Múm + Slowblow

It seemed as if all of bespectacled-Von-Dutch-wearing-Williamsburg, with the requisite asymmetrically coiffed girlfriend in tow, made it to the Bowery Ballroom for the final date of Múm’s U.S. tour in support of their third album, Summer Make Good. This latest offering provided more of the sweeping, sometimes heartbreaking balladry that Múm has come to be known for. Like many of their Icelandic contemporaries (Björk, Sigur Rós), their nationality tends to denote an otherworldly, mystical quality to their music. As a friend of mine has put it, “There must be something in the water over there.” Fellow Icelanders Slowblow warmed the stage with their rich, folkish sound. They appeared a little bored, perhaps even sedated, by their own music, which did little to enthuse concert goers seemingly more intrigued by the presence of two members of Múm lending a hand on various instruments. When Múm took the stage, half of Slowblow was present to return the favor. Seeing Múm play live is a much more intense experience than their gentle, often lilting music might suggest. Their energy radiated throughout the audience as they opened with “Weeping Rock, Rock”, quickly earning the attention of the once listless and chattering Monday night crowd. Their set was largely comprised of songs from their most recent album, but fans were not denied favorites like “Grass Green of Tunnel” (from Finally We Are No One) and were even pleasantly surprised with “On the Old Mountain Radio” (from the Please Smile My Noise Bleed EP). The range of the emotion outpoured was equally intriguing. At one point four people would be engaged in a call and answer with tinkering bells and later everyone would work themselves up to a frenzy with a percussion solo, all aspects which made their performance seem equally improvised and orchestrated. Another benefit to seeing Múm perform live is the opportunity to see their peculiar gadgets and instruments. They utilize so many that there were no less than five people on stage at a time and rarely did one person remain on the same instrument for more than one song. Lead vocalist Kristín Anna Valtysdóttir shifted from accordion to bass to banjo to musical saw to melodeon to glockenspiel and then back to accordion, all the while contributing her elfin vocals. This kind of playful ingenuity abounded as the band showcased their experimental techniques: a drumstick used as a makeshift slide for the guitar, a towel waved around in the air furiously to make a sort of whooping noise, a harmonica being played into a microphone with very heavy reverb, and percussion instruments in the form of upside-down pots and ceramic bowls. One of the tracks off of Summer Make Good is titled “The Island of Children’s Children”, most likely in reference to their homeland, and indeed their collective mannerisms seemed to be permeated with a sweetly childish awkwardness. Though they are all in their twenties, Valtysdóttir embodied this quality the most. She danced a girlish shuffle with every instrument she played and ended each song with a polite curtsy. At the beginning of the first encore, she wrapped something up into a bag the size of a quarter and timidly offered it to anyone in the audience who might have had a birthday that night. She repeated herself a few times before anyone could decipher what she was saying and when someone finally comprehended the gesture and raised his hand, she laughed and said “you are lying” and put the bag on top of a keyboard stand. She was a good enough sport to toss it out at the end of the show but the contents of the bag remain a mystery. Was it was a pinch of soil from their native Iceland? A collection of gently used guitar picks? Or perhaps an elixir for eternal youth imported directly from the island of children’s children? In fact, the only things that interfered with their performance were the technical difficulties that seemed to plague them throughout the evening. If a microphone wasn’t fading in and out or screeching unintentionally, something else would be amiss and pleading looks were exchanged between the band and the offstage sound engineer until a guitar tech rushed up to fix the problem in the middle of the song. While playing “Green Grass of Tunnel” during the second encore, Valtysdóttir was abruptly cut off at the end of the song. Visibly frustrated, she muttered a few a capella “blah blah blah’s” before running offstage for good, and only three musicians remained onstage long enough to join hands and take a formal bow. However, the technical mishaps didn’t even come close to breaking the airy spell that Múm had cast over the audience, which had been so fixated upon them that it took a few moments before anyone registered that they had finally departed. The ship of faeries may have sailed but left everyone with such a feeling of lightness that we floated out of the Ballroom content, as if we had just been let in on one of their secrets.