunate that such a sound seemed to be at odds with the venue itself – each individual instrument seemed exponentially louder than the vocals. But the cathartic satisfaction of listening to something akin to the gradual crescendo of a film soundtrack is unparalleled, and the small venue was packed with emotion over the course of the short set. MP
Jónfrí
Jónfrí provides the perfect music for NASA, the venue that feels like an abandoned office party. Dad rock meets christmas jingle and Daft Punk. The band is having fun and is comfortable on stage, and the middle aged audience is having a good time too. Winning the award for most unlikely collaborations, at least according to my book, is Lúpína joining Jónfrí on stage for one song. It is strange to see her in this setting with a live band. The feeling is that of a sing-a-long. The band ends the set with a new song called “deep fake,” which sounds like a deep fake of “Sultans of Swing” by Dire Straits. Unfortunately, half of the audience has left already. EYM
Pollyfromthedirt
Photo by Vikingur
Photo by Vikingur
Described in the Airwaves program as “lo-fi folk from London,” 10 minutes into Pollyfromthedirt’s electronic music Friday night’s set at NASA, I wondered if I was at the right venue. A hooded guy wearing a winter coat and a mask a week after Halloween, while presumably Polly… and an unnamed musician heavily programmed synth beats amid a modern British confessional sing-talk about his identity. Finally, he gave up the mysterious persona, and asked matter-of-factly “How are you doing? Make some noise.” The crowded responded accordingly, only to be jokingly admonished, “Well not that much.” Polly turned out to be a funny bloke, and mentioned that Iceland made an impression on him. He wanted to go swimming this morning, but thought again after learning it was £150. Polly then broke out his acoustic guitar, and even a harmonica, for two songs, including “When England Comes,” about his country, where Spotify reports he has 42,800 monthly listeners. LJ
Bana Zahiti
At 23:30 sharp, NASA is quiet and empty, but just on queue, Bana Zahiti takes the stage, telling the sparse crowd that she’s the first Albanian to play Iceland Airwaves. Her set is stunningly musically professional. Backing her is the European version of Sly & Robbie, if you replace Robbie with a Ryan Gosling doppelganger who also sometimes plays synth. Bana Zahiti filled up the rest of the sonic spectrum with her powerful and terrific range vocals, exotic vocal melodies, incredible charm and enthusiasm, and seeming indifference to whether the audience was thousands or dozens. JTS
Yaelokre
I arrive at Fríkirkjan a little early and take a seat on a bench in the second row. The church walls are coloured by yellow-ochre light. I am positively surprised when I notice how many older people there are in the room, as in the live videos I’d seen online, I’d mostly noticed younger people in the audience. This concert attracts many people with cool haircuts, I also notice one person with elf ears— Yaelokre fans often dress up as characters from a fairytale world Meadowlark which the musician has created. From the moment they start the show, I feel as though we are being transported into that world right away. The set up of the show is simple — they use their voice and play a custom-made baritone guitalele. Once they put their instrument down, choreography speaks — this is not just a performance; they are there in the world of Meadowlark. It makes me think about performances that kids put on for their family and friends. It’s magnetic through its purity. I tear up and smile through the whole show. It is soothing and recharging. The performance is absolutely disarming. My favourite moment is when the storyteller brings in the song that I already know “Harpy Hare” and they invite the audience to join the music by clapping along; I feel so happy in the moment, it reminds me of visiting plays in a tiny theatre as a kid. I am once again reminded about how great it is to get immersed in a fairytale world together with other people. By the end of the show I also realise that the whole day I’ve been wearing a yellow-ochre striped shirt underneath three sweaters. I took two souvenirs from this event — a mental photograph of Keath Ósk, the creator of Yaelokre, hugging their fans after the show in the hallway of the church, and the thought that I would love to see a full theatrical play made by them one day. YV
Axel Flóvent
Photo by Vikingur
Photo by Vikingur
Photo by Vikingur
Axel Flóvent is a simple and honest man. He plays guitar, usually the same chords, and sings with strong emotion. His vibrato carries the tones far into Fríkirkjan, but makes the lyrics undecipherable. As he introduces the next song, Axel tells the audience, “I find it hard to make decisions.” Perhaps that is why the songs never really change. Axel just starts playing and goes with it. No chord progression or song development whatsoever. He has a good voice and the songs are stable. EYM
Jamie Duffy
Neo-classical pianist Jamie Duffy and his attending ensemble of strings were complimented by the stolid repose of the Fríkirkjan church, both vibrating in testament to the longings that outlive us. A recited invocation asked us to forgive ourselves when we misunderstand time’s lessons, and from there Duffy and company commanded instrumental tone poems of densely melodic, dramatic narrative- and never succumbed to the expectable melodramas. Duffy’s bailiwick consists of pitchperfect lamentations and hardwon acceptances within the Gaelic cultural register (a well-trod genre that Duffy revivifies), but he also grounds the experience in simple human devotions – like “show and tell” segments about his Irish whistles. Divinity and time’s vast distances are fleeting abstractions without artists like Duffy to get them to fit in these small and human, church-shaped boxes. CR
Dove Ellis
There’s something in the candidness of the emotionally sophisticated European songwriter that can make this evasive American bristle, so thankfully I couldn’t understand the lyrics. Multi-instrumentalist Dove Ellis twitched through Thom Yorke rock, Jeff Buckley balladeering, and Randy Newman-covering-Queen- with some welcome digressing into Zappa-grade grooves (complete with the breakneck classical flourishes). The musical talent throughout the band was obvious, but the sonic essays in which the argument was made repeatedly that “No…THIS chord is the most important chord ever”, became tedious. The soprano sax with effects board could have been the tell that maybe there’s a sense of humor at play, and I really want an artist to aim for “A Thinking Man’s 90’s Sitcom Theme Song”, but the irony I waited for didn’t show. CR
Júniús Meyvant
“Eyes wide open, floor is right. Lights are on, time to shine.” What a wonderful way to start. The song “When You Touch the Sky” set the stage for a memorable night. The church Fríkirkjan was full. Because of the building’s layout, attendees gathered in every corner that let them see Júniús, leaving open areas here and there. A true storyteller who entertained with songs and amused the audience with recollections and between-song banter that made everyone laugh. Most knew the songs to come; what no one knew was how the setting would bring out Júniús’s voice and instruments. Halfway through the concert, I looked around and realised I was inside a church. Lovers leaned into each other, heads resting on shoulders; some sat back and just soaked it all in. Júniús Meyvant’s performance was genuinely heartfelt, and everyone at his show clearly loved him. ST
Apex Anima & FRZNTE
A doll-faced woman with fake silicon skin and hands sits in front of the stage in a white kimono. Behind her plays a video of eyebrows being pulled out, while an AI voice-over talks about loneliness and the delivery of a “female friend.” Apex Anima gets delivered to the stage wrapped in bubble plastic and FRZNTE rips off her silicon face. It is quite a spectacular opening and the show continues to be on the borders of theater and music performance. It is never obvious where the line between irony, fakeness and reality lies. Is this genuine expression, or all an act? When is it human and when is it a machine? Is it all AI? I don’t know. It is a show, for sure. There is pole dancing, outfit changes, AI animated videos of alienesque characters and unclear statements about free market capitalism. High energy club music meets Hatsune Miku dystopian pop. It all feels a bit unreal. EYM
Them Flying Monkeys
Photo by Art Bicnick
Photo by Art Bicnick
Photo by Art Bicnick
Photo by Art Bicnick
Photo by Art Bicnick
Despite the initial technical difficulties (we couldn’t really hear the singer and all the band members were asking for more of their own instruments in the monitor), Portuguese quintet Them Flying Monkeys absolutely know how to rock n’ roll, unleashing a very solid garage punk that you can’t really turn away from. By the third song the guitarist steps out of the stage and facilitates a beautiful mosh pit: so good to see dads caught off guard and indulging in an unexpected pogo moment. Later in the set the singer manages to get all of Lemmy’s crowd to go down on the floor and jump back up again to a rendition of the French song “Les gens sont fous, les temps sont flout.” Honestly the kick I needed to start my evening. GLV
Victoryland
Photo by Vikingur
Photo by Vikingur
Photo by Vikingur
For some reason, I feel like I want to stroll through an amusement park, cotton candy in hand, while listening to Victoryland. Some bands forget about the importance of the emotional impact in a good rock show: Victoryland definitely doesn’t, as they capture the invested Lemmy crowd with their indie-rock-screamo tunes. When I turn around I notice a need for this, to not only dance and have fun, but to feel what you’re dancing to. “Where are you from?” A concert goer asks the band, “Which part of New York?” He adds – now suddenly in a one-to-one conversation with the frontman – “it’s not an interview” he replies, as they start the next song. It is not, it’s a Victoryland concert, and that is just fine. GLV
Dumbhead
Yes, they do sound like bands from the 90s and early 2000s. Let’s move on. It’s 2026, and, for their first time in Iceland, Dumbhead presented a four-piece band on stage. Zachary, Billie, Maayan and Henry, and I’m so glad it was like that. When the trumpet hit the first note of the night, it was the same note Billie Raffety was singing. And it kept building textures here and there as the show went on. Sometimes it sounded like another voice. Now, Billie might have one of the most powerful voices at this Airwaves edition, with her mesmerising, beautiful timbre. Sometimes she repeated words as if it were a loop. Maayan and Zachary guided the sound ambience with echoes and deep drum loops. By now you must be thinking: a reserved audience on an introspective journey for sure. It wasn’t! I heard irresistible dance grooves and saw people dancing with such intensity. The uniqueness that defines Dumbhead today might be remembered by other bands 20 years from now. ST
SYL
I liked it when the lead singer violently screamed at people to come closer. Thus ignited the inclusive alienation that the hardcore band of Danes known as SYL purveyed, with a variegated crowd of staunch devotees and others in the make. The band members were varied, too: a fell prism of working class archetypes ranging from casually misanthropic to orcs-in-training. Each were impeccable technical musicians and passionate showmen, able to balance the operatic with the immediate. More than once SYL devoured the horizons of the stage, their territory extending well-within the mosh pit cauldron that lead singer Benjamin Clemens would return to stir should ever things start to slow. “This is a hardcore show, act fucking like it!” was my favorite educational portion of the show, and I think all involved learned a lot! CR
Upper Mall Rats
It’s dim, damp and smelly in Rosenberg tonight, perfect for what the Upper Mall Rats will later call a “ratty ratty rat experience.” Getting the night going early, a crowd of people have gathered at the bar when I walk in, and the smell of beer feels like it may imprint on me if I stay too long. The first few seconds after the Upper Mall Rats get on stage are a little awkward, a little unpolished. The sound system seems to be betraying them, and I can’t catch what they say before the countdown happens and the music starts. Almost immediately people start dancing, hopping up and down. Within minutes people are climbing onto tables to get a better view, a few more songs and a guitar string snaps, gets replaced, and the show goes on. Under the pink glow of the stage lights, the band seems almost possessed by their own sound, completely unable to stop (not that anyone would want them to) as they rattle off one song after the other. “Double cheese, double sauce, fuck your landlord, fuck your boss” they scream in one of the rare moments of almost-silence of the set, and yeah, fuck those guys. I can’t help but smile and join the masses of bumping heads and shuffling feet. This is what music is about. MP
Brynja Rán
Brynja Rán just might be Iceland’s next pop princess, based on her Rosenberg performance Friday night, which I sure hoped they recorded. “This is my first festival,” she told the packed house. Two weeks ago, Brynja released her first full-length album, Unblurred, and while strong for a 20-something artist, it sounds a bit overproduced. Her solid band gave the songs an authentic oomph missing from the studio recordings. As the set went on, every hook-filled song seemed stronger, particularly “Still Stuck Waiting” and “Deja Vu,” among relationship matters of the heart. Brynja reminds me a bit of other neo-soul hitmakers: Adele, not as dangerous as Amy Winehouse, but as tuneful as Raye, and sassy like Lola Young. LJ
Haukur Páll
Haukur takes the stage and does a quick audience survey: Icelanders versus internationals. It’s almost exclusively Icelanders. He speaks Icelandic. Good. Not everything has to be exported. Two DJs wearing sunglasses provide a questionable gimmick, but the live drummer is a fantastic decision. There’s something immediately charming about Haukur. He’s got swag, genuine stage presence and an old-school hip-hop sensibility despite being firmly Gen Z. Haukur might not be making music for export, but that’s arguably part of the appeal. This is hip-hop for locals, delivered with genuine confidence, affection for the genre’s roots and enough swagger to carry the whole room. ES
Juno Paul
Back at Rosenberg, Juno Paul are just finishing their first song. They’re a four-piece indie outfit, and the crowd seems into it. Heads are bobbing. I’m still finding my feet. There’s something oddly nostalgic about their sound, especially for a band this young. Is this what being in a classic indie rock band in 2026 feels like? The front row shouts “Úr að ofan” (“Take it off”), prompting the singer to tell them to shut the fuck up before suggesting a group sex session after the show. The exchange is suitably chaotic, followed by synths that sound like they haven’t quite moved on from 2008. It’s a little like college rock for people who haven’t quite made it to college yet. The crowd seems happy enough to stick around, even if the conversations occasionally threaten to drown out the band. They eventually play “My Nokia”, which, I suppose, makes them a classic indie rock band after all. ES
JEFF3
An epic score plays JEFF3 out in Rosenberg, a long venue with the stage at the far end from the door. The audience is made up of pockets of people scattered near and far, several of whom cheer as he takes his place between a DJ and keyboard player. This environment doesn’t play to the rapper’s bread and butter, emotional orchestral beats supporting storyteller lyricism which calls for the listener to watch and absorb. He does well to make the space his own in spite of this, swaggering confidently across the space that he has as he punctuates his words with smooth gestures. The show really comes together with tracks like “Varm” or “Kom 10” which get the crowd up front and dancing. As JEFF3 daps up an audience member, it really starts to feel like a night out and a party. JM
Fig Tape
Norwegians are famous for their dislike of small talk and their rebranding of pieces of bread as “open sandwiches.” Fitting the stereotype, Fig Tape mostly abstained from small talk, but instead the four piece band laid down a solid, tight, twelve-song-set of sounds and music that was both peppy indie rock, yet at the same time, had an aura of darkness and desperation to it. While they landed a few solid bangers as the set went on, what stood out was the guitarist’s impressive playing, and mediaeval wardrobe choices. JTS
Writers: MP- Mels Pampoulie, LJ- Larry Jaffee, YV- Yulia Vasileva, ST- Sérgio Temido, AP- Arcen Peterson, CR- Casey Ruff, NC- Nanna Collard, GLV- Giovanni Lo Vano, JM- Jacques Marseilles, ES- Einar Stef, EYM- Eva Yuki Mik, GFI- Guðni Freyr Ingvason, BC- Bart Cameron, JTS- Jón Trausti Sigurðarson
*Review updated to remove our editor’s overt hostility toward Tuborg beer and focus more on the musical act.