Last year, Petur Ben won an Icelandic Music Award, taking home album of the year for his debut release, Wine for My Weakness. A distinctively Icelandic release, Ben’s debut flicks and flutters through themes of religion, self-reflection and, as is the case in much ethereal Icelandic output, the benefits and struggles of isolation. Wine for My Weakness does not play with the clouds as much as Bjork or Sigur Ros, opting for more simplistic folk, and Ben’s croon is uniquely Icelandic — chilled but warming, verbally efficacious and musically eclectic. Now, with his award in tow, Ben has found success abroad.

“It's sort of a big deal in Iceland if someone goes on tour abroad,” says Ben, “because it's difficult when you live on an island in the middle of fucking nowhere, literally. So, people tend to blow things out of proportion. The reality differs from how it is perceived at home. In truth, I'm playing for very small crowds quite a bit, and then bigger ones in between. I played for 35 very appreciative folks in Hamburg, about 100 in Berlin, but thousands when supporting other acts. But I like it this way. I love playing for a small crowd.”

This could be partly due to Ben’s music translating best in intimate circumstances, as his croaked croon and subtle acoustic guitar can more easily fill the room. While Wine for My Weakness dives into full-band accompaniments, electric folk and soft-spoken rock, Ben is most comfortable alone with a guitar. His songs find substance in solace, comfort in quiescence.

“[The album is] based around songs written and performed on the acoustic guitar, so both sides essentially complemented each other,” Ben says of the solo-band dichotomy. “The album was partly recorded in Sigur Ros’s studio, so my band influenced much of the recording, but all in all, I never felt restricted. I’m quite independent, so it is liberating in a sense that I have the freedom to do what I like, but, at the same time, it’s comforting to have close friends, and the guys in my band participate in the creative process. The best of both worlds, no doubt.”

Yet, while Wine for My Weakness is a decisively Icelandic record, it does not flaunt the association as much as its contemporaries. Ben could be writing anywhere, knowing full well that in even the busiest cities, isolation runs rampant. “I do think artists suck up the vibe of their residence whether they like it or not, and that is very much the case in Iceland,” explains Ben. “Reykjavik is a small city and quite intimate, but a city nevertheless. I don't go bathing in hot springs every morning or hike up a mountain often, but all these things are close to me, a part of me and, subsequently, part of the music.”