By Simona Mihalca 
Sometimes a concert is about who you’re seeing. Sometimes it’s about yourself.
I’d seen Eivør once before, and I have to give full credit to Carlos, our photographer, who basically took me to go see her because he was right. Eivør is magnificent, an absolute force of nature and a haunting presence. But if I’m being honest, I wasn’t just excited to see Eivør. I was excited to see a concert, and specifically to be back at Quantic, which used to be a second home of sorts. By the way, if you haven’t been to Quantic recently, you should see how much it has changed into a proper summer garden.
For no reason I can point to other than simply getting older, I go to way fewer shows than I used to, and I feel less metal than I used to. Despite my big talk about living in a big city with its many events and places to see, I haven’t been seeing them that often. I mostly just like having the option, and for a night, I finally exercised it.
For anyone who needs the introduction: Eivør Pálsdóttir is Faroese, and most definitely not accustomed to the scorching Bucharest heat. You might have heard her soundtracking half the shows and games you already love, including The Last Kingdom and God of War. Ten albums deep, she still stays somewhat under the radar despite being one of the most distinctive voices coming out of the Nordic scene right now.
The Show Itself
From the mist (and there was so much of it) and the shadows, Eivør emerged. The atmosphere was atmosphering with moody colourful lights. It was also extremely hot! Quantic could seriously use some better AC. But let’s be grateful for the actual problem here: Eivør packed the place to the brim, which was a pleasant surprise. People want good, soulful music, and apparently they’ll sweat through a Quantic summer night to get it. The loudest applause often came after the quietest moments, when it felt like the audience collectively remembered they were allowed to make noise again.
Something has also clearly shifted in her sound in the last few years. This felt heavier, closer to metal and rock than the folk-leaning show I remembered, with the band pushing a lot more weight behind her. You couldn’t actually see them through all that fog, but you could feel them, driving things forward instead of just accompanying her. It’s a bigger, harder sound, and it suits her.
Watching Eivør perform is a lesson in how many instruments one person can become, including her own voice. Hearing her build the layers of “Trollabundir” live, mostly with just her voice as percussion and texture, is the kind of thing that shouldn’t be possible and yet there it is, happening in front of you. I should also mention that hearing her sing in English (songs like Let it come and Skyscrapers) always catches me off guard.
Eivør is touring ahead of a new album called Tungl, Faroese for moon, out on October 16. That means we got to hear her new single, Drekafljóð (Dragon Maiden), which is just as moody and cinematic as you’d expect. She even pulled out “So Close To Being Free,” a song she rarely plays live, which felt like a genuine gift to the people who’ve been listening for years rather than a crowd-pleaser move. The set never really felt like a sequence of individual songs. It unfolded more like one continuous journey, each piece bleeding naturally into the next.
If concerts are sometimes about ourselves, this one reminded me exactly why I used to spend so many evenings chasing them. Mystical, magical, and somehow still an absolute party.
