Squid, Faux Real and MADMADMAD are amongst the many acts we caught across three days at the world’s most northerly festival.

One of the first things I notice when upon arrival in Reykjavik for the annual Iceland Airwaves festival, is just how chilled out everything is. Nestled among a motley patchwork of quaint Scandinavian architecture, the country’s premium indoor tastemaker music event is a far cry from the overcrowded and often debauched festival experiences in the UK, welcoming attendees with a distinctly mystical and laid-back energy before the music has even begun. Since the very first festival was held in an airplane hangar back in 1999, Airwaves has grown significantly, sprawling across the city’s various venues that each ooze with uniqueness and character. Over the years, it has gained a stellar reputation for its multi-genre lineup showcasing up-and-coming artists from all over the world, many from the UK. The Icelandic music scene boasts a refreshing sense of community too, with an endless crossover of local musicians appearing in multiple groups over the weekend.

Wrapped up in every layer we could fit in our carry on, armed with £8 pints and determined to beat the infamous queues, we set out on a three-day musical excursion.

Thursday:

On Thursday we kick off proceedings mid-afternoon at 12 Tónar, a record shop situated in the heart of Skólavörðustígur, a colourful Main Street that leads up to the iconic Hallgrimskirkja church. 12 Tónar is one of the various Off Venue festival locations, creative hubs and local businesses hosting free shows (akin to the ‘Free Fringe’ shows at Edinburgh Festival on a much smaller scale). Assimilated amidst an attentive audience swaddled in hats and coats, we see two bands here: the first one is Virgin Orchestra, a supremely sludgy gothic Reykjavik three-piece experimental post-punk band uniformly kitted out in all black. Promptly following them are a highlight of day one, captivating synth rock newcomers Flesh Machine, a buzzy local act that dial up the energy with prismatic 80s nostalgia.

The next show takes place under the calming purple lights of Smekkleysa, a record shop founded by The Sugarcubes in 1986. Here SiGRÚN, an artist who has shared the stage with the likes of Sigur Rós and Björk, entoils our ears with glitchy, glacial ambiences of astral proportions. We catch the sweet and earnest KARÍTAS at the Iceland Airwaves Centre, a balladic-pop solo project from one of the members of all-female Icelandic hip-hop group (and 2022 festival critic highlight), Daughters of Reykjavik. By day, this venue looks very different, housing the characterful local flea market Kolaportið.

Onwards to the elongated, tall and cavernous Reykjavik Art Museum, we pile into a dense crowd for Yard Act. They introduce themselves as a band “from a little town called Leeds, in England”, and wade through a set laden with distinctly British soliloquies that lose some nuance with the language barrier. Drawing to a close, the audience takes some pepping up before their final song ‘Land Of The Blind’. Afterwards, we spill across the road to Gaukurrin, a dingy dive bar replete with vibes, for a gentle performance from Myrkvi. The venue becomes an instant favourite, and evidently many others that queue patiently outside in the blistering cold (plus there’s a heated smoking area inside, which in this weather is almost utopian).

Over at Iðnó, a picturesque hall overlooking lake Tjörnin, Glaswegian electronic artist Konx-Om-Pax’s electrifying and audiovisually immersive set fills us with rave nostalgia and peps the room up for a rapturous, Krombacher-fuelled boogie. The energy imbibed from this flurry of grooves carries us past midnight and back to Gaukurrin, where Glaswegian indie-punk newcomers Gallus aptly deafen a voracious audience with a sweaty, high octane performance. This will be their last gig before joining Irish rock band Therapy on tour at 6am the following morning, and I can’t help but hope they manage to get at least a few hours of sleep.

Friday:

The Friday buzz is electric, and the bars and venues in the city are effervescent with larger, more ebullient crowds. Things don’t really get going at Airwaves until later on in the evening, which leaves us ample time to simmer in the broth of our hangovers, before eventually ambling over to catch Arny Margret in the upscale foyer of the newly opened Hafnartorg Gallery. Revellers squeeze in to catch the Icelandic singer-songwriter’s bewitchingly delicate and pared back acoustic set, and Margret comes across so modest and endearing; she seems genuinely surprised that so many have showed up to see her.

Later on in the evening we stumble into a raucous parade heading up Laugavegur, that we later discover is celebrations for J-Day, an annual Danish tradition marking Tuborg’s release of their Christmas brew Julebryg. This sets the tone for the next act over at Gamla Bío, GRÓA, an Icelandic all-female punky-noisy-arty force to be reckoned with, making waves in the alternative scene here. Juxtaposed against the venue’s glaring opulence (this place once housed the Icelandic Opera), their percussion heavy set is playful and unfettered, enlivened with creative improvisations and instrumentation. One of them pulls out two recorders and plays them in fervent unison, which feels like both a nostalgic reclamation of childhood and a middle finger to the feeble stereotypes so often put on all-female bands. Towards the end, they chant ‘Do something about it you kúkur (shit)’, and run into the crowd to form the closest thing I see to a mosh all weekend. It’s a real hoot.

Fired up, we make our way over to the beautiful Frikirkjan Church. All the harsh edges are softened in here, by Nanna, ethereal-pop solo project from Of Monsters and Men’s Nanna Bryndís Hilmarsdóttir. Espousing her sound with Frikirkjan’s stunning acoustics, her pearlescent vocals etch over dulcet, puce-hued synth legatos. It’s packed out too, a captivated audience spilling out onto the floor and in between the church pews.

I attempt to catch Lime Garden back at Gaukurrin, but am swiftly defeated by the fierce queue that snakes out of the entrance. Luckily, there is a worthy alternative over at Iðnó: Faux Real beckons me. The Arndt brother’s set is a magnificent sight to behold; a sweaty, high energy spectacle, choreographed to perfection, that becomes even more impressive when they inform us that their flight got in at 4am this morning. Unified in all aspects and sporting five finger toe shoes, they gradually peel off layers of clothing and flounce in and out the crowd as the set frisks on. After three failed attempts at playing Airwaves in previous years, it feels like a real celebration for them. The festival gods decided we had to see Faux Real, and we conclude that they made an excellent choice.

Saturday:

After a leisurely afternoon mooch in the blustery centre, mostly spent gawping at tiny statues of elves and puffin magnets, a determination to squeeze ample vibe juice from the final day lures us over to Kex Hostel for Blondshell. To my bemusement, this venue used to be a biscuit factory that still retains a lot of its original character, one of many examples of the historical preservation and maintenance of grassroots venues in Reykjavik. Inside, Los Angeles’ indie rocker Sabrina Teitelbaum performs a short, distinctly dry and unembellished set to a buzzy hostel reception. Mostly poised and placid, Teitelbaum dazzles on set highlight, the penultimate ‘Salad’, showcasing her impressive upper vocal range.

Later on, after we nobly attempt to cobble together an incongruous meal with the remaining ingredients back at our Airbnb, Anjimile provides the perfect tonic for our post-gorge listlessness over at the IA Centre. The Boston based experimental folk act’s unostentatious performance features a selection of tracks from their recently released album ‘The King’, ending on its titular track, which is notably less epic than on record, but still enjoyable.

At this point in the evening, the obvious next move would be to go and see Tappi Tíkarras, the historical Icelandic punk band originally fronted by Bjork back in the 80s. However, due to smaller venue capacities and queuing systems, we heed the words of a local Airwaves veteran, advising that if we want to get in the Art Museum for Squid (which we very much do), we will need to sack off that plan and see Mugison instead, Iceland’s answer to Mumford and Sons. On the bill, Squid are sandwiched in between Mugison and Dadi Freyr, two acts that supposedly attract poncho-and-fedora clad ‘Sumarkona’ (directly translating to ‘summer women’) who will be reluctant to leave in between. The decision pays off, and miraculously we end up at the front for Squid. Finishing up the European leg of their tour, they say they aren’t used to performing such a short set (40 minutes), preferring to “long it out a bit”. This doesn’t stop them from raising the (already very high) roof, kicking straight off with the complex and momentous ‘Swing’, followed by a galvanising performance of ‘Undergrowth’. By the time they reach the forceful, towering breakdown of ‘Narrator’, I’ve lost my tiny mind.

Squid put on a spectacular show, but as I funnel out of the Art Museum I can’t help feeling that such a kinaesthetic post-punk spectacle would flourish in a much scuzzier, confining haunt like Gaukurrin. The final act that I catch here, Bad Vibrations’ MADMADMAD, are further testament to this theory. The London trio bludgeon Gaukurrin’s footloose crowd with the a high octane show, bursting with full-frontal percussion and funky slap bass. It’s a fitting end to a very special and magical weekend, and I leave feeling simultaneously exhausted, in desperate need of a cup of tea, and extremely grateful to have been able to attend one of the most unique events in the music calendar.