Ostensibly this is a getting-ready-to-go-out number but it’s driving my girlfriend to distraction that – her grasp of conversational Icelandic not being what it could be – she is unable to sing along.
For all we know, singer Agnes could be espousing the joys of communal geothermal bathing, overpriced imports and cold, desolate moonscapes in High-Elven – albeit quickfire over a backdrop of syrupy house.
Befitting a synth band that calls itself Sugar and hails from a bizarro cultural outpost of Scandanavia, there is a crisp, playful sound and sophisticated approach to pop melody at work throughout Sykur’s oeuvre (bringing Royksopp’s Melody a.m. to mind), with just enough in the way of bullish beats to keep the boys happy.
‘Reykjavik’ is probably an apposite if somewhat overdue salute to a city with a reputation for wallet-crippling clubland hedonism, but we see it’s been picked up by the Icelandic tourist board, so maybe it is all about geysers and Þorramatur. All V has gleaned is that the city “wakes me up”.
Best get that Lambrini on ice: Reykjavik