Usually the Paradiso’s small upstairs room is packed, as bands big enough to sell out the 300 or so capacity room but too small for the 1,000-plus person older brother downstairs frequent it in droves. Just last week I was crammed into a back corner hearing My Brightest Diamond, while I had to fight for a good spot at Tokyo Police Club. At 6pm on this Saturday night, however, the Bovenzaal was quiet.

Thirty or so people loosely conglomerated around the stage for the pre-dinner festivities: Iceland’s Benni Hemm Hemm. The problem though, even to the hippest music seekers, is that the Reykjavik-based band remains unknown in Holland, and to a lesser extent the UK. But something is in the water in their native land, as any band that makes it down south tears me a new one musically, from Daniel Agust to the very famous and rightfully so Sigur Rós. Therefore, history was on Benni Hemm Hemm’s side. They needed no help though, as the ten-piece collective wound through one of the best hour of music I have seen this year.

Fronted by singer-songwriter Benedikt H. Hermannsson, Benni Hemm Hemm is a massive, almost affronting collective that mastered a set of massive, jarring pop. From the onset, the five-piece horn section elevated each crescendo, washing punchy, suspended lines through fragile verses built on Hermannsson’s sensitive yet evocative croon. One song in, I fell in love with this band. I love horns, and Benni Hemm Hemm has five of them. I also love complex, classically orchestrated pop music, and this was served in fine form throughout the show. In support of Kajak, their third album, Benni Hemm Hemm ran through much of it, buttressing quirky Icelandic vocals with booming horn lines, post-rock interludes and tasteful guitar work. Songs written about the relationship between snow and shadows, refusing to promise anything to anyone and other introspective goodies ebbed and flowed through the set, as melodies built on top of each other shined through each highly constructed horn line or bell romp. Never once did the complexities writhing in the arranging overpower Hermannsson’s frail, subtle vocal work, as each variable took its turn eliciting response from the crowd, from a towering chorus to an acapella, in Icelandic I must add, sing-along session. Most of Kajak was played, from the shatteringly melancholic ‘Stoffer’ and the lullaby-like ‘Aldrei’ to older stalwart ‘Skvavars’ and the pulsating, trumpet-led ‘Brekkan’. It was unheralded jubilance; beautiful, incisive music that pulsated each nerve to climax. I was thoroughly blown away. Not to Iceland, but close enough for the night.

And only thirty or so people were there to witness the party. Yet not one person moved throughout the set, each attendee almost paralyzed in awe of each incoming arrangement, minus a small contingent of accompanying Icelanders who danced along with each note. So sure, the quantity of attendees was small, but the expressions of each person in the crowd, left virtually aghast and overwhelmed with what they were hearing, made the venue feel much fuller than it actually was. In one hour, I felt almost every carnal emotion available, from sorrow to laughter, despair and pride, whilst interpreting Hermannsson’s lyrics and each instrumental toot. Looking around, everyone else was right alongside me, pensively caught up in the same introspective quagmire. I guess when something can be so engaging, so brilliant, the space bellows with energy, even in sparsely populated conditions.

Partly I want to keep this band to myself, my dirty little secret to unveil only when needed, with and without alcohol. Yet, not sharing this music is inhuman, and I bet you every attendee who walked out as inspired as I did after a date with Benni Hemm Hemm agrees. More folks will be there next time around. I guarantee it.