Samaris

Free concerts, as everyone knows, are always a gamble. While the idea that "nobody gives anything away for free" might be dismissed as excessive cynicism that few manage to fully shake off, in the artistic world the argument does actually have some concrete basis: what venue would pay good money for a band – more often than not still up-and-coming – without expecting to get something back from the performance? A question that hardly needs answering, and one that justifies the doubts that events of this kind inevitably raise, even when the band involved is on the rise and would have every interest in taking advantage of opportunities that can bring in an audience that's often even too large.

For Samaris, one of the most interesting revelations of the year, that opportunity came at Circolo Magnolia in Milan, a venue that – together with LoFi and Bloom in Mezzago – has long been one of the most active hubs for organizing quality concerts at prices that are nothing short of accessible. And the venue itself, especially for anyone familiar with the people who work there so tirelessly (let's not forget this is, in effect, an Arci club that has earned its current standing entirely through its own efforts), would have been enough on its own to dispel most of the doubts mentioned above. Rounding out the achievement was the crystalline performance of the tightly-knit Icelandic trio, as brief (just over 45 minutes) as it was intense and engaging. Unfortunately for the trio, 5 September turned out to be a particularly packed date in Milan: their show coincided with Baustelle playing at Carroponte and Chrome Cranks performing at the aforementioned LoFi, with the result that not even free admission was enough to draw more than about fifty people to Magnolia.

In the vain hope of a growing turnout, the show starts a full forty minutes behind schedule. The three take the stage at 10:40pm, alone, with no crew or assistants: Þórður behind his station of keyboards, controllers and laptop, with Áslaug's clarinet at his side and, set slightly apart, Jófríður, whose curious white dress makes her look every bit like a fairy. The small portion of the audience already familiar with the dream-electro blend the trio put forward on their self-titled European debut is left utterly stunned by the opening of "Nótt", a genuine techno machine-gun whose surging pulses leave little room for the long, dissipating notes of the clarinet.

Seven blistering minutes for an unreleased track the band has opened every show with for at least a year, though it won't appear on the new album due out in early 2014 – unlike the equally fervent, trampoline-like "Vildi Feginn" that follows.

Things grow more familiar with the trip-hop mantra of "Sólhvörf II", one of the more uptempo tracks in the Icelanders' released catalogue, further charged by Þórður's electronic treatments – here the true architect of a sonic framework built and shaped through reverb and samples. The leaden, noir side of the Samaris sound resurfaces in a "Vöggudub" that's decidedly more devoured and anguished than the original, with the clarinet's long crescendos taking on a torrential form that often overwhelms the vocals: it's one of the expressive high points of the brief evening, one where the skill and cohesion of three very different souls comes fully into focus. The following pair of tracks return to previewing the new album the band is said to be on the verge of finishing: "Þótt Hann Rigni" is a faded, leaden, snaking piece, a decisive shift in sonic setting compared to the crystalline textures heard so far, while "Máninn" presses back down on the accelerator, confirming the likelihood of a rhythmic development running alongside the atmospheric one.

To close the set, the trio instead slots in the two best-known tracks, the ones chosen to promote the self-titled album in Europe and in their native Iceland respectively: the lunar nocturne of "Góða Tungl" gains in emotional charge and verve, shedding some of the icy veil of the studio version along with its resemblance to Björk, while "Stofnar Falla" resounds in its pitch-black tar amid a multitude of echoes and a martial rhythm. No encore, and the evening ends there, sacrificing that visceral, skin-deep touch which the trio has, quite deliberately, chosen to set aside in favour of a dynamic development that already looks set to be the key to their near future. A future in which, given the groundwork laid here, Samaris have every tool needed to leave an indelible mark. For now, both live and in the studio, they'll have to "settle" for the title of 2013's revelation band.

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