Grand Island
Songs From Östra Knoll 1.22

Gray morning, a good dose of annoyance constantly grips me. I feel like listening to something I was once fond of, something whose memory I've long lost. I dust off a hard drive and scroll through the band names. Between yawns, my still dim pupils stop at Grand Island, the best thing to come out of Norway after smoked salmon.
Even the excellent fellow Motorpsycho, who churn out albums like they were focaccia, waver in front of a dazzling debut like "Say No To Sin" (2006), but aside from a few serious nerds and the herring-eating Vikings who appreciate them at home, Grand Island has been forgotten (myself included) or never noticed by most.
Whether due to the cynicism of the non-music system or the period when the trendy sound was that of Franz Ferdinand, somewhat akin to "Say No To Sin" as much as many other bland bands like The Fratellis, to which the Norwegians could easily be compared, the Oslo quintet saw those feeble spotlights aimed at them quickly dim.
These musicians know the train has long passed, yet they continue to produce excellent, no-frills music. For my part, I can only shout into the void: give this band a chance, don't be the silent majority, don't be complicit: give it a try.
As I listen to their third work "Songs From Östra Knoll 1.22," I already feel too guilty and will at least keep them on my mp3 player until the next album.

Here's how it goes: I listen to their debut, my pupils shift from a state of torpor to one of excitement, they dilate and start to roll wildly, I discover they released two more albums in the meantime, taaac and in 5 minutes, I've downloaded them.
I put on the first song "Angelila" and I immediately understand that these imaginary heroes of mine with thick braids and blond mustaches remain the same, what a joy.
Unmistakable: banjo and Hammond are cornerstones of a robust sound that combines distortions tightly linked to the aforementioned seventies keyboard, creating strangely an effect opposite to retro; the beautiful voice of Viking Espen Gustavsen, which ranges between anger, lament, lyricism, and play with constant grace and kindness; the energetic rhythmic structure.
It's hard to make comparisons, there are too many elements at play in Grand Island's rock, but I'm not committing heresy by saying that at times they remind me of Fanfarlo (who would emerge a few years later, similarly led by a Scandinavian) with more grit and less depression.

The songs on this album flow delightfully, starting with the KO 1-2-3 of “Angelila” - “Dawn’s Upon Me” – “Sky Sized”, the first being elegant and lively pop-rock, the second being a masterpiece of light folk, and the third being a kick in the guts of a metaphysical and effervescent rock that feels like it came from the mind of Francis Black (Pixies).
Already one could pack for Norway, but it's just the beginning.
Excellent episodes follow one after another like “A Crash And A Faultline”, where Cold War Kids crash against a Viking ship of choirs and acoustic guitars that almost flows into medieval rock, the cheerful ballad “Suffer - Lid, Min Kjære”, the enveloping simplicity of “Sundance & Cassidy”.
Then comes another gentle slap with “Young Wrath”, a wonderful track that indeed, lifts us 3MSC (3 meters above the sky for the ignorant).
The album closes with the soft pastel shades of slightly solemn, slightly romantic pop-rock, which neither the acid-surf-west mixture of “Drift Into Violence” nor the nervous strings of “Follow” can hide.

Grand Island will never be anything, perhaps a mirage created by the steam rising in the morning among the fjords, perhaps the mythical Thor wielding a guitar instead of a hammer, or perhaps just an honest and talented rock band.
Memo: remember not to too often forget too many bands not remembered.