Davidsson and the Spectrum of Sorrow

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A little over four miles off the southern coast of Iceland lies Heimaey, an island with a population of around 4,400 souls, seven peaks and still-warm lava from a 1973 volcanic eruption that demolished about 400 homes. Between the dramatic displacement caused by the eruption and the perils of fishing (one of the island’s main industries, as well as one of the world’s most dangerous professions), people on Heimaey are perhaps more aware of their mortality than the average person, Icelandic artist Thorleifur Gaukur Davidsson tells me.

“It’s almost like a mining town in West Virginia or something, where you’re closer to death, so people are a little crazier,” Davidsson explains with a gentle chuckle, and he’s speaking from experience, as someone who grew up on the island. “There’s this psychological phenomenon where if you get too used to death, you take it less seriously. You’re just more like, ‘fuck it.’ [Heimaey] has that energy a little bit, but it also has at the same time this island calmness, so it’s a very unique place.”

Appropriately for Davidsson (who goes purely by his surname for his solo work), Heimaey literally translates to “home island.” For him, visiting there is more than just a physical journey; being amidst its natural beauty transports him to another time, reminding him of his late father. Davidsson’s dad was a horse trainer who passed away suddenly in 2019, and his memory lives on in the multi-instrumentalist’s stunning 2024 debut album Lifelines.

This record may be his first solo LP, but Davidsson is prolific as a producer, composer and session musician. After attending Berklee College of Music in Boston on a full scholarship, Davidsson started touring with Grammy-nominated Icelandic blues rock group KALEO, primarily playing harmonica. Eventually, he settled down in Nashville (“I wanted to start fresh and be pushed a little,” he explains), though he still tours regularly with KALEO. He’s collaborated with the likes of fellow Icelander Laufey, cowboy artist Sterling Drake and Americana musician Sierra Ferrell, playing harmonica and steel pedal on the latter’s Grammy-nominated album Trail of Flowers.

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Davidsson returned to Iceland during COVID, recording the entirely instrumental Lifelines at Sundlaugin Studio—Sigur Ros’ recording space and a former swimming pool (hence the name, which literally means “swimming pool” in Icelandic). For him, the quiet of lockdown matched how his own life had slowed down in the wake of losing his father.

“It wasn’t intentional that I was going to make this album,” Davidsson says. “It just kind of just happened. Music is such a way to express emotions and realize how you’re feeling. Sorrow is so complicated; it’s like a rainbow of many different emotions. Sometimes it’s hard to realize what you’re actually feeling, and music really helped me through that.”

He also received a helping hand from collaborators Skúli Sverrisson (electric and acoustic bass) and Davíð Þór Jónsson (piano, organ and banjo). Davidsson describes Sverrisson as “one of my childhood heroes,” and you can tell why when you look at his list of credits; Sverrisson has worked with legends like Lou Reed, Ryuichi Sakamoto, Laurie Anderson, Blonde Redhead and more, becoming something of a legend himself in the process. Jónsson, who Davidsson calls “a dear friend,” composes for TV and theater, as well as playing with numerous Icelandic artists.

The recording process was defined by “family moments,” Davidsson recalls. He was living near the studio in the same apartment complex as Jónsson, whose daughters would come to visit them during sessions. The group would bring in fried fish, eating it there and spending the whole day at Sundlaugin.

As for the music itself, Davidsson came into the studio with some loose ideas, but he wanted to keep things organic, with himself and the others improvising and reacting to each other in real time. He favored single takes, and you can hear the instruments in conversation with each other, like on the sparse, dramatic opener “light in the dark,” which features Davidsson on droopy steel pedal and Jónsson on piano. The song happens in movements, like the stark gathering of notes at the start and the emergence of a mournful central melody, the steel pedal providing a few shafts of lights in a dark room. And all throughout, there are atmospheric noises—gentle scraping, small shuffling sounds—that make you feel like a very lucky fly on the wall of the studio. Mixing from the talented Noah Georgeson (Andy Shauf, Joanna Newsom, Devendra Banhart) only amplifies the visceralness of the aural mise-en-scène.

“We just went in there bravely, without any road maps, and a lot of the things just happened in the moment. Nothing written out, no decided forms, and [the album] is this almost voyeuristic view of what is happening in this room,” Davidsson says.

While most of Lifelines is inspired by memories of his father, “afi” is dedicated to his maternal grandfather. He wanted to evoke “this feeling of going to your grandfather’s house… the smell of smoke, the radio in the distance and the home cooking.” Nostalgia seeps through as deftly plucked acoustic guitar kicks off the song, high and sweet and aching for a time long past. Sverrisson’s subtle bass, Jónsson’s gently swelling pump organ and fleeting tremolo practically conjure up an old-fashioned kitchen and boiling kettle—whether that of Davidsson’s grandfather in Iceland, or your own grandparents’. The standout here, though, is Davidsson’s exquisite harmonica playing, which could break your heart with its beauty. It calls out, reaching for a faraway memory that can never be fully returned to, but cherished in small snippets.

The next track, “for woody,” is a tribute to Woody Mann, an American guitarist and Davidsson’s friend and mentor who died in 2022. “I got to send him that song, a recording of it, in his last few days,” Davidsson tells me, continuing, “It was one of the hardest things, but also one of the most beautiful things.” Unsurprisingly, guitar is at the forefront here—replete with the slight squeak of his fingers running along the strings—eventually joined by wry harmonica. The whole song radiates warmth and familiarity, like a bygone folk tune. We may never have met Woody, but we can sense Davidsson’s love for him.

And, of course, “heimaey” gets its own song. Davidsson explains that the track is “about that feeling when you go back to a place of your youth that has this pull. It is connected to the grief, too, and remembering my father in all of these places… There’s something so beautiful about that and about being able to go to that place physically.” Heady pedal steel warbles with emotion, on the verge of collapsing in on itself, with the softest strokes of piano and bass propping it up. (I also keep finding myself comparing the main pedal steel melody to Paramore’s “You Are the Only Exception,” but that’s beside the point.) Jónsson’s piano playing crescendoes as harmonica laments in the background, echoing the pedal steel’s central theme. Davidsson and his collaborators whip up so much emotion with a handful of instruments and a minimalist approach to production—a prime example of less is more.

Davidsson finds a sense of closure on “sátt,” which he tells me means “acknowledgement.” “It’s the last stage of sorrow, and you still feel those emotions… but it’s there’s a little more hope. It’s more like remembrance, nostalgia for that time with [my father],” he says. Davidsson’s father was his “biggest fan and supporter,” predicting that his career would reach great heights and he’d end up playing with music legends. “A lot of those things turned out to be true,” Davidsson shares. “I got to play with some of the members of the Rolling Stones and do some crazy things throughout my life.”

Naturally, I have to hear more about him playing with some of the Stones, so Davidsson tells me about being in Los Angeles with KALEO, who were opening for the beloved band at the Rose Bowl. Strangely enough, that’s not how he ended up playing with several of the Rolling Stones. The night before the show, Davidsson went to see a friend’s show in L.A., but ended up walking in the wrong door and found himself enchanted by the saxophone player there. He stayed and talked to the band, jammed with them and they connected him with Tim Ries, the Stones’ saxophonist. Davidsson ended up playing with Ries and members of Band 2—a side project for some of the Stones—like Chuck Leavell (the Allman Brothers Band, Eric Clapton, George Harrison) and Darryl Jones (Miles Davis, Sting).

“It was a beautiful experience, and just because I was open to something. And a lot of my life has been like that,” Davidsson says, later elaborating, “It’s never the big door that opens, it’s always these side doors. You crawl through a window. And so there’s a lot of beautiful experiences I’ve had all over the world because of that openness.”

When I ask Davidsson if he has any other solo work in the pipeline, he assures me that he has a whole album’s worth of songs at the ready, but that he just needs the time to record it—a difficult feat considering his busy touring and production schedule. He anticipates the next LP will also be instrumental: “I love to show people the side of the harmonica and steel that most people can’t hear because it’s buried a little further down.”

That artistic philosophy seems to apply beyond Davidsson’s choice in instruments and composition; he shows us the side of humanity that is often drowned out amidst all the flash and noise of our modern world. With its languorous pace and gorgeous sound, Lifelines encourages us to slow down, look around and savor the precious time we have with those we love.

Clare Martin is a cemetery enthusiast and Paste’s associate music editor. Go harass her on Twitter @theclaremartin.

Davidsson and the Spectrum of Sorrow

Nashville-based artist Davidsson returned to his home country of Iceland during COVID, recording his debut album Lifelines at Sundlaugin Studio—Sigur Ros’ recording space and a former swimming pool.