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Q's Airwaves Festival 2010

It's just gone quarter past four on a Saturday afternoon and despite the temperature being roughly five degrees about freezing, a man wearing only a pair of Speedos, sunglasses, an unzipped bright orange puffa jacket and a large fur hat is dancing on the edge of a large outdoor lagoon.

Housing six million steaming litres of sea water pumped up from 2000 meters below the earth's surface and nestled within a field of volcanic rock, Iceland's Blue Lagoon spa plays host once a year to Iceland Airwaves Festival's post-Friday night "Chill". As a DJ by the water's edge blasts out hi-NRG house music, several hundred, bleary-eyed festival goers are splashing around attempting to dance while trying to keep the milky, mineral rich waters from landing in their drinks. It's fairly safe to say this a scene you would be unlikely to come across when visiting V Festival.

Since its inauspicious beginnings in an aircraft hanger at Reykjavik airport in 1999, Airwaves Festival has grown to become one of Europe's best music showcases. Taking place in number of small venues dotted across the city, it's a Scandinavian equivalent of The Camden Crawl for the more cosmopolitan gig goer if you will.

As with most Scandinavian city breaks, however, the cost can act as a deterrent. Although following the financial crisis the price of alcohol isn't so eye-wateringly high and since the introduction of low-budget flights it is now easy and -relatively - cheap to fly to Reykjavik, although the festival could perhaps still do with one or two star names (and some form of low-budget lager) to entice more people over.

In amongst local artists - former Gus Gus singer Hafdis Huld, FM Belfast, Olafur Arnalds (not to be confused with fellow Icelander Olof Arnalds) and the wonderfully named Rabbi Bananas - this year boasts a number of names more recognised in the UK, including Robyn, Hercules & Love Affair, Everything Everything, Tunng, Bombay Bicycle Club and Hurts.

Performing in the atrium of the capital's Art Museum, Everything Everything overcome the whims of a temperamental sound system to deliver an absolute knockout. Elastic basslines, art rock jerkiness and Jonathan Everything's slick falsetto - it's like watching Talking Heads tackling Wham!'s greatest hits.

Hurts, meanwhile, prove that immaculate tailoring is no substitute for decent tunes, to the bar over the road then. Unfortunately, the option of Silver Columns' shouty two step - delivered by men who look old enough to know better - isn't much of an improvement, as one punter wisely notes, "if the guys on stage are having it more than the audience you know you're in trouble."

Thankfully hotly tipped DJ/producer and now singer James Blake proves to be one of the festival highlights. This being a DJ set, we don't get his spine tingling rendition of Feist's Limit To Your Love, what we do get is slinky melding of chilling dubstep, skittering electronics and distorted versions of tunes by Outkast and Destiny's Child. It's a corker, despite a travelling Brit standing at the front of the stage bellowing "come on you c*nt" through the first half of the set. Oh how the heart swells with national pride.

Fast forward to Saturday night and Swedish boy-girl duo JJ are enchanting. Like a winsome XX, they play before a video screen showing a spliced up film featuring swimming elephants, whales and - best of all - the video for Dexys Midnight Runners' overlooked masterpiece This Is What She's Like.

It segues perfectly into Mount Kimble slo-mo electronica before the bozo techno pop of Apparat Organ Quartet brings collective smiles. There's a treat for fans of Spacemen 3 too, San Diego duo Crocodiles condense the '80s drone rockers entire output into concise, three and a half minute indie rock tunes. It's infinitely more preferable to Retro Stefson. There might be a reason Scandanavian's don't normally tackle the carnival emulating sounds of Latin American Samba - on tonight's evidence they're rubbish at it.

Things start to wind down by Sunday night, Dan Deacon still manages to kick up a racket though, it's not a patch on the bizarre, unnamed baggy revivalists Q stumbles across during the wee hours playing in the corner of Damon Albarn's bar. Totally mega, although, unfortunately, we never got round to seeing Rabbi Bananas. Maybe next year.

Photos: Iceland Airwaves 2010 [Flickr]

Words: Chris Catchpole.
Picture: Hurts at The Arts Museum by Oskar Hallgrimsson.

With thanks to: Iceland Express

8:13 PM | 04/11/2010