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Melting Hearts

Words by
Ragnar Tómas Hallgrímsson

Photography by

Long in the tooth

Jón Jónsson had the idea for Ice Guys in early 2023. 

It all began as a kind of a joke. 

He was, after all, 38 years old and probably a bit too long in the tooth to start a boy band. 

But, despite his advanced age – in boy-band years, that is – he still had his boyish good looks and those teeth, no matter how long, would become the focal point of a Colgate Christmas campaign later that year.

Besides, Jón had a slew of popular singles to his name and years of experience in the Icelandic music business. 

So why not?

Jón dialled the bat phone to his brother, popstar Friðrik Dór; rappers Herra Hnetusmjör and Aron Can; and Iceland’s most handsome man: Rúrik Gíslason.

If you are unfamiliar with Rúrik Gíslason – Sexy Rú as he was playfully called during my time trailing the gang – a brief digression is in order.

Ice Guys boyband
Ice Guys boyband
Ice Guys boyband

“The hot one”

In the summer of 2018 – when Iceland was swept up into a mania of football-coloured patriotism – then-footballer Rúrik Gíslason came on as a substitute during Iceland’s first-ever World Cup match against Argentina. 

With thirty minutes left of the game, Rúrik sprinted onto the pitch with silky blond hair gathered into a neat bun, landscaped stubble affording a smooth fella some rough texture, and uncanny valley peepers seemingly designed by machine-learning algorithms to bankrupt the concept of celibacy.

It may have been the most successful substitution in the history of Icelandic football. 

Iceland secured a tie against Argentina, one of the tournament’s top contenders, and Rúrik secured ties with legions of Argentina’s female viewership; by the time the ref had blown the final whistle, the eager fingers of a quarter million South American women had smashed follow on Instagram.

Qué lindo.

Rúrik would hit a million followers soon thereafter, and in a press conference during the tournament, goalkeeper Hannes Þór Halldórsson – who famously saved a penalty from Messi during the opening match – was asked to comment on Rúrik’s newfound glory.

“He’s finally getting the attention he deserves,” Hannes remarked. 

The press cracked up.

Ice Guys boyband
Rúrik Gíslason
Rúrik Gíslason
Rúrik Gíslason and his uncanny-valley peepers

Big ideas

During their first meeting in early 2023, Jón asked Rúrik (who had begun releasing music in 2021) and the rest of the gang if they would like to start a boy band and maybe release a summer single. 

The proverbial ball began rolling quickly. 

During their second meeting – which coincided with reports that the Backstreet Boys would perform in Iceland that April – someone pitched an idea for an Ice Guys TV show, and a few days later, Jón found himself sitting across from TV execs with “no script, just vibes.” 

And whatever Jón was selling – Sjónvarp Símans was buying.

Deal done.

During their second meeting, someone pitched an idea for an Ice Guys TV show, and a few days later, Jón found himself sitting across from TV execs with “no script, just vibes.”


The Ice Guys released their first single Rúletta (Roulette) in collaboration with hit-maker Þormóður Eiríksson in June of that year. 

A month later, having recruited super-producer Ásgeir Orri Ásgeirsson, they released their second single, Krumla

(Krumla is the Icelandic word for the game of Mercy, in which two people interlock fingers and attempt to bend back the wrists of their opponents.)

A video to the song, which opens with Rúrik Gíslason playing a metaphorically amorous game of Mercy with one of Iceland’s top models, was also released. 

The video, directed by Allan Sigurðsson and Hannes Þór Arason, was produced by the aforementioned Mess-penalty-saving former goalkeeper Hannes Þór Halldórsson. He had founded his own production company that summer; in Iceland, every professional athlete needs a sideline.


Krumla is the Icelandic word for the game of Mercy, in which two people interlock fingers and attempt to bend back the wrists of their opponents.

Krumla featured the five attractive Ice Guys engaged in a Homerian bromance while dancing admirably in sync, and admirably in denim, at various locales around the capital of Iceland, including the Reykjavík airport. 

And the ball just kept rolling.

While vacationing in Italy with his brother in July, Jón pitched the idea of hosting a Christmas concert at Kaplakriki, a sports arena in Hafnarfjörður.


The idea for the concert was somewhat far-fetched, Jón admitted, sitting across from me at the Salurinn concert hall in Kópavogur, where the Ice Guys were rehearsing a few days before their big night.

“Given that we had only released two songs and all,” Jón recalled.

The Ice Guys went on to perform those two songs at the National Festival in the Westman Islands, arguably the biggest stage in Icelandic popular music, in August. 

(They weren’t booked for the event but snuck on stage as a cameo during Herra Hnetusmjör’s set.)

Parts of the TV show were filmed during their performance. 

While some were initially sceptical of this supergroup coming together under the pretence of a boy band, the TV show, released in October, seemed to clarify the concept to its detractors. 

Playing up some of the salient qualities of the five men – and inventing others – the audience was made to understand that all of this was very much tongue-in-cheek. 

(Although, as would later become evident, their wink-and-a-nod attitude was belied by the ambitiousness of their musical productions and dance routines.)

Ice Guys boyband
The younger generation looks on

Ice Guys, the TV show

In the semi-fictional TV show, it’s Friðrik Dór, and not Jón, who has the idea for founding Ice Guys, on account of having grown so emotionally drained by performing show after show as a soloist. 

Jón Jónsson agrees to the idea and spends much of the first season trying to escape the cold shadow cast by his more popular younger brother; even their mother unfairly dotes on Friðrik Dór, and wherever Jón goes, Friðrik’s music is being played. 

Aron Can, the baby of the group, plays a compulsive liar; Herra Hnetusmjör sinks deeper and deeper into debt, trying to keep up with the lavish lifestyle associated with famous rappers; and Rúrik Gíslason portrays a vain narcissist incessantly shadowed by a German film crew.

Ice Guys the TV show received rave reviews – and ticket sales for the concert picked up.

The team huddles backstage before the concert.


The band had originally planned on hosting a family concert in Kaplakriki in the afternoon and a longer version of the show geared towards a more adult audience during the evening. But now, in light of rising demand, the Ice Guys decided to add a second family concert for good measure. 

It sold out in the space of 12 hours.

To the outside eye, it seemed almost Swiftian: both in the sense of a satirical Jonathan of yore and the more modern, and more seismic, Taylor of now

The band released a Christmas EP in November, which featured a few original tracks and a handful of covers. 

(Ever since, my two sons, aged three and five, have sporadically broken into song and mangled the Ice Guy’s lyrics in an especially endearing way.)

To the outside eye, it seemed almost Swiftian: both in the sense of a satirical Jonathan of yore and the more modern, and more seismic, Taylor of now.

Ice Guys boyband
The Ice Guys rehearsing at the Salurinn Concert Hall


The Salurinn concert hall in Kópavogur seemed an unusually grand venue for a rehearsal space. 

Jón admitted as much.

“We had been rehearsing in World Class [an Icelandic gym franchise], but we needed some place where we could synchronise the music to our dance steps. And our boy here,” he gestured towards Herra Hnetusmjör, “was quick to pull some strings.”

Herra Hnetusmjör, or Mr. Peanut Butter in English, had, in the space of about six or seven years, crossed over from one of the island’s most technically gifted and popular rappers to a fixture of mainstream pop culture. He was currently serving as a judge on the Idol singing competition and had gained an admirable social network.

“He fished out his phone and within a minute he had done it,” Jón explained. “He called some insider from Salurinn and also some buddy of his on the municipal council.”

Jón laughed.

“The bad boy”

Every good boy band is predicated on a carefully orchestrated group dynamic constructed around precise stereotypes. If Rúrik is “the hot one,” and Jón is “the responsible older brother,” Herra Hnetusmjör is the designated “bad boy.”

He dresses in fashionable clothes, wears sunglasses inside, and maintains a stolid poker face when interacting with others – as if to suggest that while he is generally courteous and pleasant to be around, that b-boy attitude is always lurking around the corner. 

Later that day at Salurinn, one of the management took down the Ice Guy’s respective email addresses, and when it was Hnetusmjör’s turn to provide his, he replied: “…”

“How do you spell that?” the individual inquired, a bit confused. And a helpful Herra Hnetusmjör lifted up his shirt to reveal the words in tattoo form on his belly (a reference to his hometown of Kópavogur).

“How do you spell that?” the individual inquired, a bit confused. And a helpful Herra Hnetusmjör lifted up his shirt to reveal the words in tattoo form on his belly.

Ice Guys boyband
Ice Guys boyband

New Kids on the Block

It is hard to put one’s finger on the first boy band in music history. 

Some have pointed to the revival of barbershop quartets of the early 20th century while others have suggested the Beatles. 

There is, however, a much more solid argument to be made that what we in the modern age understand by the concept of “boy band” traces its roots to New Kids on the Block.

In 1982, musician, songwriter, and record producer Maurice Starr discovered New Edition at a talent contest. He went on to co-write and co-produce their debut album, Candy Girl. In spite of the success of the album and the subsequent tour, Starr reportedly only paid the members of New Edition two bucks apiece, which led to the group firing Starr in 1983 and suing for embezzlement. Starr went on to found New Kids on the Block, a kind of white version of New Edition. 

Indeed, several prominent boy bands throughout history have faced legal and financial challenges with their management. The Puerto Rican outfit Menudo reportedly endured underpayment and harsh working conditions, and both NSYNC and the Backstreet Boys had legal battles with their manager Lou Pearlman, accusing him of misrepresentation, fraud, and failure to pay adequate earnings.

 If one were to distil the essential elements of the modern boy band, it might go something like this: a group of young and handsome men, all of whom can sing and dance, are recruited by an outsider for the somewhat Machiavellian purpose of gaining popularity especially among a young and mainly female audience.

Unlike many American boy bands, whose relationship with their management has often been fraught with exploitation and legal disputes, the Ice Guys seem very much in control of their own destiny. 

Whatever the true origins of the genre, Ice Guys is, undoubtedly, the first band in Iceland that hews to the true essence of boy bands: dance moves.

Of horses and choreography

Stella Rósenkranz had hardly learned to walk when she began to dance.

As one of Iceland’s most experienced choreographers, she has worked with almost everyone, ranging from Of Monsters and Men to Emmsjé Gauti and Páll Óskar.

Stella knew Jón Jónsson from her time at Verslunarskólinn Junior College, which was also where she met producer Ásgeir Orri. 

When Jón first approached her with the idea of choreographing the video to Krumla, she said yes immediately.

A long-time fan of boy band culture, Stella found that reviewing any old videos from NSYNC or the Backstreet Boys was unnecessary; she had a pretty good idea of what she wanted to do. The only question was how capable the Ice Guys would be in executing her moves.

“The boys don’t have any background in dancing, so how do you choreograph them in a way that they don’t simply throw their hands in the air?” she explained.

She knew she had to give them plenty of footwork, to make sure they were always moving, but not so much as to detract from their vocal performances. 

And so she did what she always does. 

She took the music for Krumla to the Heiðmörk conservation area and began to walk.

She prefers to stay away from places filled with cars or pedestrians:

“I want to be in places where if I meet someone – that someone is a horse.”

She is not always successful.

“Occasionally someone will pass and write me off as a lunatic.”

The steps for Krumla came relatively quickly.

“But I had to slightly revise them in the studio. As I compose while walking, there is always this forward motion, and so I had to adjust the steps so that the boys weren’t moving 20 metres forward on stage.” 

Having settled on a basic framework, she took her ideas to the Ice Guys and gauged their abilities and reaction. 

“We just hit it off at once. I began adding more complicated moves and they proved equal to the task. I realised that I could really challenge them, which was exciting for me.”

Aron Can

“I want to be in places where if I meet someone – that someone is a horse.”

Ice Guys boyband
Ice Guys boyband
Choreographer Stella Rósenkranz directing the "guys"


It was just before noon on December 16, and the Kaplakriki sports stadium was tottering towards excitation. 

In an hour and a half, the uncrowded hallways would be congested with stirring children and their parents, and, as the day slowly turned to night, and one performance followed the next, Jón Jónsson would appear to transcend to the veritable culmination of his earthly existence; even when there is nothing doing, he’s all energy, but this morning the occasion seemed to finally measure up to his enthusiasm. 

Bouncing on stage during soundcheck, Jón was belting out the lyrics to Stingið henni í steininn, when the playback was suddenly cut off. Without missing a beat, Jón promptly reframed the technical mishap in a positive light – almost in the vein of Norman Vincent Peale.

“It’s OK, that’s why we’re practising!” he declared as he frolicked on the stage; and then, in a sort of upbeat non-sequitur, he yelled: “Awesome!”

Meanwhile, Stella – whom Jón credited for the ambitiousness of the Ice Guys’ show – was amicably barking instructions through her wireless mic. 

Once the playback came back on, the band continued to rehearse. Jón stepped down from the stage and reached over the partition, pretending to slap hands with the crowd – which had yet to arrive. 

Judging by his enthusiasm, however, there might as well have been a crush of fans screaming below on the empty dance floor. 

(He later explained that this trance-like gusto was a part of his process of visualisation, a technique that once carried him through an entire marathon for which he had not adequately trained.)

His brother Friðrik Dór was less obviously excited. Like a young Frank Sinatra, face eternally paralysed by cool, Friðrik was visibly drained trying to balance the demands of choreography with the requirements of vocal performance. 

When he descended the stage following the soundcheck, he was notably flustered. “This is going to kill me,” he remarked.

Without missing a beat, Jón promptly reframed the technical mishap in a positive light - almost in the vein of Norman Vincent Peale.


Among the people looking on as the Ice Guys completed their final soundcheck was Ásgeir Orri. 

A seasoned producer who has worked with many of Iceland’s most popular artists – ranging from Friðrik Dór, Páll Óskar, Herra Hnetusmjör, Steindi Jr., and Bríet – Ásgeir, like Stella Rósenkranz, did not take much convincing to collaborate with the Ice Guys. 

He was partly inspired by the Swedish super-producer Max Martin, who has been responsible for many of the era’s major pop hits: the Backstreet Boys’ I Want It That Way, NSYNC’s It’s Gonna Be Me, and Britney Spears’ Hit Me Baby One More Time, to name a few. 

“I’ve tried to use modern drum samples in conjunction with the snares, hits, and claps that are ubiquitous in some of the classic boy band songs. And then all of it is driven home by these big catchy Euro pop melodies.” 

What Ásgeir enjoyed about the project was how it seemed to gel with the current zeitgeist of fun and joy. He also believes that music benefits from being tied to cultural phenomena.

“A lot of what has been popular lately are songs that are tied to these larger gimmicks or cultural events, like the Barbie movie, for example. It’s really hard for a song to set itself apart if it isn’t tied to some larger occasion.” 

Once the soundcheck finished, Ásgeir decided to gun it back to the studio and re-export the tracks to accommodate some of the breathless dancing. 

“Higher backing vocals in some places, a little lower in others.”

Ice Guys boyband
Ice Guys boyband
Ice Guys boyband


Despite the number of elements that required coordination, the Ice Guys’ first family concert went off without a hitch. 

During the first half of the show, the members of the group jumped onto the stage and performed songs from their own private catalogues, prior to launching into the Ice Guys’ more impressive, and more ambitious, choreographed routine. 

The children were visibly enthused by the performance, although I – sitting on the bleachers with my family – wondered if the group would have been better served jumping right into the latter half of the show.

Whatever reservations I had harboured prior to the evening performance, however, were dispelled once the Ice Guys launched into their final, full-length show. 

It kept to the same format, with individual members of the group taking the stage one at a time, or in pairs, but this time, there was a live band on stage, more individual performances, and a few notable cameos.

When Birnir joined Herra Hnetusmjör on stage for Já, ég veit, an old-school hip-hop banger featuring a stuttering, in-your-face synthetic bass line, the crowd went wild. Seeing Hnetusmjör change into a white suit later in the performance, so as to croon a Christmas song with the Ice Guys while seated, was likewise unique, to say the least.

(A TV weatherman from Fox News, a die-hard fan of Jón Jónsson, was reportedly among the crowd that evening.) 

The decibel levels following the Ice Guys’ performance of Krumla were deafening. My ears would ring for the better part of the night.

A return to youth

Jón Jónsson would later confess that he had never experienced anything like it. 

“I’m the kind of person who can usually fall asleep immediately after a show, but I was so buzzed after our performance, that I stayed up most of the night, scrolling through videos on social media and thinking to myself: ‘Did that just happen?’”

When Jón stumbled to his feet in the morning, he felt as if he had run three consecutive marathons. 

“Fortunately, my family was on their way to the public pool, and I tagged along. I shuffled between the steam room and the cold tubs in an attempt to recover.” 

On the night before, it was as if he had returned to his early twenties; many of his wife’s friends felt the same way.

Which seemed, somehow, appropriate.

(Season 2 of the Ice Guys TV show was announced just prior to the annual comedy revue that aired on the National Broadcaster on December 31, 2023.)

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