Ólöf Arnalds, ‘She Belongs To Me’

The alternate title for this post is “Damn, these Northern Europeans.”  Why are they so talented?  Is it because they are stuck on their remote islands with nothing else to do with their time?  How do they make cheesy things seem so poetic?  Is there a way I can also master the art of sounding cute while saying jabby, pointed things?

My all-time most favorite concert was unexpectedly Peter Moren of Peter, Bjorn and John fame playing at Joe’s Pub a few years back in all his adorable spastic heartfelt awkward glory (Swede.)

I saw Ms. Ólöf at the precious Rockwood Music Hall last night, and was sucked in by her pretty, haunting voice, and charmingly stilted crowd banter. (Icelandic.)

I might have made some faces because my hip hurt that may have distracted her during her set.  (Apologies.)

Please watch her cover Bob Dylan.

It did not escape my notice that we were born in the same year.  I’d like to think we are both making our way slowly towards fame and fortune.  Please help her out here.

(Thanks to Kelly for dragging me to see her.  This post was also inspired by spastic texting habits.)

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