Every morning at 9 a.m., BAFTA-winning and Emmy-nominated Icelandic composer Atli Örvarsson pads in stockinged feet downstairs to his home recording studio. The man behind the music for the Apple TV+ series “Silo” sits at his mixing desk, surrounded by vintage keyboards stacked in multi-level performance racks, as if waiting for a prog-rock god to breathe life into them. Behind him sits a grand piano, and to his right, a collection of ethnic percussion instruments. But it’s the view in front of him that has profoundly influenced the ethereal, emotionally charged nature of his compositions.
In most studios, the mixing desk faces a window where musicians can be seen preparing to record. In Atli’s home studio, however, the window frames the haunting darkness that cloaks northern Iceland during the long winter months. Come spring and summer, that same window offers views of the sunlit majesty of the fjords and the bay embracing Akureyri, the close-knit town in northern Iceland where Atli grew up and still resides part of the year when he and his family are not in London.
Akureyri, known for its rich artistic culture, played a pivotal role in shaping Atli’s early development. As the middle child in a family of five, raised by a single mother, Atli’s upbringing was modest. Yet his mother, Svava, recognized his emerging musical talent and nurtured it as much as she could. Her emotional support became a vital part of the symphony of experiences that Atli would later draw from in his work. The solace he found in music during these formative years still echoes in his compositions today.
Atli soon developed a signature style—what some might call a muted emotionalism—that allows his music to connect deeply with audiences. His compositions began to take on an ethereal quality, forging an emotional connection that is almost subliminal.
We all have memories—joyful or painful—that linger just beneath the surface, often tucked away in the darker corners of our minds. When music plays, even a single phrase or a soulful guitar solo can unlock those memories, bringing emotions rushing back like a door suddenly flung open. Atli’s gift lies in his ability to connect with listeners, triggering these reactions much like electrical impulses activating long-buried memories. His compositions tap into an emotional current that bridges the conscious and subconscious, allowing him to convey not just melody but the shared human experience
It’s no surprise that Atli’s work on the Apple+ dystopian sci-fi series “Silo” recently won him a BAFTA and earned him an Emmy nomination. Based on Hugh Howey’s novels (originally known as “Wool”), the series takes place in a bleak future where the remnants of humanity live in a massive underground structure designed to shield them from the toxic world above.
However, the silo is less a refuge and more of a gulag, where rigid rules that support a hidden dogma govern life while growing tensions threaten to unravel social order
Atli’s music doesn’t just score the action; it defines the atmosphere itself. In “Silo,” his compositions act as another character—one whose presence is integral to the unfolding drama. His score pulses with a claustrophobic intensity, underscoring the characters’ confinement and their hunger for freedom, while at other times, it offers glimmers of hope. Like the spiral steps that connects the socio-economic levels of the silo, Atli’s music ascends and descends, revealing layers of tension and release, echoing themes that resonate with our own world—a world that, in many ways, seems to be teetering on the edge of the dystopia portrayed in “Silo.”
“Silo” creator Graham Yost recalled, “In Season 2, Michael Dinner (director) wrangled post-production. He’d never worked with Atli and he’s a hard man to please. But then I started getting texts from Michael on the mixing stage saying Atli just kept outdoing himself. When I heard the score, I was as thrilled as Michael was. But not surprised.
There’s a familiarity to Atli’s music that lingers, like a taste we recognize but can’t quite place, perhaps because it reflects something deeply real. The long, dark winters of Atli’s Icelandic youth seem to mirror the metaphorical darkness that casts its shadow over much of today’s reality
Atli’s abilities are no surprise to those familiar with Icelandic music. There’s a certain atmosphere, a unique energy, that emerges from the island’s artistic community. Film composer Hans Zimmer once remarked on this, saying, “There is an ethereal darkness, something magical…” when describing Icelandic musicians. He added, “You can tell the London sound, the Los Angeles sound—and you can tell when you’re working with Icelandic musicians.
I remember the first time I heard Atli’s piano composition “Shards” from his album “7 Cycles.” It was playing softly in my office—not at the usual volume that causes doors to slam all over the house when I crank up Hendrix. My wife was at my doorway. “Who is that?” she asked, intrigued. We listened together, and even after 40 years of marriage, it was clear that Atli’s composition bridged the gap between our differing tastes. It was a rare moment that reminded us of the power that music has to connect us.
“Music is a language spoken by few but understood by many.”