Review by Giddy Pillai
JFDR is one of the many musical projects of prodigious Icelandic artist Jófríður Ákadóttir. Jófríður’s resume is simply dazzling: she’s collaborated with Damien Rice, founded three bands, composed for numerous films and TV shows and released almost 20 albums and EPs – her latest, Museum, took out Album of the Year at last year’s Icelandic Music Awards. Bjork lists her as one of her inspirations. Despite her incredible output and 15 year music career, the Sydney Festival website describes her as ‘Iceland’s best kept secret’, and when I put my hand up to write this review I’d never heard of her. Now, as I sit down to write it, I’ve fallen in love with her music three times.
The very day before JFDR’s Sydney Festival debut, I serendipitously stumbled across Spectator – the hauntingly soothing lead single of Museum – in the middle of the latest Life Is Strange videogame (my current obsession). I was transfixed. It was such a delight to get to see a live performance the very next day, and the show – where Jófríður and her band held a packed room at ACO on the Pier in rapture for a blissful hour – firmly secured my fan status. As I write this and think back on the show, I have Museum on repeat, and I’m captivated once again, uncovering a new layer to love on each listen.
JFDR is Jófríður’s solo venture, but it’s a project that has ended up playing host to a wide range of collaborators. At the Sydney Festival show she was joined by her husband (and co-producer on Museum), composer and sound designer Josh Wilkinson, as well as Beth Condon on viola and Freya Schack-Arnott on cello. As a band they’re beautifully in sync and amount to more than the sum of their parts. Jófríður’s songs are spacious, intimate and laden with nuance. Her vocals are whisper-quiet but full of presence, and she pairs soaring, ethereal melodies with grounded lyrics that dive head-first into visceral human emotions and that feel very much of this world. It feels like an inner voice, quietly speaking difficult truths with feeling and precision. Wilkinson plays an Oto synth masterfully, adding rich atmospheric textures that give each song a clear sense of place. Condon’s viola sings in fluttering riffs that feel like a heart taking flight, and Schack-Arnott’s cello is resonant and steady, like the deep hum of a soul. One of my favourite things as an audience member is when I come away feeling like I’ve shared an intimate moment with the artist. JFDR forged this sense of connection and dialed the intensity up to 11. Standing in the crowd I felt as though each song transported me into a private moment, with a cinematic soundtrack woven through my thoughts. Judging by the pin drop silence throughout the show, I suspect I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.
The songs were stitched together with relaxed, spontaneous banter from Jófríður and Wilkinson. Both of them seem easy-going, down to earth and charismatic without pretence. They conjured up a relaxed energy that, despite the sticky Sydney summer weather, felt like a warm cup of tea under a blanket.
I’m so glad I got to see this beautiful show. It’s one that will stay with me, and a shining testament to the idea that even when the work you’re producing is of the highest standard, what people really remember at the end of the day is how you make them feel. I’m off to buy myself Museum on vinyl so I can relive the feeling over and over again.
Image Supplied