This photo of Múm was borrowed from Múm:web. It is credited there to "michael".

The sold out performance was full of people as eclectic as the band's sound. There was a guy was reading Italo Calvino, a handful of hippies, a few MIT professors, a punk rocker, and others who seemed to be randomly plucked from Boston subway cars. A middle-aged woman who reminded me of everybody's aunt asked me whether I thought she would like the band. I was surprised that she was seeing Múm blindly. She explained that Museum members get into the show at a discount. "Yes," I replied. "They are certainly different, but in a good way."

What else is there to say about Múm? They are a gallery of shipwrecked elves making music for dreaming sea captains. They are a motley crew on a steam ship to an icy world. In fact, their last album was recorded in a Galtarviti lighthouse a three-hour hike away from civilization. Múm is indeed different, but what's not to like? Sitting beneath the stone museum pillars, trees, and stars, I was ready to forget the fact that I was in the middle of a bustling city. I was ready to be swept away into the mysterious corners and caverns I heard on their last three albums. Luckily, I got what I wanted.

Múm followed a wonderful opening set by Norwegian electronic artist Kim Hiorthøy, who, looking suitably disheveled and focused, lorded over a panel of buttons, pots, and dials, creating a mixture of phasing, beats, and loops that readied the audience for what was to follow. After a round of applause, Múm took the stage. I instantly recognized one of the group members as the mumbling gentleman who sold me a vinyl record at the merchandise table. With a little curtsy, the show began.

Watching Múm, I quickly realized, is truly like watching a band from a forgotten world. I think I saw a guitar and a bass, but I was more interested in the melodica, the horn violin, the accordions, the muted trumpet, the glockenspiel, the laptops, and the banjo. For the entire ethereal set, the mish-mashed audience was focused on the evolving detail-oriented performance. We bobbed our heads beneath the stars and smelled the salty ocean. No matter whether you were a fan or a novice, you were welcomed into a transcendent experience of musical dynamics. Though I planned on jotting down the set list, I was more interested in sitting back in the grass and enjoying this special performance. Building their set from three albums worth of material, Múm confidently meandered through their elaborate opuses. No matter how enveloping their albums may sound, it does not compare to the experience of seeing this complex collaboration of stunning instruments. When one of the members dragged a saw to the microphone so he could play it with a bow, the sound of the dragging seemed to fit perfectly. Between the diverse instrumentation (an understatement) and more wires than the phone company connecting everything together, everything came out beautifully. Múm mesmerized the collected audience with sights and sounds both rare and intriguing, sending everyone on a trip to the windswept cracks and crevices of the motley Icelanders' own inspirations.

The first stop on their 34 day tour proved that Múm is a band that anyone can appreciate; the middle aged woman who asked me about them before the performance found me after the final song to tell me that she had enjoyed the show. Rather than dividing audiences, Múm unifies and mystifies. Go see them while they're still icy.

Article by John Herman