Neysluvara EP

by Hatari

supported by
Edmund O'Connor // Slabolator
Edmund O'Connor // Slabolator thumbnail
Edmund O'Connor // Slabolator Fresh & unique sound. Favorite track: Biðröð Mistaka.
vejtics
vejtics thumbnail
vejtics I enjoy both the sound and the emotion of this EP. And most importantly, the lyrics. The music is universal: it encompasses important political topics, yet the way it is delivered to the listener is very personal. Sometimes I feel like Matthías and Klemens are talking to me directly.

I also appreciate the fact that Hatari refuse to sing in English and thereby conform to typical pop music standards, which are in fact perpetuated by neoliberalism.

Tómið heimtir alla.

Favorite track: Ódýr.
batsandbows
batsandbows thumbnail
batsandbows So glad I found Hatari, their music and voices are just beautiful. I've been waiting my whole life for a band like this!! Favorite track: Biðröð Mistaka.
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    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of NEYSLUTRANS, Spillingardans, and Neysluvara EP. , and , .

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  • Neysluvara EP Compact Disc ©
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credits

released October 31, 2017

license

all rights reserved

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about

Svikamylla ehf. Reykjavík, Iceland

Svikamylla ehf. is a transnational private holding company headquartered in Reykjavik, Iceland. The company's aim to bring an end to neoliberal capitalism, as well as managing real estate, loans, imports and exports. HATARI ©, the HATARI © logo, and all products of the HATARI © brand are exclusive intellectual property of Svikamylla ehf. ... more

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Contact Svikamylla ehf.

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Track Name: X
X

X! Ljóðið er dautt listform og vitið uppurið.
Orðið er jarðsungið við stynjan hórkarla, mógúla og svikahrappa.
Það kostar milljarð að fá krabbamein og líftóruna að losna við það.

– Þú horfðir á mig deyja.

Þornaðir ávextir glataðra væntinga halda skrílnum í algleymingi.
Gjaldþrot hins andlega mergsýgur framtakið og kæfir það í biturleika.
Saltinu úr grautnum er stráð í sárið og ég veslast upp og skrælna.

– Þú horfðir á mig deyja.
Óþrjótandi gengisfallið ámáttkast í óbilandi meðalmennsku meðalmannapans.
Lygarnar eru sem hnífur í blæðandi síðu aumingjans.
Hann krýpur á hnjánum. Holskeflan er gröf.
Saltinu úr grautnum er stráð í sárið og ég veslast upp og skrælna.
Dreyri vellur – hann fellur í valinn.

– Þú horfðir á mig deyja.

////////////////////

X

X! The poem is a dead art form and intelligence exhausted.
The word is buried to the groans of adulterers, moguls and scammers.
It costs a billion to develop cancer and the breath of life to be rid of it.
 
— You watched me die.
 
Shriveled fruits of vanished expectations keep the riffraff enraptured.
Spiritual bankruptcy sucks the marrow from initiative and suffocates it in bitterness.
Our daily bread is salt in our wounds and I wither and waste away.
— You watched me die.
Ceaseless devaluation is made invincible in the unswerving mediocrity of the average
ape.
The lies are like knives in the bleeding side of the wretch.  
He falls to his knees. The breach is a grave.
Our daily bread is salt in our wounds and I wither and waste away.
Blood wells— he dies.
 
— You watched me die.

////////////////////

X

X! Das Gedicht ist eine tote Kunstform, der Verstand ist aufgebraucht.
Das Wort wurde mit dem Stöhnen der Ehebrecher, Mogule und Betrüger begraben.
Es kostet eine Billion, sich Krebs zu holen und den Lebensatem, ihn wieder loszuwerden.

– Du hast mir beim Sterben zugesehen.

Vertrocknete Früchte aus leeren Erwartungen halten die Meute im Rausch.
Spiritueller Bankrott erstickt den letzten Rest Tatkraft in Bitterkeit.
Das Salz aus der Suppe wird in unsere Wunden gestreut, ich gehe zu Grunde, verdorre.

– Du hast mir beim Sterben zugesehen.

Anhaltende Devaluierung, unbesiegbar gemacht mit der unerschütterlichen Mittelmäßigkeit
eines durchschnittlichen Affen.
Die Lügen sind wie Messer in der blutenden Seite des Opfers.
Er kriecht auf den Knien. Die Sturzwelle ist ein Grab.
Das Salz aus der Suppe wird in unsere Wunden gestreut, ich gehe zu Grunde, verdorre.
Das Blut fließt – der Tod setzt ein.

– Du hast mir beim Sterben zugesehen.
Track Name: Tortímandi
Tortímandi

Hann er þögull
sem múrveggur
hávær
sem handleggur
brotinn
í agnir niður
aumkun
sem engu nemur
öskur
sem hamar og meitill
höggstaður
alráður
hatur
sem flóðbylgjur
ótti
óheflaður

Kunnuglegur tortímandi
Styrkri hendi mundar spjótið

Við erum brothætt
sem heimsálfa
hangir
á bláþræði
heróp
í bergmáli
aumkun
sem engu nemur
öskur
sem hamar og meitill
höggstaður
alráður
hatur
sem flóðbylgjur
ótti
óheflaður

Kunnuglegur tortímandi
Styrkri hendi mundar spjótið

Allt sem þú aldrei varst
aldrei varðst
aldrei varst
Bréfið sem aldrei barst
aldrei barst
aldrei barst
Klettsbrún af hverri þú dast
hverri þú dast
hverri þú dast
Allt sem þú aldrei varst
aldrei verður
aldrei varst

Kunnuglegur tortímandi
Styrkri hendi mundar spjótið

////////////////////

Eradicator

He is silent
    as a wall
loud
    as an arm
smashed
    to smithereens
pity
    nearly nil
a scream
    like a hammer and chisel
a weak spot
    arbiter
hatred
like tidal waves
fear
    unchecked
 
Familiar eradicator
Strong of hand aims the spear
 
We are fragile
  as a continent
hanging
    by a thread
battle cry
    in an echo
pity
    nearly nil
a scream
    like a hammer and sickle
a weak spot

    arbiter
hatred
    like tidal waves
fear
    unchecked
 
Familiar eradicator
Strong of hand aims the spear
 
All that you never were  
never became
never were
The letter that never came
never came
never came
The cliff off which you fell
which you fell
which you fell
All that you never were
never will be
never were

Familiar eradicator
Strong of hand aims the spear

////////////////////

Zerstörer

Er ist still
wie eine Wand
laut
wie ein Arm
zerschlagen
in Splitter
Erbarmen
gleich null
Geschrei
wie Hammer und Meißel
Schwacher Punkt
Richter
Hass
wie die Wellen der Gezeiten
Angst
urwüchsige

Bekannter Zerstörer
Die Stärke der Hand richtet sich auf den Speer

Wir sind zerbrechlich
wie ein Kontinent
am seidenen Faden
hängend
Kriegsrufe
deren Echo
Erbarmen
gleich null
Geschrei
wie Hammer und Sichel
Schwacher Punkt
Richter
Hass
wie die Wellen der Gezeiten
Angst
urwüchsige

Bekannter Zerstörer
Die Stärke der Hand richtet sich auf den Speer

Alles, was du nie warst
nie warst
nie warst
Der Brief, der nie kam
nie kam
nie kam
Die Klippe, von der du fielst
von der du fielst
von der du fielst
Alles, was du nie warst
nie sein wirst
nie sein wirst

Bekannter Zerstörer
Die Stärke der Hand richtet sich auf den Speer
Track Name: Biðröð Mistaka
Biðröð mistaka

Aragrúi vonlausra væntinga
eins og óútfyllanlegt eyðublað.
Ótæmandi listi vonbrigða, sjálfsvorkunnar,
vottaður stimpli fyrirlitningar.

Dagur sérhver
biðröð mistaka.

Reginskari hálfreyndra hugmynda
eins og ástarbréf ofan í tætara.
Ævistarfi raðað í kompuna, neðstu hilluna,
ólesnir rykfallnir doðrantar.

Dagur sérhver
biðröð mistaka.

Nauðbeygður opnarðu augun,
þú vissir aldrei að ég elska þig – þú varst hatari.
Þrálátur en samt svo þögull,
hrópandinn í eyðimörkinni – þú hataðir.

– þú hataðir.

////////////////////

A Line of Mistakes
 
A multitude of hopeless expectations
like an unfillable form.
An inexhaustible list of disappointments, self-pity,
bears the seal of contempt.
 
Every single day
a line of mistakes.
 
An immense swarm of half-attempted ideas
like a love letter in a paper shredder.
Your life’s work arranged in a storage room, on the lowest shelf,
unread, dusty tomes.
 
Every single day
a line of mistakes.
 
Forced to open your eyes,

you never knew that I love you— you were a hater.
Persistent yet so silent,
the crier in the desert— you hated.
 
— you hated.

////////////////////

Eine fehlerhafte Zeile

Eine Myriade leerer Erwartungen
wie ein unbeschreibbares Formblatt.
Eine fortlaufende Liste aus Enttäuschungen, Selbstmitleid,
beglaubigte Stempel der Verachtung.

Jeder einzelne Tag
eine fehlerhafte Zeile.

Ein Riesenschwarm halbausgereifter Gedanken
wie ein Liebesbrief im Schredder.
Dein Lebenswerk, aufgereiht auf dem untersten Regal einer Kammer,
ungelesene, verstaubte Wälzer.

Jeder einzelne Tag
eine fehlerhafte Zeile.

Unter Zwang öffnest du die Augen,
du hast nie gewusst, dass ich dich liebe – du warst ein Hasser.
Die ganze Zeit, und dabei so still,
der Rufende in der Wüste – du empfandest Hass.

– du empfandest Hass.
Track Name: Ódýr
Ódýr

Árin renna frá þér eins og brauðmylsnum er hent í ruslatunnu.
Þau safnast saman á haugum brostinna drauma.
Þú lítur til baka og hugsar:
Afhverju seldi ég mig –
ekki fyrir meira?

Næturnar verða ekki mikið fleiri eftir þetta.
Ævi þín er útbrunninn stubbur í hringiðandi öskubakka.
Þú lítur til baka og hugsar:
Afhverju seldi ég mig –

Öskunni er stráð yfir kistuna og um leið man enginn hver þú varst.
Ekkert fyrirfinnst jafn ómerkilegt og ævin sem var við að ljúka.
Þú stóðst ekki fastar á þínu en svo að enginn kærir sig um minningu þína.
Við tekur hyldýpi svartnættis og eilíf eymd í botnlausri algleymsku.

Ég fel mig undir laki
sem kuldinn hefur þakið.
Nóttin starir þögul
hún segir lygasögur.
Tómið svífur að mér
berleggjaður berst ég.
Banasæng ég bý mér.
Banasæng ég bý mér.

Árin runnu frá þér eins og brauðmylsnum var stráð í ruslatunnu.
Þau söfnuðust saman á haugum brostinna drauma.
Hversu oft var það sem þú leist til baka og hugsaðir:
Afhverju seldi ég mig –
ekki fyrir meira?

////////////////////

Cheap

The years slip from you like breadcrumbs tossed in the trash.
They pile up on the heaps of broken dreams.
You look back and think:
Why did I sell myself—
so cheap?

The nights you have left are numbered.
Your life’s a burned-out stub in a whirling ashtray.
You look back and think:
Why did I sell myself—
 
As your ashes hit your coffin, no one recalls who you were.
Nothing’s as banal as a life about to end.
You didn’t stick to your guns enough for anyone to care to remember you.
What comes next is the pit of black night, and eternal misery in bottomless oblivion.
 
I hide beneath a sheet
that the cold has covered.
The night stares silently
it tells tall tales.
The void is approaching,
Barelegged, I fight back.
I make my dying bed.
I make my dying bed.
 
The years slipped from you like breadcrumbs strewn into the trash.
They piled up on the heaps of broken dreams.
How often did you look back and think:
Why did I sell myself—
so cheap?

////////////////////

Ein niedriger Preis

Die Jahre fliegen dir davon, wie Staubkörner, die man in die Mülltonne geworfen hat.
Eine weitere Schicht auf dem Haufen aus zerbrochenen Träumen.
Du siehst zurück und denkst:
Warum habe ich mich für so wenig –
verkauft?

Die verbleibenden Nächte sind gezählt.
Dein Leben ist ein ausgebrannter Stummel in einem wirbelnden Aschenbecher.
Du siehst zurück und denkst:
Warum habe ich mich für so wenig –

Wenn die Asche auf deinem Sarg landet, weiß niemand mehr, wer du warst.
Nichts ist so banal wie das Leben, das zuende geht.
Du hast nicht genug dafür getan, dass man sich an dich erinnert.
Abgrundschwarze Nacht und Misere in bodenloser Vergessenheit, in Ewigkeit.

Ich verstecke mich unter der Decke
Kälte hat sich darüber gelegt.
Die Nacht starrt still
sie erzählt Lügengeschichten.
Die Leere kommt näher,
mit bloßen Beinen trete ich dagegen.
Ich bereite mein Sterbebett
Ich bereite mein Sterbebett.

Die Jahre fliegen dir davon, wie Staubkörner, die man in die Mülltonne geworfen hat.
Eine weitere Schicht auf dem Haufen aus zerbrochenen Träumen.
Wie oft hast du zurückgesehen und gedacht:
Warum habe ich mich für so wenig –
verkauft?

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