#27 Kria Brekkan

A woman with a child’s voice. An accordion, a candle, the Seine, and an unexpected stranger. Not forgetting an assortment of doubts that made us believe we were running late. All we needed was the singer of Mùm to accept the fact...

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I would have to be Kria Brekkan, whose real name is Kristin Anna Valtysdottir. And if you’ve already heard about her, it’s because she’s overwhelmed the world with her singing in the Icelandic group Mùm (remember the masterpiece Green Grass of Tunnels...).

So, the official news just arrived a couple days ago, and Kristin had just told me when I met up with her: she and Mùm are finished and Mùm has already hired two new singers since her departure.

We’ll put it to rest however: after all, she wasn’t ever more than a voice, giving her soft, recognizable touch to Ovar and Gunnar’s compositions. One can surmise the love that would put an end to such collaboration, Kristin having left Orvar to live in New York with her husband, none other than Dave ‘Avey Tare’ Portner from Animal Collective, forming perhaps the couple for which all music fans have hoped and dreamed (she sang on last year’s album Feels). You can also keep a look out for the Avery Tare-Kria Brekkan collaboration, which anticipates an album in 2007 (written in Paris during the summer of 2005). This past summer, they preformed an extraordinarily beautiful acoustic set for Planet Claire (strangely entitled the “Animal Collective Session”...), noting especially the Chris Smither cover “I’ve got mine.” The two are currently on a mini-tour through the U.S. and Canada.

Thus, it was an evening spent with Kristin across Paris on bikes. It was a colder evening than expected. We began by grabbing a drink at Madame Paulo’s Petit Bar near Voltaire, before taking refuge in a deserted alley in the 12th. A scooter passed as Kristin stood before a wall, loyal to the cliché image of the Icelandic musician: elsewhere, floating in a way that interprets the world, surprising and easily abashed. She asked me to find her a balalaika because she didn’t have one, but she was happy enough just to play her Parisian accordion. She was discrete, delightful, and far-off. Not so sure of herself, I had to continually reassure her about everything. It was a strange evening to be trying to encourage.

We quickly neared the Seine, towards the quay where young revelers pass on their way to conquer the world, at the tip of the island, facing all possibilities, cliché but well understanding their impression. Kristin played and sang, seated by the edge of the quay as cars passed in the back. As she sung out in English and finished the song, a guy came into view playing the harmonica in a discrete any-kind-of way. He spoke to her in French, and in response, with her petit voice, Kristin said simply: ‘merci.’ Her music is full of these kinds of hesitations and blunders, which become something more, something like suspended moments, eagerly anticipating her gentle and delicate air.

She sang a little bit more for the passer-byes, but it was late so we parted back into the cold night on our bikes.