They are considered weird back home in Bergen, but over here they fit right in, says Simon Price

8 April 2001

Surrounded on three sides by starscraping, snowcapped mountains and on the fourth by the fjords, dominated by devastatingly pretty 14th-century Hanseatic League architecture, Bergen, Norways's second city, is the sort of everyone-knows-everyone kind of place that makes you wonder why anyone could ever want to leave it. Which is possibly why Kings of Convenience, aka Erlend Oye and Eirik Glambek Boe, have not.

In this age of instant global communication, the geographical school of pop criticism ­ the idea that the place you come from shapes the sounds you make ­ is more untenable than ever, but in the case of Kings of Convenience, it's an irresistible approach to take.

The cold, clear simplicity of their sound ­ two guitars, two voices, precious little else ­ comes as a breath of fresh Nordic air. Furthermore, the gentle sadness of their sound seems a specifically Norwegian trait. I mention the abnormally high suicide rate in Norway, and Erlend nods. "There is definitely a melancholy national character here. You can even hear it in the folk music."

And KoC belong in that folk tradition? "I used to hate Norwegian folk music when it was taught to me at school," Eirik admits, "but I went to study in Surrey and met people from around the world, and we played each other folk songs from our home countries, and I realised that I actually loved it."

Erlend and Eirik first met at the age of 11, through an inter-schools geography competition. Erlend, who can draw a freehand map of the world from memory, won hands down. At the age of 16, they met again, and bonded over a shared love of the psych-pop sounds of Ride and early Pink Floyd. They formed Kings of Convenience on a holiday to Tunisia.

Their choice of name was intended to reflect the portability of their ultra-convenient, have-guitar-will-travel set-up. It was only later that its other association hit them. "We didn't realise that 'convenience' meant toilet in English until someone told us," Erlend smiles ruefully, "but it was too late! Oh dear."

Erlend, a red-headed Jarvis Cocker type and very much the joker in the pack, is a well-known face around Bergen, not least because he walks everywhere: "I don't drink, I don't take drugs, I get all my clothes second hand, I live with my parents and I walk everywhere. It allows me to live cheaply, and devote all my time to thinking about my music." Eirik, the moodily handsome one, is the quieter, more ostensibly normal half of the pair. But in the context of their hometown, KoC are nonetheless regarded as slightly weird (this in a town previous notorious for black metal and church-burnings).

The word first began to filter to the outside world when the duo attended the In the City festival/seminar in Manchester two years ago, and met the likes of Alfie and Badly Drawn Boy (whose producer, Ken Nelson, now produces them). Since then, they've signed to the ultra-hip Source label and done a tour of British arthouse cinemas, performing during the intermission, explaining that "cinemas are the new Wembley". Following the release of the singles "Toxic Girl" and "Winning the Battle, Losing the War" ­ ironically, for such an unassuming act ­ Kings have had more media noise made about them than any Norwegian act since A-Ha (whose "Manhattan Skyline" they have been known to cover). Perhaps their reticence inspires others to bang the drum for them.

From their sub-Arctic exile, they're faintly bewildered by the fuss being made down in London, and by their conscription into something called the New Acoustic Movement by what remains of the music press, although the gently provocative title of their wonderful debut album, Quiet is the New Loud, has been lapped up by slogan-hungry headline-writers and scene-makers.

The most common comparison KoC have received is with Simon and Garfunkel, and it's one they wouldn't try too hard to deny. So which one is going to go off and record a multi-platinum album with South African folk musicians, and which one will write an elegy to a dead cartoon rabbit?

"Without wishing to seem immodest," Erlend laughs, "I don't think either one of us is Simon or Garfunkel. But he's the Len-non, and I'm the McCartney."

'Toxic Girl' (Source) is released tomorrow; KoC play Curzon Cinema, W1 (020 7734 9209), today, 12.30pm; Stanley Theatre, Liverpool (0151 709 9108), Tuesday; Cargo, EC2 (020 7739 3440), Wednesday