Christmas music for summer islands5/20/2023 ![]() This article will highlight the wide variety of festivals and events of all kinds that happen across the country. There are also more prominent festivals in Iceland that contribute to the country’s exciting cultural landscape. Reykjavik festivals and events can range from intimate music gigs with local and international performers to stand-up comedy gigs, symphonic orchestra performances, theatre productions, gallery openings, special movie screenings, cabaret nights, and drag-queen shows. We also have a list of weekly events and popular venues to look up below. We’ll help you figure out what’s happening in Iceland and when. So much so it can be hard to keep track of everything that's happening in this bustling city.ĭon’t worry. For now, we'll be gracious and wait for a second album before making plans to wash our hair the next time Christmas Island comes calling.There are even various weekly events in the capital city, Reykjavik. However, if over time Blackout Summer proves to be little more than a themeless accumulation of lonely complaints, we've got a serious problem. ![]() It's a neat little package, even if the music itself is so stubbornly unvaried. Ronettes-influenced slow burner "My Baby" closes things out, as girl-leaves-boy (or disputes existence of boy) and fuck-everything thoughts like, "It's like you're nonexistent" permeate the air, confirming what everyone but our protagonist saw coming. ![]() If any of this is deliberate, it works extremely well, though obviously not subtly. ![]() This eventually brings us to "Weird You Out", an unsettling climax that's as sadsack as it is nutjob, a hopeless final plea that hinges on the very creepy promise, "I'll see you at 10." Played as both a timid first-date confirmation and a chilly threat at the same time, it affords some much needed contextual support for Blackout Summer you won't remember the chorus, but hopefully you remember feeling sorry for someone, maybe even yourself. It's especially apparent when wedged snugly up against "It's True", a less-nerdy version of "Dinosaurs" that's such a truly unbecoming song, so full of self-pity and doubt ("I don't know what the hell I'm doing, I'm no good at being human") that it's hard not to see the two sides of the typical adolescent experience coexist: one shrouded in pimpled vices, the other embarrassingly earnest. Take "Dinosaurs", by all accounts a mercilessly dumb goof that proudly features lines like, "I can't believe you ever existed, I'm really bummed out that I missed it." But with Island's slouch-shouldered delivery of lines like, "I wish I could take a time machine, to a time before human beings," the song transforms into a simple confession of feeling out of place. And even while the music itself might be too categorical or flat (the band never dares delineate from their brand of frayed, play-it-loose garage-pop), a curious and compelling little study in teenage misanthropy emerges, nicely defining a complex hormonal state and the dunderheaded frustration that accompanies. The band itself was actually formed after Island and now-drummer Lucy Wehryl started dating, which is kind of surprising, seeing as most of the songs here sound like the hopeless brooding of a frustrated virgin- if that shit flew with most girls, 80% of existing pop songs would vanish instantaneously. It's this same sort of dichotomy that characterizes most of Blackout Summer: The sunniest numbers are usually about rejection, depression, or the inevitability of rejection and depression (the cheery "Doin' Swell" boasts the lyric, "He hung his head and cried, he hung his head and died") and the flatter, murkier numbers are usually the hard-line love song laments ("I Don't Care", a flip of the Ramones' song of the same name, is actually a lap-dog fantasy- "I don't care what you wanna do. Part of the burgeoning San Diego lo-fi scene that's home to seedy droners like Crocodiles and garage revivalists like the Soft Pack, three-pieced Christmas Island are the most obvious candidate for a middle-ground house band of the movement, their amateurish ambling rendered more charming with every heartbroken admission, typically undercut by a radiant guitar lick or a breezy little groove.
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