\Written by Laura Regensdorf

The multidisciplinary collective Fischersund is the merry band of the fragrance world, albeit in the subdued, contemplative tones befitting their native Iceland. Based in Reykjavik, the project is the work of four like-minded siblings, whose catalog of scents draws on shared memories and the surrounding landscape. Jónsi, the eldest, is the self-taught perfumer in the family—better known as the lead singer of Sigur Rós. The middle sisters Inga and Lilja are visual artists who work on the creative side; the youngest, Sigurrós, hand-blends the scents and supports product development. When the group converted Jónsi’s 19th-century recording studio into Fischersund’s flagship shop in 2017, they launched with “one perfume, music playing, and art on the wall,” says Lilja. Here, she unpacks the inspirations and aesthetic framing of that debut scent, No. 23.

THE SCENE

“The source of Fischersund is family,” Lilja says, describing how she and her siblings are in constant dialogue. “We’re always pulling from this bag of memories that we share.” The idea for No. 23 sprang from Jónsi’s childhood visits to the old Reykjavik docks, where their father, then a metalsmith, repaired ships in the harbor. When Jónsi began translating these salt-sprayed scenes into fragrance form, he was working out of an 1875 house in the city’s historic Rock Village, not far from the water. “It’s very whimsical and magical,” says Lilja of the building, describing a friendly ghost who used to sell moonshine and artwork out of the basement door. Jónsi’s captivating fragrance study—what would become No. 23—convinced the siblings that it was “time to come together and do this adventure,” she says. They converted his studio into the brand’s storefront, a quintessentially Icelandic space with moody dark interiors and cozy lighting. Fischersund’s first fragrance was born.

THE NAME

When it came time to christen the brand, the siblings followed their instincts. “It felt a little pretentious to create a name that didn’t feel like home to us,” Lilja says. In those early days, Jónsi’s studio was a gathering spot for coffee and drive-by conversation. The family’s shorthand—“Let’s meet at Fischersund”—nodded to the street name, so it felt only right to give to the brand. They followed a similarly unassuming nomenclature for their debut scent: Of all the different perfume trials that Jónsi was assessing, the one labeled No. 23 won out. “If it were an artwork, it would be called ‘Untitled,’” says Lilja. Nothing but a simple number, like so many sonatas and etudes.

THE SCENT

Within No. 23, there’s a big-picture nod to the Icelandic scentscape and an intimate portrait of a single man: an oil-stained metalsmith who smelled of pipe tobacco and citrus cologne. Jónsi folded in bergamot and licorice alongside cypress, tobacco, and ambergris. He also started a tradition of writing what the family calls “scent poems”: a way to give tangible shape to an otherwise abstract construction. Lilja, in her lilting accent, gives a reading of No. 23’s verses, from the first (“Smoke in the air and tarred telephone poles”) to the last (“A beached whale is about to explode”). For Jónsi, the act of perfume-making is aligned with music, both in the idea of notes coming into harmony and the way each relates directly to emotions. He even crafted his perfume organ—the term for a nose’s workspace, with tiny bottles on shallow shelves—out of a disused instrument: scent and sound as one.

THE DESIGN

The defining feature of the No. 23 bottle—otherwise a minimalist glass cylinder—is what Lilja calls the “little installation” at the bottom. “It can be ocean currents or lava fields, a mountaintop, musical waves,” she says. “It’s an abstract landscape, so it can take on many shapes.” In the case of a fragrance about a historic harbor, the dark element recalls notes of smoky birch tar and black pepper. It also suggests what cloaks a boat at sea on a moonless winter night.

THE ARTWORK

“The music for No. 23 is Home,” Lilja says, referring to the EP released by Fischersund’s music collective, which also involves her and Inga’s husbands, both composers. “It’s a soundscape that Jónsi and the boys created especially for the store.” A gently unspooling ambient track, Home is what Lilja calls “slow music,” with tape machines and other analog sounds filtering in. If the music envelops the shopping experience, the accompanying bandanna cushions the bottle itself. “The idea was you don’t even have to throw away the packaging,” she says, holding up a string of bandannas tied together, end to end. “My kids made this because we lost my dog’s leash,” she explains with a laugh. The No. 23 version features delicate illustrations by Inga (tobacco, chervil, Icelandic wildflowers). And then there’s the “main character of No. 23,” Lilja says: “our father.” His metalworker days inspired the fragrance; now retired, he can be found making Fischersund’s incense or building its furniture. “In all our creative adventures, he has always been the one who is hands-on helping us,” Lilja says. “He taught us that there’s never a problem—just a challenge.”

The art collective behind Fischersund.

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