Interview with Brynjar Leifsson (Of Monsters and Men)
as part of the Noise from Iceland project
“It’s always there. The noise. Sometimes louder, sometimes calm — but never gone.”
I met Brynjar Leifsson, guitarist of the internationally acclaimed band Of Monsters and Men, as part of my project Noise from Iceland. Initially conceived as a sound map made of field recordings from all over Iceland, the project slowly evolved into something more intimate — conversations with Icelandic artists, musicians, and writers about the sound of the island they call home.
We talked in Reykjavik, just as winter had started to wrap the city in its quiet cloak of wind and snow — which, as Brynjar says, is never truly silent.
Kaśka Paluch: Do you remember the very first sound that made an impression on you — something that changed you? It could be music or something else entirely.
Brynjar Leifsson: Wow, what a question! [laughs] Honestly, I don’t remember a specific sound, but there was always a lot of music in my house growing up. I listened to The Beatles when I was four or five years old. But I think it was when I started playing guitar and discovered effects pedals — that’s when I realized, okay, I could do this.
Was your family musical?
Not professionally. I have two older siblings — my sister played piano, my brother played drums. My parents didn’t play instruments, but they loved music and filled the house with it. They kind of… fed us with it, in a way.
I’ve often heard people say that Icelanders are a very musical nation. Do you think that’s true?
Yes, I’d say so. Most people here love music — they listen, they sing. At family gatherings, someone always sings something. It feels pretty normal.
Do you think that’s why music became such a huge export product from Iceland? Right after fish, of course.
[laughs] Yeah, that probably has something to do with it. But I also think it’s the darkness. In winter, it’s so dark and cold, and people don’t have much to do when they get home from work. So they make music. And not to get famous — they just do it because they love it. Nobody’s really trying to fit into a specific scene or mainstream trend. That makes the music here more personal, maybe even a little weird. And I think that’s what people abroad find interesting.
Sigi from Útón said something similar — that the music scene here is strong because Iceland is an island. Everyone’s in the same circle, sharing, exchanging ideas.
Yeah, totally. I think that isolation — being an island — creates this small but close-knit creative ecosystem. It’s similar in places like the Faroe Islands too. Only about 50,000 people live there, but their music scene is incredible. So yeah, the island thing definitely plays a role.
When I moved to Iceland, I expected everyone to be listening to Björk and Sigur Rós all the time. That was the ‘sound of Iceland’ I imagined. But then I got here, and it was… totally different. Would you say that Icelandic music abroad is different from the music actually listened to in Iceland?
Yeah, probably. Abroad, Icelandic music tends to stand out because it’s different from what’s usually on the radio. But here, it’s more mixed. People listen to all kinds of stuff, and I think artists experiment more without worrying about fitting into a box. Stations like Rás 2 play almost everything they’re sent — even the weirdest stuff. That kind of openness helps a lot.
And the Christmas music! Since November!
[laughs] Oh yeah, Iceland goes full-on Christmas. There’s probably a set day on the calendar when they’re like, okay, now we switch to Christmas mode. And it’s only Christmas songs for a month. It’s wild.
You know, I’ve lived here almost four years — and I’ve never met a single Icelander who actually listens to Björk.
Really? Wow. Yeah, I think people here really respect her and appreciate what she’s done for Icelandic culture, but yeah — they often say her music is weird or too experimental. Maybe she’s more appreciated outside Iceland in that way.
That contrast fascinates me — how some Icelandic artists are hugely popular abroad, but not necessarily here.
Yeah, that’s true. But maybe it’s just that the same niche that loves them here is much bigger abroad. Like, the indie scene in Iceland is small by default — we’re a small country. But abroad, that niche is way bigger.
Some people I’ve met here are actually kind of tired of how Icelanders are seen through the lens of Björk and Sigur Rós — like the “weird, magical elves” thing. Do you get that?
Oh yeah. People love the fantasy — elves, rotten shark, vikings, puffins in the streets. [laughs] I mean, it’s not totallyuntrue, but yeah — people abroad sometimes hold on to that image too tightly. It’s hard to explain the real Iceland because they like the idea more than the reality.
Let’s talk about actual sounds. Where did you grow up?
In Keflavík. So, yeah — planes. Lots of planes. And seagulls. Also, there was a military base there when I was a kid, so fighter jets flying over were common. And there was this weird horn they used to test every year — that sound stuck with me.
But what I remember most is the silence. Coming home from tour and just sitting outside my parents’ house at night — the quiet was almost unreal. Not total silence, but as close as you get without a soundproof room.
Exactly — that kind of Icelandic silence, where there’s always some noise underneath.
Yes — the ocean somewhere far away, the wind, or birds. It’s never really silent.
If you had to pick one sound that, for you, is the sound of Iceland — what would it be?
Probably the Loa — the golden plover. It’s a migratory bird that comes here in spring. Its call is so metallic, so rhythmic — it doesn’t even sound like a bird at first. When I hear it, I know the days are getting longer. That’s the sound of Icelandic summer to me.
You know what’s funny? I thought it was a drone when I first heard it. I was so annoyed by these “drones flying everywhere.” Took me weeks to realize it was a bird.
[laughs] You’re not the only one! It really does sound mechanical.
What about winter sounds?
Oh yeah. The sound of a blizzard outside when all the windows are closed — that’s such an Icelandic sound. It isolates everyone, forces you to stay in. That’s the kind of noise I like — and why your project title makes perfect sense.
If I gave you a microphone and told you to send me somewhere in Iceland to record your sound — where would that be?
Hmm… somewhere by a river in summer. With that bird calling in the distance. Or maybe a lava cave — like Raufarhólshellir. I love big, echoey sounds, like water dripping inside a cave. That’s my kind of soundscape.
📌 Bio note:
Brynjar Leifsson is a guitarist and founding member of the Icelandic band Of Monsters and Men, known for their global hit “Little Talks.” Formed in 2010, the band quickly rose to international fame with their unique blend of folk-pop and indie rock. Brynjar, born and raised in Keflavík, grew up surrounded by music and nature, both of which continue to shape his creative work.
