 | | Amiina |
With the rain pouring outside, creating lake-like puddles across Oxford Road, it was as if a bridge had been formed from here to mythology, a path for four maidens of Avalon to leave their waking dreams and wander amongst us. In truth, it had only bridged the gap to Iceland, but then, there’s something of the legendary about the music from that tiny island anyway, and Amiina simply follow a line that has already produced such unique performers as Björk, múm and Sigur Rós. Yet, even with that pedigree, there is still something of an almost intangible exquisiteness to Amiina, as their tunes out-ethereal even the most beautiful moments of their Icelandic kinsfolk. Tunes is maybe the wrong word. The four women, who appear, like all the best goddesses, in pleasing form to their followers – on this occasion, it seems to be that of 50s housewives – don’t so much make music as describe the most wonderful soundscapes in tones of pulchritudinous simplicity. Using instruments befitting of their nymphic charms, they combined violins, a table harp, a glockenspiel, a celesta, some wine glasses, a mandolin and a collection tiny bells to create stomach-punchingly gorgeous sounds. Indeed, such was their other-worldly status that when an electric guitar turned up, it seemed like the oddest thing to have ever appeared on stage. It was in the encore, though, that they really hit home. Sitting in a semi-circle, all four took up a bow and a saw and swooned through a tune as delicate as a snowflake. Had they simply vanished after that or been spirited away by a quartet of swans, it wouldn’t have surprised anyone. As it was, they slipped effortlessly from the stage, leaving only pools of emotion where once people stood. | 
