Sindri Mar Sigfusson, aka Sin Fang Bous (or Sin Fang Blues Brothers as he asked us to call him) looks like an even more baby-faced Beck and is just as cuddly. It’s a rare occasion that I check out a support act as I hate waiting around for the main act to come on (why do they insist on taking so long?), but Sing Fang Bous’ warm and fuzzy sounds were a pleasant welcome to the friendly space of the Black Cat. Low-key retro pop was the order of the day, and, while it wasn’t revolutionary, it was certainly enjoyable, with a refreshingly sparse and pure sound — no unnecessary quirks. Elements ranged from folky acoustic guitar with handclaps to sea shantyish organ sounds, the best tunes being the simpler ones. He ended with “Life,” a song in the epic-indie style, which I found the least engaging. The milder stuff was better, something I’d happily settle down with now that winter approaches and the nights get darker.
In contrast to the simpler pleasures of Sigfusson, Múm are a multi-instrumental band of multi-instrumentalists, with a rotating string and guitar section, at least three dedicated singers, as well as bass, organ, trumpet, laptop, kazoos, mouth-organ, harmonica, and drummer, and some other stuff I don’t know the name of. They were suitably foreign, all wide eyes, cute phrases and smiles, funny clothes and haircuts, just the kind of thing an indie crowd laps up (though perhaps it wasn’t part of the act? Maybe their clothes and haircuts reflect the collapse of the Icelandic economy?). I went in to the show having heard some of the older stuff and expected some ethereal ambient female-led electronica with some good glitchy beats, a bit Sigor Ros, a bit Bjork. What I ended up hearing was a little more down to earth and more along quirky indie lines, apparently a reflection of where the band is now, which is fair enough.
They started out very soothingly, to the point where I began to wonder if their choir-like sound worked well in a space like the Black Cat, with it’s low ceiling and basement vibe (though it’s actually on the top floor). Soft electric slide guitar and mournful trumpet carried on the warm tones from Sin Fang Bous on “If I Were a Fish.” Other early songs made use of the strings and voices supplied by Hildur Guðnadóttir and Sigurlaug Gisladottir and the sound was quite experimental, with good use of the trumpet in particular. Gunnar Örn Tynes seemed to play the role of band leader and whipped out his mouth organ fairly often. He looked faintly ridiculous, but the toy-like sound fitted in well with the overall calming mood of the songs.
Later on things were more uptempo, Múm’s amazing rhythm section working as well as a drum machine to get people’s feet moving. Playground 8-bit beats were layered with shimmery guitar; a cowbell was heard while Guðnadóttir and Gisladottir added theatrical (and somewhat overemphasised) yelps; whale-like bass backed up what sounded like a heavy rock christmas carol. The Orb-like dub and skittery beats of “A Little Bit, Sometimes” were particularly impressive, the overlayed mouth-organ bringing Red Snapper to mind. The electronic side of Múm is definitely impressive, but sadly there somewhat twee indie-rock side is less so — kazoo and harmonica orchestras are amusing, but an extended jam that seemed to last twenty minutes started to grate. Some of the latter dynamics were also predictable — loud-quiet, female-male, fast-slow. It’ll get most of the crowd going but it’s not particularly clever. Having said that “Sing Along” was scary and unhinged which seemed very apt for some reason. Live bird whistles were employed before the song vapourised into a rock lullaby echoing from the 50′s. The encore made up for the somewhat lagging final third of the show. “Green Grass of Tunnel” has that glacial vibe I was looking forward to, and the band stretch it out live into something far more filmic, with elements of the Cocteau Twins and (sorry) Bjork, and some glorious floor-shaking bass.
A bit of a mixed bag then, but something to satisfy most indie-rock fans and even some electronica ones, if they don’t mind their beats a little buried under the avant-garde.
