It has been an exciting, tiring and, at the same time, very poignant 10 days. On Thursday last week (24 October) came the Wardruna concert in London, which I had impatiently awaited for several months since it was first announced (I had booked my ticket immediately!) It was marvellous to experience the frisson of anticipation more usually associated with small children on the eve of Yule. Leaving nothing to chance, I packed my overnight gear carefully and put all the necessary tokens – train tickets, hotel reservation and concert ticket – into an envelope before finally managing to get off to sleep around 2 o’ clock in the morning.
On arrival in London, and before meeting up with my friends for a pre-concert noggin, I wandered fairly randomly through the borough of Westminster, marvelling at the quaint old buildings and oases of calm that still survive amid the nerve-jangling tumult of present-day London.
At around 6 in the evening, I met up with my Rune Gild friends and about an hour later we made our way to the Queen Elizabeth Hall, where the foyer was fairly packed with characters sporting Thor hammers, tattoos and a variety of T-shirts on Runic themes. We of the Gild stood out, if anything, by the sobriety of our attire… but then, sometimes, less is more.
Because the previously scheduled warm-up act had been cancelled due to illness, the main performance was preceded by an Irish duo – I wish I could remember the name, if only to studiously avoid them in future. Under a blue light, dressed in jeans, white shirts, dark ties and the kind of balaclava recently favoured by the Provisional IRA, they made a lot of post-industrial noise at a volume that nearly made one’s ears bleed. I waited, with growing impatience, for their actual music to begin but the cacophony went on… and on. After 15 minutes of this torture, a sizeable part of the audience had realised the emperor truly had no clothes and, like them, I voted with my feet and headed for the bar.
Because the previously scheduled warm-up act had been cancelled due to illness, the main performance was preceded by an Irish duo – I wish I could remember the name, if only to studiously avoid them in future. Under a blue light, dressed in jeans, white shirts, dark ties and the kind of balaclava recently favoured by the Provisional IRA, they made a lot of post-industrial noise at a volume that nearly made one’s ears bleed. I waited, with growing impatience, for their actual music to begin but the cacophony went on… and on. After 15 minutes of this torture, a sizeable part of the audience had realised the emperor truly had no clothes and, like them, I voted with my feet and headed for the bar.
The main Wardruna act began at 8.30 and this time we were not disappointed. The first song, from their ‘Yggdrasil’ album, was ‘AnsuR’ – my favourite – and Einar Selvik yelled the opening galdur with appropriate abandon before the entire band chanted magical formula GIBU AUJA, followed by an instrumental performance designed to evoke the great, old gods of the Nordic pantheon. This was succeeded by several numbers from the ‘Gap Var Ginnunga’ album until they returned to their more upbeat recent compositions, by which time I was wishing that everyone was standing, rather than seated, so that we could dance.
Wardruna employ a variety of traditional instruments such as goat’s horns, Norwegian fiddles, the jaw’s harp and rattles, all of which combine to create a raw, primitive effect that calls to the ancestral blood pumping through one’s veins. The real star of the show for vocal effect, in my opinion, was Lindy Fay Hella; it was astounding to hear the volume of expansive, open-throat singing that can come from such a slight frame, especially in the number ‘Bjarkan’.
The performance ended with ‘Helvegen’ – roads to Hel – which always brings a big lump to my throat these days, for reasons that will become clear in my next blog entry.
Who will sing me,
in the deathsleep sweep me,
on the road to Hel,
when the tracks I tread
are so cold, so cold?
…..
When you stand at the gates of Hel
and you have to tear free,
I will follow you
past the Bridge of Gjöll with my song.
You will be loosed from the bonds that bind you!
You are loosed from the bonds that bound you!
in the deathsleep sweep me,
on the road to Hel,
when the tracks I tread
are so cold, so cold?
…..
When you stand at the gates of Hel
and you have to tear free,
I will follow you
past the Bridge of Gjöll with my song.
You will be loosed from the bonds that bind you!
You are loosed from the bonds that bound you!