Trickster Magazine

[SALKA] CYBER kind of emerged from Reykjavíkurdætur, which is now a seven-member hip-hop collective. At its biggest, it had 21 all-female and non-binary members. It was a huge part of how both of us even started making music.

[JOE] I think our experience in Reykjavíkurdætur was also one of the reasons Salka started producing. When we were part of that collective, we always had male producers making the beats, and we kept being discredited with comments like, “The only reason the song is good is because this dude produced it.”

So when we started CYBER and our first EP was produced by male friends of ours, those comments hit extra hard. In Reykjavíkurdætur there might have been 16 people on a song, but in CYBER it was just the two of us, and we were still being discredited. It took us around two years to become fully self-sufficient.

[JOE] It’s crazy. We reached a point where we stopped talking about it because we felt like everyone already knew. But now I’m like, no, let’s bring it up again, because it’s still happening. We’ve been in music for over a decade and that stigma is still alive and well.

[SALKA] Yeah, and it had also been a goal of mine to self-produce my projects. Once we started doing that, we stopped focusing so much on that self-destructive narrative surrounding the band. But these things are still important to talk about.

[SALKA] Recently we’ve been playing with the idea of subverting showgirl imagery. We’re often in revealing outfits, but instead of performing something polished or desirable, it’s more about being on the floor, screaming, crawling, shifting between something seductive and something almost grotesque.

What’s been interesting is the reaction – especially during our tour in Eastern Europe this year – mostly from middle-aged women in the audience. Some of them read it as setting feminism back or simply being scandalous. There’s this assumption that we’re using our bodies in a way that’s been imposed on us, rather than something we’re actively shaping ourselves. They don’t see us as the creators of this performance, but rather as people being fooled into it.

That made me realise we’ve been working from this perspective for so long that we forgot some people still see an AFAB (assigned female at birth) body on stage in little clothing and stop there. They don’t consider that there might be something deeper behind it.

When we started Reykjavíkurdætur, there was a strong urgency to push against these ideas, and now it feels necessary again to return to those basics – the need for freedom of expression, for women and femme-presenting people to be loud, excessive, even uncomfortable. There’s a growing pressure, at any age, to be quiet, palatable, submissive, and beautiful. It feels like all of this is returning with a vengeance, where not fitting into that narrow version of femininity can be seen as embarrassing. Even among younger people, being a feminist feels uncool again, which is something I never expected to come back in this way.

[JOE] I think pretty privilege definitely gives you access to different spaces, but it doesn’t automatically give you recognition or respect. So yes, it can be easier to get your foot in the door. That part is real. But it’s also a trap, because if you get in that way, it can take a long time – and be quite frustrating – to actually earn respect. It’s a shortcut, but I’m not sure it’s a good one.

At the same time, people who don’t fit into societal or patriarchal beauty standards are still affected by this system because we all live in a world shaped by it. In that sense, it becomes a setback for everyone. The fact that this concept exists at all is pretty horrible.

[SALKA] Yeah, and I think what’s interesting is that a lot of the doors opened by “pretty privilege” come through male approval. In a way, one doesn’t really exist without the other. It creates this kind of economy shaped by the male gaze, and in that sense it affects everyone, whether you fit those standards or not. Even people who don’t align with Western beauty ideals can still desire that privilege, especially in terms of acceptance.

Of course there’s a certain level of privilege in it, but I also think it’s a huge setback in terms of personal development. When your self-worth becomes tied to your appearance from an early age – often through being told you’re pretty, usually by men – you grow up learning that this is your main value. And that’s a very difficult thing to unlearn.

[SALKA] We often take a long time deciding on the kind of world we’re going to build. Usually it happens over the course of a year – talking and building things up before we even start writing a record. So I think a lot of the time it’s fuelled by the emotional or philosophical state we’re in at that moment.

[SALKA] I think Horror was almost like a breakup album for me. It came at a time when I was still really young and going through a divorce, so it felt like living through a horror movie – trying to escape or untangle yourself from a relationship that had been so monumental in your life.

We were also around 21, which is that in-between age where you’re still kind of a teenager but also stepping into adulthood, so it was about navigating that shift as well. And I think there’s a tendency at that age to overdramatise everything. It all feels so extreme – life or death – even when it’s not really that serious.

[JOE] Yeah, it’s that extreme dramatisation where your friends can’t make it to the bar and suddenly you’re like, “My God, I have no friends. My life is over.”

[SALKA] And something I’ve been thinking about is how, on the album, we seem quite fixated on centering ourselves as villains. I’ve been wondering where that comes from. Maybe it has something to do with the period when we were moving away from Reykjavíkurdætur and experienced a lot of bullying from people outside the band. We felt quite victimized.

So I’ve been thinking about whether it was partly about trying to shift that narrative for ourselves – becoming the perpetrator as a way to process or find some peace with having felt like victims.

[JOE] I think we also felt the need to move away from the hip-hop scene. We still continue to be part of it, but we had to differentiate ourselves from the men in that scene so people would stop booking us as “the girl band.” Some of the songs on that album are intentionally difficult to listen to, and that was kind of us saying, “Get us out of here.”

[JOE] It was about a year after Horror. We were around 22, and I was moving to Barcelona to study. I remember thinking, okay, it’s time to be a grown-up now – but what does that even mean? I probably leaned into that corporate fantasy a little too hard, because years later I found myself actually living that office-worker lifestyle.

[SALKA] For me, Bizness is less about what that time represented and more about exploring production. It was such a fun concept to dive into – recording printers, water coolers, pencils, all those kinds of sounds. There were so many kitschy, playful elements to work with, which felt very different from typical hip-hop production.

It gave us a lot of freedom, because we weren’t stuck refining a kick drum or comparing it to someone else’s. We were building our own world. I think I gained a lot of confidence from making that album.

[JOE] That was around the time we were on tour with Hatari in February 2020. Every time we arrived in a new city, there would suddenly be another lockdown, and eventually the second half of the tour got cancelled. At the same time, a lot of plans with Reykjavíkurdætur were also cancelled, even though it was supposed to be a huge year for both projects.

[SALKA] That year we had two of the biggest tours we’d ever booked.

[JOE] Yeah, and at that point it genuinely felt like the world was ending – like your career was ending. On top of that, I was about to start an MA in fine arts, but obviously you can’t do certain things, like printmaking, over Zoom. It all became this complete “What the fuck is going on?” moment.

So what we really wanted was escape – and I think a lot of people wanted that too. That’s kind of how Vacation came to be. It’s also a breakup story, just told in a more theatrical and conceptual way. It’s about two friends going on a trip together after one of them breaks up with their partner, and it turns into this moment of just letting loose and doing whatever they want.

[JOE] Pretty much.

[SALKA] Yeah, it’s very classic, but also quite fantasy-based because it came from dreaming about this idealised vacation during COVID. The sonic world of the album is really warm and beachy, drawing on this California-inspired sound, and it became this dream world for people stuck in lockdown in Berlin – which we also were at the time.

Production-wise, it was definitely the most intricate thing I’d made up to that point. I think we really grew as musicians while making that album, and we also just had so much time for it. It didn’t actually take that long to write because it happened very organically, but that was because of COVID. Suddenly we had this huge amount of time to sit in the studio and fantasise.

There was no feeling of “I should be somewhere else” or “I should be doing something else,” because nothing else was happening. You’re able to dream in a very different way in that situation, which is such an amazing gift for creativity. That’s why it was such a lovely album to make. I really loved the process.

[JOE]  I was actually listening to it the other day, and I got caught up in the lyrics to “Spa Day”:

I love all my new friends
and what I can buy
I’ll make myself happy
at least let me try

And I think with Bizness and Vacation I truly manifested my corporate life – this fantasy of having all the money in the world to do whatever I want and being excited about having new co-workers.

[SALKA] Yeah, it’s a recurring pattern in our lyricism – fantasising about a stable life where the biggest problem is just that the guy you like isn’t texting back.

[SALKA] I think it’s interesting because the album touches on the idea of performing success, but not in a very convincing way. In hip-hop, a lot of rappers obviously perform success – boasting about wealth or status is almost part of the genre, sometimes to the point of becoming obnoxious. And because of our background, and because CYBER has roots in hip-hop, it’s something we’ve definitely observed as a narrative to explore.

But with this album, it comes through more as fantasising about success – especially in a corporate context – or imagining an office job we didn’t even have yet.

[JOE] And I think what success means has changed a lot, both generally and for CYBER. Especially when we were younger, it was more about wanting world domination. Now it feels more like: are we having fun? Is this bringing us joy? Success has become much more internal.

[SALKA] We’re also much more secure in who we are creatively now and no longer trying to fit into the hip-hop scene in the same way – or trying to be liked by an audience that didn’t really want that kind of genre subversion. Once we let go of that, things shifted.

That album feels transformative in terms of sound and identity because before that we were still kind of dabbling in being a hip-hop band. I think our sound has really been defined by the last two albums, Vacation and SAD. To me, those are the first records where we truly came into ourselves as a band – where we knew what we wanted to be and what we needed to make the process fun for us.

Through those albums, we also found an audience that feels much more valuable. Before, we were booked more in Icelandic hip-hop spaces, but in that context we were always trying to prove ourselves. Now it feels like we exist more in our own lane.

[JOE] SAD is kind of a return to that teenage space, but more focused on this feeling of being watched – like you’re the centre of everything while simultaneously feeling worthless and convinced that everyone is looking at you.

It takes place in a kind of Greek arena, with a bedroom in the middle surrounded by two-way glass, so people can see in but we can’t see out. It’s almost like a manifestation of what we were exploring and how we felt as teenagers. At the same time, I had just gone through a divorce, which was also a very tense period.

[SALKA] Looking back at it now, I was pregnant at the time, and when you’re pregnant you take up more space – not just physically, but energetically. There’s something about it that makes you very aware of being perceived differently, and people suddenly start telling you what to do all the time. At the same time, you’re losing a certain autonomy over your body, which are feelings I also relate to being a teenager, discovering sexuality, and suddenly giving power over your body to others in order to be accepted. There were so many parallels between adolescence and pregnancy for me.

And after giving birth, you’re never really alone again. So in a way, it felt like a kind of beautiful homage – almost the last time in my life where I was fully inside my own thoughts, alone in my head, before your mind starts focusing more on someone else than yourself.

And I think, Joe, that was also a time when you were coming to terms with your gender identity, which is obviously very connected to how you’re perceived by other people.

[JOE] Yeah, and I think we made the song “Pornstar” because my ultimate dream as a teenager was to be a Playboy bunny. I just wanted to be hot and sexy and seen by older creepy men. Making that song was kind of about releasing that energy into the wild and finally being able to let go of it.

Coming out as a non-binary person, I’m still very femme-presenting and can still be sexy in a lot of ways, but I don’t really want that kind of attention anymore. Of course, I’m also 30 years old now and not craving creepiness. But looking back, the only reason I wanted to become this hyper-sexualised woman was because I didn’t actually feel like a woman. I was trying to figure out how to prove that I was one, and the conclusion became: “Okay, three push-up bras and tiny miniskirts.”

I was stuck in a really horrible place for a long time, and I feel like this song became a really important moment for me – something that finally allowed me to let go and accept myself.

[JOE] The next album we’re working on is really a reflection of the world we’re living in right now and all the emotions that come with it. It reflects our current reality – living in what sometimes feels like a kind of banana republic, where everything is corrupt and fake, there’s war everywhere, and it feels like we’re not really doing enough.

Of course we try to do what we can – going to protest after protest, donating where we can – but it still feels strange and insufficient. And at the same time, there’s this pressure that the show still has to go on, which feels absurd because it really shouldn’t. It feels like we should all stop everything and do whatever we can. But instead, you’re trapped inside this capitalist system where you still have to prove your worth.

[SALKA] It’s this idea of dancing at the end of the world, which is obviously a familiar concept – there’s nothing we can do, so we might as well dance. But I don’t think it’s only that. It’s also about what it feels like to keep going, working, and solving problems inside something that feels like a collapsing building – this constant instability.

And still trying to find ways to be creative and positive and performative and fun, even when everything around you feels like it’s falling apart.

[SALKA] The world we’re imagining is set in this hyper-capitalist arena – somewhere almost like Las Vegas – where we embody these two showgirls who have been in the business for a very long time. It’s the only thing they really know, but they’re also deeply jaded.

We’re playing with the idea that they exist inside this huge skyscraper, and the album begins with them performing in something like a rooftop lounge bar…

[JOE]  …and suddenly there’s a recurring earthquake, sirens going off, and instead of taking cover, the showgirls are shouting, “Let’s party! Put your hands up! Let’s go!”

We’re playing with the idea that the feeling of danger has become such a normal part of everyday life that even the end of the world no longer feels urgent or fully real.

[SALKA] Yeah, almost like you still have to secure the bag, even if the world is collapsing in the middle of your shift. There are so many serious things we’re dealing with every day, and we’re trying to bake them into this little story we want to tell.

The rest of the album follows the showgirls moving through the building and trying to survive. It’s essentially the last day on Earth, but the show must go on. Their conditioning is so strong that they keep performing and trying to entertain even while fighting to stay alive.

We also want to play with the sound shifting throughout the album. It starts very glossy, bright, and percussive – almost playful – and gradually becomes darker and more stripped back. By the end, it lands in this underground car park rave where people are taking shelter from the apocalypse. There’s basically no high-end left, it’s just heavy, thumping, and raw.

I think there are so many things to explore with this concept, so I’m really excited to finish it and discover what this beast is going to become.

CREDITS:
Interviewed by Diandra Rebase
Photography by Margrét Unnur
Art Direction by CYBER