Composers are artists, but the word is also a job description. When Jóhann Jóhannsson of Iceland was commissioned to write the score for the 2004 film Dís, which he says, "Captures quite well the zeitgeist of early 21st century Reykjavik," he sat down to create music to complement the images. He collaborated with members of various Icelandic bands including guitarist Hilmar Jensson and singer Ragheidur Gröndal but never bothered to ring his friends in the orchestra. Hearing this soundtrack I can't help thinking of Ennio Morricone, another composer who-- though he has a distinct style-- is willing to let his music proceed along functional lines. On almost every level Dís is completely different from Jóhannsson's last two records for Touch. Eschewing strings, horns, and cloud-drift pacing, Jóhannsson opts for a mixture of unassuming and bubbly electronic pop and delicate piano-based instrumentals.
I said this record differs from Jóhannsson's work on almost every level, and the areas of overlap tell us a lot about his values as a composer. The common threads are Jóhannsson's airy use of space and the fundamental simplicity with which he approaches melody and arrangement. The repeating themes and motifs-- picking them out is always an enjoyable part of soundtrack listening-- are little tunes that would be easy to play with a couple fingers on a keyboard. Jóhannsson never uses five notes for a melody when four will do, and he's perfectly happy to let a piano with a wisp of processing do all the work when necessary. Some of this is up the job he was asked to do. Film music need only pose questions and it's up to the images to provide answers. While this can sometimes lead to soundtrack albums that seem incomplete, Jóhannsson's comfort with minimalism means Dís works quite well as a standalone album.
Though capturing the 21st century zeitgeist was a stated goal, we're living in a retro age and Dís has unmistakable echoes of the past. Certain glitchy techniques seem an electronic development of the last five or six years, but the bulk of the record reflects sounds and attitudes from an earlier time. Wispy instrumentals like "Efripides Og Nedripides" and "Thynnkudagur" are particularly evocative of early synthesizer music like Cluster or Kraftwerk circa Ralf & Florian. Electronics then were still a novelty and using the machines to play a lovely well-constructed melody, maybe with a bit of piano thrown in, was comforting, a word easily applied to Jóhannsson's charming cues. The handful of upbeat pop numbers, on the other hand, have one string tied to the 80s. The guitar-led instrumental "10 Rokkstig" is like a slightly toned-down version of what Giorgio Moroder contributed to the Top Gun soundtrack, while the title track, sung by Gröndal, reminds me a bit of the Sundays. These refracted images of the past fit together to form the album's current of hazy nostalgia touched with a sense of yearning.
As effective as it is, Dís can be almost too subtle for its own good, too willing to slip into the background where it will always sound appropriate. Perhaps that's the danger of functional music, though, which doesn't take away from how enjoyable a record this can be given proper focus. It's a taut and efficient collection that, while a departure from Jóhannsson's earlier work, is in its own way just as satisfying.
