Gardening with the Icelandic Core

Somewhere beyond the land of Slowcore, Tweecore, Noisecore and Bleepycore lives múm (originally from Iceland). There are seven of them - three women and four guys. They seek inspiration in computers as well as traditional musical instruments, which they all play well. They harmonise like happy Smurfs and dance maniacally to songs nobody else can dance to.

Kevin, who happens to be on their mailing list, found out weeks ago about tonight's gig at the Museum of Garden History (an old church facing the House of Parliament, with barely enough space for a hundred people, and walls decorated with old shovels). We joined the crowd of lean blondes and elegantly messy students on the church's courtyard, just before the doors opened. An orderly line up was formed and we were soon inside, close to the stage and the fatal sound speakers.

Songs from múm's new album, go go smear the poison ivy, made me think of Rosemary's Baby, shards of my beer bottle in the face of the girl behind me, Satan our Lord levitating above the crowd then flying through the glass windows, ABBA, and the already-above-mentioned-Smurfs. Just as the eardrums' drilling was surpassing my psychotic episode limits, the band performed their last song and said their goodbyes.

They were excellent, in a there-is-nobody-out-there-like-them kind of way. múm are going their own merry way, happy for us to tag along, but not too bothered if we fall by the wayside (kind of like one of their compatriots, Björk). It's great to know that some music is still being made with its own internal logic, its unique melodies, its complete disregard for what's fashionable or marketable.