I’m sitting in Keflavik airport waiting for my eight hour flight, both glad to be returning home but also a bit melancholy about another Airwaves coming to an end. After so many visits to Iceland I’m used to the realities of departure day – checking out of the hotel and having them store your bags, wandering the city for a bit with a coffee, eyes peeled for friends, then heading over to Lucky Records to say some goodbyes before the final walk of the trip, back to the hotel and the 45 minute ride to the airport. It almost goes by in a fog any more, the pattern imprinted into my brain like I was some kind of migratory bird, which in some ways perhaps I am given how many times I’ve done this.
On Saturday my friend Oscar put on a Scotland-Iceland exchange event at Lucky Records called Meet The Neighbors and featuring bands, beer, and, of course, some wee drams of whiskey (alas, no haggis). I stayed for a pair of artists – a solo acoustic set by Billy Kennedy of the Scottish band Haiver and Frightened Rabbit followed by a romp by Iceland’s own Flesh Machine. Kennedy confessed to being a bit nervous – according to him it was his first ever solo performance and in a small venue like Lucky the audience is only a few feet away. He was charming and funny between songs, including having to ask the crowd for the first line of one of tracks and taking a moment to answer a text from his mom. His lyrics were heartfelt paintings of people’s lives and relationships, and the entire performance was lovely. Flesh Machine gave us a full hour of retro indie fun, the five-piece crammed onto the small stage but still having a great time. They’ve gained quite the reputation over the last few years and I can see why.
Later in the evening I caught the tail end of a lovely ambient set by Bjarni Biering and Andrew Groves over at Space Odyssey before heading down to Loft to catch my friends of Revenge of Calculon, who once again got all the kids dancing to their fuzzy, funky, freaky beats. After as I stepped out into the heavy, cold drizzle, I considered just calling it a night. But luckily for me I didn’t, so I trekked down to Kolaport.
And there I had a religious experience.
Hear my testimony.
I witnessed the birth of a new party band god. Emerging from the primordial dampness of a Saturday night, rising out of the volcanic rock and concrete. Transforming half of a building that serves as the local flea market into a temple. Converting all those who came forth, who will now, like me, evangelize their name.
I speak of our lords and lordess, our musical saviors, Inspector Spacetime.
A sort of blend of four-on-the-floor with a dollop of gabber energy, Inspector Spacetime brought the dance beats we craved. They brought incredible energy, bouncing around the stage and quickly sweating through, well, everything. And the crowd ate it up. I could feel the joy radiating from the entire audience – even those who were initially unsure eventually found their way. It was like a religious revival, a revelation, a conversion, a… well, you get my drift. For years I’ve been searching for another group that could even approach the FM Belfast live experience, and Inspector Spacetime are that group. All hail our new overlords.
So now I was tired and sweaty, my mind swimming as the endorphin rush started to wind down, so it seemed like the perfect time to end my festival on a high note. But… then my friend Paul and his group arrived and Emma asked if I’d ever seen the next band, Mandy, Indiana before. I confessed I hadn’t. She smiled. “I think this is gonna be up your alley.” And… holy Inspector Spacetime (my new saviors…) did Mandy, Indiana crank that endorphin valve back open full blast, flooding me with industrial beats, a guitarist playing his instrument with his teeth, and a French female singer who tore our faces off. It’s not dance music in a traditional sense, but it most definitely is dance music. Twice singer Valentine Caulfield came off the stage and into the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea when faced with her crackling energy before collapsing back onto her into a swirling dancing mass. To have your mind blown unexpectedly with back-to-back bands is the rarest of experiences.
And at that point I was fully spent. I walked across the street on aching feet for one last hotdog and then strolled slowly through the damp, cold evening, relishing the feeling of the city on my face, my ears still ringing and a smile still on my face.
And that, my friends, is all she wrote. My 13th Iceland Airwaves in the books. I’m not sure if I’ll be back next year (does anyone really ever know what they’ll do next year?), but Airwaves gave me a strong enough dose again in 2024 to keep me hooked, chasing the musical dragon, so we’ll just have to wait and see…