I don’t know where my fascination with Iceland came from. Maybe I could blame it on Björk, on how, early on, I desperately wanted to see the country she grew up in; however that wasn’t all. Later, there was something that attracted me to glaciers, to beautiful still water and long, light summer nights. I found the glaciers in Norway, but I never made it to Iceland – at least not yet.
The striking thing about Bon Iver‘s Holocene video is how beautifully positive it is; as the scenes unravel there is a sense of levity and relief. Maybe it was always there somewhere, in the trembling saxophone and the parade drums, which now makes me draw an invisible line from this to Sigur Rós‘ Glósóli, but I have to say that I missed it. I missed it, because there is something still unbearably nostalgic about Vernon’s lyrics, like a Sword of Damocles hanging over his head, the ever-present, impending doom of constant heartbreak, no matter how light and eerie the strings and winds make the listener feel.
you fucked it friend, it’s on its head, it struck the street
you’re in Milwaukee, off your feet
and at once I knew I was not magnificent
strayed above the highway aisle