Music / Reviews
Review: Solstafir, Exchange
A non-boring Sigur Ros without the ghastly hipster appeal? It’s a fairly glib comparison, but Reykjavik quartet Solstafir (it means ‘crepuscular rays’, apparently) are notoriously difficult to categorise. In common with many of the world’s most interesting and creative bands, their roots are in extreme metal. But just like Opeth, Ulver and Anathema, they’ve taken their original fans with them as they embark on an imaginative musical journey into what those who make this shit up like to describe as ‘atmospheric post-metal’, though ‘progressive rock’ also does the job more than adequately.
Clad in cowboy hats, boots and waistcoats, they look as though they’re setting out to make an unlikely tundra western or perform as a Lynyrd Skynyrd tribute act. But then that strangely beautiful and hypnotic music starts. You don’t get much change out of 10 minutes with the average Solstafir song, and while it’s a shame they have to rely on backing tapes for the piano and keyboards, Lagnaetti quickly weaves its haunting, eerie spell. The title track from new album Otta, meanwhile, features possibly the only Gibson Flying V and banjo combination in rock history. Aoalbjorn Tryggvason’s distinctively melancholic keening vocals are as evocative as the music, and he invites us to be as quiet as we possibly can for the delicate intro to Rismal. “I know you probably don’t understand our lyrics,” he quips, “but I hope you can feel them.”
Much of the set is drawn from Otta and its equally outstanding immediate predecessor, Svartir Sandar, on which Solstafir distilled their deceptively simple widescreen trance-rock, interwoven with dark and weird melodies. Genuinely surprised at the size of the turn-out, they don’t bother leaving the Exchange’s tiddly stage before the epic encore of Fjara and Goddess of the Ages. The well-earned rapturous reception suggests they’ll be back to play bigger venues very soon.
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