Hafdis Huld may be a genius. She may also be a kooky Icelandic popstress, but that’s less pressing.
You see, all it takes is an idea. Philosophically speaking, that’s all you need. A mantra. A central tenement on which to base an entire belief system. So if you’re looking for one, howsabout: “Ice cream is nice. Monsters are not”?
Genius, no? Rocky road: good; El Chupacabra: bad. Imagine how much nicer the world would be if that was all there is to it.
It’s that kind of skewed thinking which is par for the course with Huld; one time member of Gus Gus, sometime actress and full time supernova of personality. She’s one of those sorts who gets on stage and radiates the stuff, to such an extent that you get the impression she could just stand up there spinning yarns for 90 minutes and no one would mind in the slightest.
But it’s a gig, so when the banter ends and the singing starts, it’s fortunate that the spell isn’t broken. And spell binding it is. However, and aside from the pink flying-V ukulele which is utter magnificence, it’s almost impossible to pick through the reasons why.
Is it kooky? Yes. Is is sweet? Yes. Is there a hint of darkness? Yes. Somewhere. It’s that monster threatening your Vienetta we mentioned at the start; it’s the razor blade in the candy floss; it’s the mutant killer rabbit which looks just like a cutesy wootsy ickle-bunny. It’s what gives gorgeously fluffy numbers like Tomoko and Plastic Halo teeth.
Teeth which make this deliciously off-centre pop, delivered by a woman with a voice part Eartha Kitt and part Bjork‘s elocution trainer, impossible to resist.
“My name is Hafdis Huld. Here, I’ve written it on the keyboards for you… OK, manager happy?” she asks. There’s no account of the manager’s response, but for the rest of us, the answer is uniformly, unquestionably, yes.