I saw Sigur Rós last night (thank you NTIOU$) at the United Palace Theater (quite possibly one of Manhattan's most beautiful buildings - see above and below). Although the concert was well and good enough (they aren't exactly the most throw-down-and-throw-your-hands-up-and-say-hell-yeah band ever), I was more taken with the inside of the theater.
Anyway, dinner before hand must have been an odd thing to overhear...since statements like these were made:
"Hoppípolla is the best."
"What about Olsen Olsen?"
"No....Saeglópur is my jaaaaaaam."
Tossing around those unknown and unknowable Icelandic words reminded me of an ancient story. In high school, I wrote a review of the (also-Icelandic) Sugarcubes' first album Life's Too Good (see far below...and yes, I know I'm old) for the school newspaper. After I submitted my article, I was approached by my journalism teacher with a smirk and a gotcha-wiggle in her step.
Since I had used the band members' names ( Björk Guðmundsdóttir, Einar Örn Benediktsson, Sigtryggur Baldursson, etc.), I was asked to serve up the album liner as proof of two things:
A.) I wasn't making their names up.
B.) I wasn't sniffing glue.
In retrospect, I see this story as proof of how inferior my primary education was. I mean...who doesn't know how wonderfully convoluted and nearly-vowel-free Icelandic names are.
That shit should have been forefront in my high school education.