As is known, absolute silence is impossible and even just trying to imagine it hurts my head. Even if you put yourself in room where noise from outside is cancelled out and you sit as still as possible there’s always going to be something audible: your heartbeat, the blood pumping around your body or maybe just the voice in your head saying “shhh, listen”.
In a pretty large venue in the middle of a bustling and congested city like Glasgow absolute silence is even less likely to suddenly become possible especially when said venue is proving alcohol to the people occupying it for the evening. However, when the three girls of Mountain Man were singing all could have been silent as their voices seemed to soar around the place and cancel out every other noise. Listening to their debut album Made The Harbour you might question like I did how effective songs that are so enchanting for their intimate feel could successfully transfer themselves in a venue bigger than the likes of a log cabin. But I’ll admit I was surprised how captivating and charming the songs still were.
What caught my attention most was how dynamic the songs seemed to become live: “Soft Skin” was sung with a sort of frustrated tone putting a little more drive behind a requesting line like “I’ve got soft skin/ Are you gonna let me in?”; “How’m I Doin” retained its friendly and jocular quality and with smirks and winks coming from the girls it just seemed to draw you in more and add that little intimate touch the venue took away; on their penultimate song their voices skipped about each other feverishly you could even have accused them of rocking out in some respects. My favourite rendition was that of album closer “River”. The bobbing backing rhythm is enough to love but the way Molly’s voice took in breath each time it almost sounded like a hi-hat being hit. Meanwhile Alexandra and Amelia’s voice delivered that chilly and charming vocal riff. With voices as good as these who needs any other instruments?
It’s probably quite evident to many that Jónsi is a bit odd – you only have to look at promotional shots for his current tour or anything else to do with his album Go. But seeing him live on stage it becomes apparent how awkward he is. He might be the front man to one of the most successful Icelandic bands but he’s far from any sort of conventional. He shyly arrives on stage playing an acoustic number with just one band member standing in the background playing a few repeated notes on a xylophone (it could well have been a glockenspiel but because of my view I’m unable to accurately say so I’ll likely refer to it as a xylophone for the duration of this review). Towards the end of the song he pauses, standing still and attentive ready to play on. His fingers are ready to pluck away the rhythm on his guitar and the audiences eyes are all set on him. The pause continues: it’s a good effect he’s creating here, really getting the best out of a musical rest. The pause goes on and I notice the venue is surprisingly silent; a consensus of hush has spread across the room. No drunken person shouting “Tornado” or even “Hoppípolla”. The pause goes on longer: everyone starts looking at each other with that “should we start clapping?” look on their face, feeling terribly uncomfortable, afraid to spoil the silence. Finally he continues the song for a final verse and then the crowd let’s out with cheers, yelps and whistles.
And I didn’t like this uncomfortable feeling Jónsi created. And I couldn’t help shake it for a good part of the gig. On his own or without an instrument Jónsi looked out of place like he was loitering and feeling guilty he wasn’t doing more. If anything he seemed to encapsulate that innocent, nervous and awkward small boy attitude that many pair him and his music with. Later on the set when the pace picked up and the band got to “Animal Arithmetic” he paced about the stage stuttering his delivery of vocals. When fan favourite “Tornado” came and he wasn’t (to my surprise) sitting at the piano his pauses at the final moments of the song when those last chords are played seemed unsure and not drawn out for effect.
But taking the set as a whole, this didn’t matter much as the show was really quite dazzling to watch and to listen to. The stage created by production company 59 Productions and Phil Eddoll really was a feast for the eyes. The videos projected on the screen behind Jónsi and his band were beautiful if not distracting. In particular the video of a wolf chasing a deer through snowy woodland scene while “Kolniður” built up made the release twice as effective and for a moment I even seemed to forget it was coming, the barrage of noise taking me aback when it hit. Even without animated videos playing or live footage of the band being projected onto the screen the band were still interesting to watch as. Many would rightfully talk about drummer Thorvaldur Thór Thorvaldsson being even better to watch than Jónsi and they could well argue this and win. The drumming which accentuated Jónsi’s songs and Nico Muhly’s arrangements on Go seemed to come alive. Even without microphones I would bet the percussion would overpower the sound of the other instruments and fill any venue. But even without percussion the players are still dazzling. On “Hengilás” the streaking of cello bows off the bars of the xylophone created undulating but warming tones as you saw the dust from the bow flicker about in the light.
As the set when on Jónsi definitely got more comfortable with his surroundings especially come his encore where, donning a huge colourful and feathery headdress, he pounced about the stage like a real rock and roll front man even knocking over his microphone stand. Yet his set still felt more organized than spontaneous which is a little surprising considering he’s a man known for drawing things out every so often. Along with that extended period of silence at the beginning of the set the only other indulgent moment came at the end of the initial set with “Grow Till Tall” when the band left him alone on stage with a number of effects pedals as his voice skipped and looped over and over. The noise became dissonant and clicked repeatedly like your ears popping over and over again before he cut it out without warning and left the stage. Perhaps he just didn’t want make us any more uncomfortable.
