The early 2000s were an exciting era for hardcore bands that combined energetic live performances and melodic intensity with a purposeful, socially conscious message. Recently, we’ve witnessed the resurgence of many of these groups, including The Hope Conspiracy, American Nightmare, and Blacklisted, who have reunited for a handful of shows and even new recordings.
Hailing from Iceland, a country renowned for its distinct indie and black metal scenes but less so for hardcore and punk, I Adapt managed to find their own place in that landscape. Unlike their North American contemporaries on labels like Deathwish or Equal Vision, I Adapt were pioneers within their own right, leading a tight-knit local hardcore community in their small country. Their amazing scene included bands like Fighting Shit (featuring the now-famous musician Ólafur Arnalds on drums), Hryðjuverk, Hrafnaþing, Gavin Portland, Minus, Dys, and others.
I Adapt’s relentless drive saw them perform countless local shows, five European tours, and two US tours. They toured the US with a legendary band like Modern Life Is War, and their final seven-inch recording, From Town To Town, was released on Philadelphia’s seminal Six Feet Under Records. The band bid farewell with a final show on February 2, 2008, only to reunite for a “one-time only” in 2012. Now, in 2024, they’ve announced a highly anticipated reunion for the Sátan festival in Stykkishólmur; a picturesque town on the Snæfellsnes peninsula.
With three original members in their line up, I Adapt is set to deliver a memorable performance on the festival stage at midnight on June 7th, and I am more than excited to interview their singer, Birkir Fjalar Viðarsson, who remains as passionate about hardcore punk and its transformative ideas as ever.
The first Icelandic punk band I remember listening to was Björk’s KUKL on Crass Records. Later, I found hardcore punk bands like Hryðjuverk, Fighting Shit, and I Adapt. How did hardcore find its place within the rich and diverse indie music scene in Iceland?
The three bands you mentioned, along with others in their genre, share many common members. It’s fair to say that these individuals, along with a few others from even earlier bands, essentially willed hardcore into existence in Iceland. Specifically, the members of these three bands, plus a band called Dys, were instrumental in “making shit happen”. They booked shows everywhere, brought in foreign bands, set up distros, wrote zines, created message boards, and released music.
KUKL, released by Crass, was indeed an anomaly. While it was great, it didn’t form the nucleus for a vibrant and lustrous scene. Surprisingly, Icelanders quickly moved away from the punk and new-wave scene of that time. Then, almost suddenly, you had the Sugarcubes, and the rest is history. I might be getting a bit off track here, so let’s get back to your question.
A few of us discovered hardcore music through metal. When I experienced it firsthand in Germany from 1995 to 1997, there was no turning back. I wanted this to happen in Iceland as well. Along with friends, we just made it happen. We inspired each other, and all kinds of different weirdos were attracted to the energy. As a result, our scene wasn’t like the ones you’d find in the USA or Europe. Now, I’m curious to know how you found out about Hryðjuverk, Fighting Shit, and us.
I Adapt was originally active from 2001 to 2008, during which you played a lot of shows. Can you take us through the history of the band and reflect on what it meant to you in retrospect?
The idea for I Adapt had been brewing in my head a year before we actually formed. I knew what needed to be done and set out to find the right players with the right attitude. At the time, there were many metal bands in the scene, playing heavy stuff, and a mix of “current” music you’d read about in Kerrang!/Metal Hammer magazines, combined with strands of nu-metal. I figured I Adapt could stand out musically and set itself apart even more by writing socially conscious and political lyrics, which were far from the norm back then.
Don’t get me wrong, many of us were metalheads, myself included, but I was inspired by what I’d seen happening in Europe and by all the bands in the US I looked up to. I was concerned with the environment, animals, human rights, corruption, political violence, etc., so I Adapt seemed to be, and indeed became, the perfect mix for all these themes. The guys I got together for the first iteration of the band backed me on these ideas, which made it all even more exciting.
Before playing Ieper Fest in 2002, we had distributed CD-r demos to some people in Europe, and a few of them were familiar with us before our appearance at the festival. They liked us even more after the show and after talking to us. What transpired after that cemented connections and networks that made it possible for us to achieve what we did.
Meanwhile, we were super active in Iceland. We played so many shows, often with very eclectic and varied lineups—hip hop, indie, black metal bands, you name it. Something about how we did things attracted a lot of different types of people who always came to see us and stuck with the band until the end. Locally, we took off like a rocket. Looking back, it was kind of wild how it all happened. It even pissed some people off, and that was fun.
You already played a reunion show on July 14th, 2012, which was supposed to be a one-time event. Was there a special occasion for that show? Now you’re back, playing at the Sátan festival in Stykkishólmur. How did this reunion come about?
One of the founders of the Eistnaflug festival, Stefán Magnússon, asked us to reunite every year. He loved us, and we loved him. Stefán is a great friend of ours from one of our main friend-bands, Dys. I had been living abroad and wasn’t sure where I’d end up, but at that time, I was in Iceland. Eight years had passed, I missed the action, and we heard that people who didn’t give us a chance back in the day were now getting into our music more. There seemed to be a bit of a lull in the hardcore/punk scene, even though it still produced fantastic bands. All of this made me want to say yes to the invite, and the guys felt the same. Plus, they had become better and more proficient players in the time that had passed, so this seemed like an exciting prospect to me. The show was unbelievable. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and hearing as we played.
The Sátan reunion came about for a myriad of reasons. I liked and trusted the people behind this festival. My lower back is an absolute mess from injuries and it isn’t getting any better, so if not now, later will certainly be worse. My wife had never seen us perform, and neither had my children. So that was a big one—they egged me on. Plus, we’ve been around for so long that looking forward to seeing so many friends in one small location was just too good to pass up. Most of us have families, so meeting people from the old scene and new ones is something that rarely happens, I’m afraid. It also turned out that Ingi and I really missed playing together. Unsurprisingly, Elli (drums) was on board in a jiffy, and thus it was on.
In 2006, you released a hilariously titled split 7-inch, I Roast My Marshmallows In Church Fires, with the US band The Neon Hookers. It’s a big surprise that you re-recorded these songs with a new mix in 2024. What do these songs mean to you?
The main reason for re-recording the songs from the split is that the original recordings sounded awful. We felt that the songs “Ape City” and “Familiar Ghosts” deserved better. With the advent of Sátan and our reunion, we thought it would be interesting for people to re-establish or form a new relationship with these songs. Ólafur Arnalds came up big when he unearthed the original recordings, and in 2024, we knew great people who could give those tracks a new shine. I’m really glad we went this route. People can read a more detailed account about this split, the songs, and why we did this now on YouTube (in the descriptions below each of the lyrics’ videos) and in the Facebook posts I wrote to accompany the release of the 2024 mix of each song.
“Familiar Ghosts” is unbelievably important to me personally, and musically it also signified where Ingi and I were going with our ideas. It lends itself well to older songs such as “Sinking Ship” and “Subject To Change”.
“Ape City” is a heavy rocker and a more typical “fuck you” type of banger.
“Afraid To Leave” is the oldest song, as it originally appeared on No Pasaran. That song speaks for itself. It rages, it’s catchy, and it talks about taking back our humanity from the politics that abuse it. This is very much what I Adapt was originally all about.
As you mentioned above, the song “Afraid To Leave” also appeared on your first album, No Pasaran, which has a very straightforward name. Have you always viewed hardcore as a political form of music? What kinds of actions and groups have you supported? Are you still involved in activist and protest movements today?
My introduction to hardcore and punk was through political bands and outspoken frontmen. From an early age, I regarded this form of music as a vehicle for radical ideas and the exchange of information, and as a way to fire up and galvanize each other. It didn’t take long for me to learn that this was not always the case; many bands and fans were there only for the music and the social aspect, and I appreciated that too. There are more ways than one to be vocal and socially aware or political in bands. It’s not only by singing politically charged songs. I have been a big fan of hardcore bands that were not political nor active in causes at all. But I can tell you that well-written and powerful lyrics that deal with politics, social, or environmental issues, married with fantastic songwriting or just ridiculously aggressive tunes, get me more fired up than anything else. That’s the perfect combination for hardcore in my ears.
In the early days, we supported anti-racist actions and sometimes donated to the cause. We also played to raise awareness about NATO nations’ roles in wars and the lies, hypocrisy, and human rights violations that go hand in hand with such atrocities. Our very first release show was during one of the earliest gay prides [in Iceland]. Those issues were dear to us, still are, and have evolved ever since in the LGBTQ+ liberation movement. There’s a lot to learn, and we are keen listeners, with our allyship unwavering. The old I Adapt was very keen on aiding everyone engaged in the fight for and protection of the environment and nature.
We were also involved in numerous Palestine rallies and benefits from the very beginning. This brings us to now, where that very genocide (and others that are ongoing) is still very much in effect, but the horror is unprecedented now. It boggles my mind and keeps me up at night. I don’t know how active the other guys are in this regard, but I know some of them are involved in their own way, and that is a source of pride for me personally. But I know that everyone involved believes in everything I just mentioned. Yeah, this comes to mind right now. I’m probably forgetting something.
Iceland was the first Nordic country to recognize the independence of Palestine, is it still the case that the majority of the people and the state of Iceland condemn the Israeli occupation and the genocide in Gaza?
It seems that Iceland’s recognition of Palestine’s independence was mostly for show, as the government is not ready to stand behind the people of Palestine when they need us the most. They have been sitting on their hands since last October. Most Icelanders are against the occupations and crimes against humanity and genocide. This goes without saying. However, our governments are enabling the Zionist agenda. They will not oppose the ongoing slaughter of Palestinians, and their silence about this particular genocide is as calculated as it is cowardly.
Politically, Iceland is always in concert with US foreign policy and the EU’s colonialist complicity. I expect more silence from our government and more violence against the people who protest what is going on in Gaza and beyond. Our government readily uses their ‘boys in blue’ to beat down their own citizens. It bears noting that mainstream media here is complicit as it endeavors to report as little as possible about the genocide and what people here—trying to influence a ceasefire and embargo—are trying to do. It’s appalling.
It’s also worth adding that we are in awe of all the Jewish people who oppose and protest the Israeli government. Let us never forget that they fought the good fight too and sacrificed more than any asshole such as myself could imagine!
In the midst of all the death, destruction, and injustice in the world, there are people who put their bodies on the line. Music and art, however, provide another level of connection, perhaps a more emotional one. Do you think that everyone who has access to a stage and a microphone today, whether underground or mainstream, should use their platform to speak out?
No, I don’t. It’s not my place to dictate what people should do. However, it breaks my heart to see so many informed people in positions of security and privilege remain silent in the face of current genocides and ethnic cleansing projects. They go out of their way to say and do nothing.
Musicians and artists have an amplified voice, but they choose silence. This silence furthers what we have long suspected about ourselves: that we are indeed covert racists. It is subtle, and we are being exposed through our passiveness. We should be asking ourselves how to rise above this and become allies to people of color, not just in the proverbial West but all over the world, including in “less developed” countries as we so frequently and arrogantly refer to them.
Keep in mind, these are my thoughts and opinions. I’m not sure where the current lineup of I Adapt stands in how they view certain situations and events, but I know they have my back on this. However, I only speak for myself.
Historically, hardcore has been a youth movement, with young singers writing and singing about their ideals and aspirations. The challenge lies in living up to those ideals and carrying the torch throughout your adult life. What are your thoughts on this?
My opinion is that we ought to celebrate and look fondly on how energetic, obnoxious, and sure of ourselves we were when we were young. We thought we had all the answers, we were righteous, angry, and full of love. I think all of these traits, qualities, and to some extent flaws, were what made everything possible and moved everything and everyone forward. There’s real power in that—explosive power. Our young selves plowed ahead and made shit happen no matter what, and we threw all of our weight behind something we believed in. All of us said and did things we cannot back up or “live” right now. At least most of us can’t.
I was having a discussion with my wife the other day about the most recent presidential election in Iceland, and I asked her why I’m still so fired up and angry. I asked her if we shouldn’t have calmed down with age—at least that’s the conventional wisdom. It turns out I’m deeply affected by what is going on, and this is amplified and strengthened by me being a father to three little kids. It didn’t dull me; it sharpened me. But to your question: it’s hard living up to ideals when you are in a bubble with little responsibilities, in a comfort zone, and you’ve truly become a part of society’s adult fabric where no one wants to ruffle any feathers. This applies to me too.
However, when I see officials, politicians, and people of influence my age (46) or older, activate their most apathetic selves and make decisions that lead to a lower quality of life for others, more division and divide between people… When they disregard the welfare of others less fortunate, when they put in place projects that gamble with ecosystems, when they paint the poor and those needing asylum and shelter into even deeper and darker corners… This just further strengthens and deepens my ideals. My ideals develop, progress, and change with the flow. I try to do my part, but like most, I do way too little.
Currently, I’m more engaged and inspired than I’ve been in 20 years. I see this coming in waves. There were years that I had my head up my own ass, but the climate right now makes it so that you are either part of the problem or you offer yourself to the solution. Twenty-five or twenty years from now, when my children ask me what I said or did when I was 46 and the world was on fire, I want to be able to tell them that I did protest, that they joined me in protest, that their mom and I wrote letters to parliament members, that we donated money to direct action, and that we gave away material goods of our own to help others in need.
Members of I Adapt have played in many other bands, including some metal bands that I haven’t really listened to. Can you talk about the generational changes and the DIY music scene in a small country like Iceland?
The generational changes in Iceland don’t have clear lines or beginnings and ends like in bigger scenes abroad. I believe this stems from the fact that so few people live in Iceland. If they are involved in alternative music of any kind, they are bound to avoid sounding like one another. Many of them write music together regardless of age difference or dissimilarities in sub-genres. With so few players, it would be awkward if many bands sounded the same.
The only noticeable difference I’ve seen is behavior at shows. It isn’t as wild and lively as it used to be, but the music over the past ten years is much better than it was when I Adapt was active. Much better. After a long lull where you didn’t see bands being loud and proud about their beliefs, struggles, or politics, it suddenly came back in full force. The new wave is way more radical, informed, and sensible than before. I’ve learned a lot from these people and the way they address the world.
On the other hand, Iceland’s black metal scene has, for the last ten plus years, been an absolute phenomenon. It’s the first genre to really thrive, evolve, and stay intact for at least two generations. This is well documented, making it simpler to establish timelines and generational changes in that world.
The biggest struggle for the DIY scene here is the lack of places to play. It’s unbelievably sad.
In my early 20s, I listened to bands like I Adapt, and the music was secondary to the lyrics, the booklets, or the band interviews in zines like HeartattaCk. So, I’m not really excited to see your music on Spotify. With all these streaming platforms and digital music, it feels like the more music there is, the less it’s worth. Do you think it’s just gatekeeping to feel this way?
I was a mix of both. I’ve been such a sponge and music nerd from a very young age, and the way songs come together, the arrangements, atmosphere, execution, and so on has always been very important to me. So, obviously, music and its sonic qualities came first. As I expressed earlier in this interview, lyrics can elevate songs, giving them a deeper meaning, more textures, and dimensions. Speculative, fictional, or fantastical lyrics can achieve this. But again, nothing beats lyrics that deal with the now, deal with the very real, deal with society, its ills, and its future or lack thereof.
Regarding Spotify and streaming platforms in general, I confess that I haven’t delved into this at all. The band has been dead for years, and in the meantime, I became a father of three and just didn’t pay any attention to it until someone told me some of I Adapt’s music was on Spotify. It was not submitted by us nor any of the labels that worked with the band. But since it was there, we felt we’d try to complete the collection, so to speak. Before that, we never made a point to keep our releases in stock or try to find people to re-release our stuff. There were never any plans to revive the band or make a conscious effort to keep the name in the conversation somehow.
Interestingly, I subscribed to and later distroed HeartattaCk in Iceland. I fucking loved that publication. And speaking of booklets, I’m in Dresden and the year is 1996. I walk into a record store (Central Organ) and find Crass’ Christ: The Album. I’d never been able to own it before, so I bought a copy. Took it home with me, and that fucking booklet changed my life. So, there are always seeds somewhere waiting to find fertile ground to sprout in. More than just music.
I Adapt is headlining the second day of the Sátan festival, June 7, 2024. You can find the band on Spotify, Facebook and Instagram. Unfortunately, their old website and MySpace profile are no longer active.
