Roll over Sigur Ros,
and tell Bjork the news…
By Fred Mills
Can’t tell your Icelandic exports from your, er, Icelandic
exports? Guess what? Neither can we! They all sing in this weird,
unintelligible dialect and compose ethereal, avant-ish music (nobody from Iceland rocks). Plus, they all seem to have
similar names, which compounds the branding issues. Don’t even ask us about
trying to insert the myriad symbols that are supposed to go over the vowels in
Case in point: Olafur Arnalds, and Olof Arnalds, each with
recent releases gaining Stateside attention. One of ‘em is a guy, and the other’s
a gal, and we have reviews of both of them today at BLURT so you can update
your musical scorecards, so follow the links below.
Bottom line: if you recently got a secret thrill when you
saw the headline for our Jim Jones Revue story, only to get a low-grade bummer
when you started reading and learned it wasn’t about the cult leader (Guyana;
Koolaid; etc.) Jim Jones, this note’s for you, bubba!