Iceland Airwaves
Songbyrd, Washington DC, April 23, 2026
I've been fortunate enough to attend the free Icelandic shows in Washington for several years now; it’s been something of a cultural soft-power export from the Icelandic embassy for awhile, and the shows have been periodically startling (GROÁ’s feminist punk) and even star-making (Laufey's utterly poised piano-pop, a year before she became the cultural phenomenon she now is). And of course, there’s always the small chance that your raffle ticket is drawn and you win a free vacation in Iceland. (I have yet to do so.)
This year, the headliner was
Inspector Spacetime, with support from someone or something called Róshildur. And of course there was the now-typical raffles for Icelandic goodie bags and a DJ whose sign warns that he plays only Icelandic music, even when told not to.
Róshildur, to me, was a revelation. Her official bio reads, “Róshildur is the musical project of Icelandic-Danish producer, songwriter, and performer Anna Róshildur. Her music blends intimacy and scale, exploring companionship, doubt, and quiet emotional tension through carefully crafted lyrics.”
This is accurate if incomplete. First off, Róshildur does sing entirely in Icelandic, so the impact of her lyrics is likely lost on the American audience. Secondly, and more pressingly, the bio omits the key method of her singing and presentation: Anna Róshildur is basically a loops and vocals artist, whose ethereal sing-songy vocals are frequently looped back over themselves, with thumping unsettling beats intruding over the sweetly murmured Icelandic lyrics. It reminded me of what could happen if spare Tricky beats from early Bristol trip-hop were superimposed on a Julianna Barwick set. One real winner was “Samferða,” which she described as being about an Icelandic term of two or more people agreeing to travel to the same place together, for mutual safety and reassurance as well as companionship. And she did a song about a dangerous Icelandic bird, “Kría,” and it’s another stunner, especially because she switches mics between one that is run through heavily processed and electronic loops to another that shares her vocals in their natural sweetness and warmth.
And she was both delightful and personable; I spoke with her a few minutes after her set and she was exceedingly gracious and eager for the release of her upcoming full-length album; her releases so far are all singles or EPs in digital format only. Anyway, a strong endorsement.
By contrast, Inspector Spacetime was an utterly, joyously, inanely silly dance pop band. Indeed, Inspector Spacetime might be the answer to a question no one bothered to ask. What if Black Eyed Peas were … Icelandic? I know, no one asked.
Every Inspector Spacetime song included shouted choruses, ineptly enthusiastic rapping, dance music exhortations, and three extremely Scandinavian people (two guys; one woman) doing their best to recreate a chaotic drunken disco scene in a quiet Thursday night in front of the Icelandic diplomatic corps. I won’t deny, some of the songs were genuinely, dumbly hooky in the way of Icona Pop’s “I Love It” or the hits of Ke$ha on the early 2000s. ״Party at My House” gives the subject matter away with the title. This isn’t going to be Nick Drake. Not everything was deliberately imbecilic; they had a track with a chorus “What’s your pleasure / more pressure” that was genuinely well-crafted.
Not surprisingly none of these setlists appear to be online.
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 04/25/2026 05:45AM by zwirnm.
