Mugison
Mugiboogie
Ipecac Records
By Jose Fritz
On July 28th I issued an ultimatum to Eavvon O'Neal:
“Mugison will be releasing a new album, Mugiboogie, August 19th on Ipecac Records. Jose Fritz has officially called dibs. If anyone, even Eavvon O'Neal attempts to poach it, Jose will hand out a beating.”
Eavvon bowed to my alpha-geek status among music critics for I am mighty. The review was mine. The record delivered a personal victory for me and one for his fans. Iceland, for all its westernized, telecom-connected hipness, is still an island economically powered by codfish. They have thin topsoil, harsh winters, and rough seas and salty food. But they have Mugison.
Örn Elías Guðmundsson a.k.a. Mugison brings with him all the eccentric instrumentation of his album Monkey Music, but the sparseness is less dark in application. Songs like “I need you” are in the past, buried in the back forty with his ex-girlfriends. He still knows how to dress down a dark song down to the bones but instead of musing on it, he writes an honest-to-goodness god-damned ballad, “Sweetest Melody.”
Americans know so little of Icelandic rock. We know Bjork, Sigur Ros and maybe just maybe we know Botnledja. It leaves a great and vast empty fjord. Mugison toured in 2006 with Queens of the Stone Age and the effect that had is more than evident. The new album is rife with thick bottomed guitars and crunchy bass. Some songs, like “Two Thumb Sucking Son of a Boyo,” are outright metal.
It’s dangerous to strip down your songs. Without distraction, misdirection, and novelty, there is no way for any weakness in a song to escape detection. Production and adornment can be used to mask shortcomings. Songs like “Pathetic Anthem” are simple and unadorned, while they reveal strength and a surprising amount of restraint for a young songwriter.
For years now I’ve been wooed by the legend of Mugison. Each new album comes bonded to a beautiful flowery lie about his origin, and about the genus of the album. There is a remote, rural fishing village. There is a laptop stolen from a philosophy student. There was the one time he shit his pants onstage. There was a record that took three years to record. Maybe they’re all lies, maybe they’re all true, but the story is great. I want to believe it so bad. I want to think that guy can win three Icelandic music awards. I want to believe he lives in the tiny town of Sudavik with a tiny studio in the basement and doesn’t care. I really do. Don’t you?
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