Listen Carefully: Bára Gísladóttir & Skúli Sverrisson's Collaborative Bass Odyssey

Amidst the noise and heat of KEX Hostel in the middle of a bustling Airwaves afternoon, Bára Gísaladóttir and Skúli Sverrisson and took their seats for their first ever concert together.

After a brief introduction from KEXPs’ Kevin Cole, they started to play, each barely glancing at the other. As the sound filled the room, the air seemed to freeze. Skúli’s face was still and concentrated; his fingers flickered lightly over his six-stringed bass, issuing forth a surprising noise like a faraway orchestra echoing through a large, watery space. Moments later, Bára started gently bowing her double bass, staring into the distance as she alternately muted, held, pressed and released the strings, creating a quite startling sound—a dusty, distressed, incomplete note, as if the strings were moaning. The background conversation in the room melted away and the audience leaned in closer, suddenly transfixed by what was unfolding.

“That’s great to hear,” says Bára, later, her expressive eyes open wide. “It was our first ever concert together and it was a hard show to play. It was loud when we arrived, and people were in the Airwaves mood, drinking and chilling just metres from the stage. We had to be a bit aggressive to be heard—it was very scary. But I was very surprised when I heard it. I don’t understand how they isolated the sound—they managed to keep the very fine essence of the detail. It didn’t become narrow in quality.”

Instant connection

hese two musicians should, in theory, contrast sharply. Skúli is a famed master collaborator with a gently immersive and atmospheric signature sound. Bára is rougher with her instrument, alternately plucking, grabbing, and dragging the bow over the strings in a style that’s in turn delicate, violent, and willfully amusical. But when the two play together, their distinctive approaches overlap, melding and growing into something greater than the sum of its parts, and joining organically and seamlessly into a mesmerising whole.

They first came into contact when Bára, during her academic studies in Milan, became frustrated with the lack of a performance element in her course. In search of an outlet, she enquired about holding a concert at the downtown Reykjavík venue Mengi, of which Skúli is one of the founders. 

He was immediately captivated by Bára’s music. “There’s an incredible discipline and precision in her work,” he says. “And, at the other end, a sense of complete freedom—a leap of faith, somehow. And finding that balance is quite rare.”

Skúli followed Bára’s progress as she went about her studies, releasing a series of solo records and performing in various ensembles along the way. “We started talking about doing something together,” he says, “and ended up finally coming to the studio in Iðnó. We just set up the microphones and started playing.”

Shimmering moment

The two realised immediately that they were onto something special. “It was a really good feeling,” says Bára. “It was the feeling of something being right. I think our approach is quite similar, especially in the way of listening. It’s a common thread in our work—extreme listening, and the music comes from that. It starts in the ears, before anywhere else.”

This is an excerpt of a feature published by The Reykjavík Grapevine. You can read the whole feature here.

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