Photograph by Joy Merrifield

As I plan for this my second trip to the annual Iceland Airwaves festival in Reykjavik, I’m packing for survival: water, light layers, wet naps, and a Twitter account. Not being a corporate brand, a 16-year-old girl, or Lily Allen, I’ve never had reason to chop up my rich existence into Twitter’s 140-character blurts. But this year I’m using Twitter as a sort of psychic traveler’s insurance — a place to store my valuable memories, since carrying a brain to the rock-til-you-hit-the-heated-floor shows and apocalyptic parties would only slow me down. How else would I remember any stories to bring back to my envious friends back home? For that matter, how else would I know where to start looking for my camera, wallet, and dignity when I wake up in the Reykjavik police station? 
     None of this is to say the Airwaves festival cannot be enjoyed sober. This year’s lineup is glacier-fresh, with over 100 local Icelandic acts and twenty-five debut performances (I’m personally looking forward to Dynamo Fog and Agent Fresco). And even the particularly vicious local economic meltdown hasn’t scared the party out of Reykjavik’s people. Last year the crowd at the awful, exhilarating Crystal Castles show at Tunglid was so exuberantly, brutally sardined, my companion and I only just escaped being crowd-surged down an open stairwell which had been carpeted in broken glass. I doubt I’d look back at the near-death experience so fondly without a healthy dose of Brennivín (a regional alcoholic beverage/poison) fogging my memory. But Airwaves isn’t just for cheeky teenagers and bloggers with press badges.