After five years of silence, Icelandic icons Of Monsters and Men resurface with “Television Love,” a song that feels like breathing again after holding it for too long. Atmospheric, nostalgic, and deeply human, it’s a conversation stretched across time – and worth every second.
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“Television Love” – Of Monsters and Men
There must be something in the water in Iceland.
That’s what I thought when I first heard the opening beat of “Television Love.” It’s the kind of song you put on when the sky bruises purple after a heatwave, and a cold breeze finally kisses your face. It’s breath after suffocation. Stillness after static. In an era of mainstream lyrics that often skim the surface, “Television Love” invites you to dive deeper – to sit with the melody, to ask questions, to listen between the lines. Of Monsters and Men have always been a band that honors quiet, nature-bound reflection, and this latest track feels like a return to their roots: a song not just built, but grown – wild and alive in the isolation of Icelandic plains.
Standin’ in the parking lot
Meet me in the corner shop
I’m not gettin’ over the pain
Someone give me Novocaine
I’m bleedin’ love all over the place
A sea of love, hide my face
I’m bleedin’ love all over the place
A sea of love, hide my face
From their 2011 debut My Head Is an Animal to their sweeping sophomore effort Beneath the Skin, Of Monsters and Men have carved out a signature sound steeped in atmospheric storytelling and elemental beauty. Hailing from Reykjavík, the band rose to global fame with “Little Talks,” which became an indie anthem and earned over a billion Spotify streams. Over the years, they’ve woven their cinematic sound into projects like The Hunger Games, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, and even Game of Thrones, all while remaining refreshingly true to their Nordic identity.
“Television Love,” their first release in five years, marks not just a comeback but a transformation. Written and recorded in their home studio in Iceland, the song is described by the band as “a conversation stretched across time,” one that they returned to again and again throughout different chapters of life. That layered evolution is palpable – it’s in the lyrics, in the production, in the video filmed entirely on 35mm during a midnight-sun summer night. Time feels slow, warped, and tender. The song doesn’t shout to be heard. It lingers, invites, and breathes.
Walkin’ to my favourite song
Look at me I’m lookin’ strong
Saw you at a traffic stop
Waitin’ for the ground to drop
Slippin’ on the bathroom tiles
Feelin’ tall and catchin’ flies
I’m kinda gettin’ over the shame
Someone give me Novocainе
I’m bleedin’ love all over the placе
A sea of love, hide my face
I’m bleedin’ love all over the place
A sea of love, hide my face
Sonically, “Television Love” balances introspection and celebration. It’s deceptively simple – not stripped-down, but careful. The instrumentation swells and recedes like waves, with Ragnar Þórhallsson taking the lead and Nanna Bryndís Hilmarsdóttir shining bright in the bridge and chorus of the song. Their voices have always complemented each other like dawn and dusk, and here, that harmony is at its most restrained and hypnotic. While longtime fans may notice the absence of acoustic guitar flourishes or the band’s signature trumpets, the restraint serves a purpose. The track isn’t cluttered with nostalgia – it holds nostalgia. There’s a sense of clarity in its messiness, a gentle chaos that feels… lived in. As if the song itself was built from memory.
Oh, your call rang out another second now
Drove up to your house and your lights went out
Television love
Oh, your call rang out another second now
Conversation drought
Drove up to your house, seep inside your couch
Television love
Oh, your call rang out another second now
Conversation drought, television love
Drove up to your house, seep inside our couch
When the lights go out, television love
The lyrics offer deceptively simple snapshots – “Standing in the parking lot, maybe in the corner shop” – that manage to conjure deep emotional resonance. The line, “I’m not getting over the pain, someone give me Novocaine,” stops you in your tracks not because it’s poetic, but because it’s true. Of Monsters and Men have always known how to find magic in understatement. There are no grand metaphors here, just quiet ache. And then there’s the bridge – Nanna’s lone vocal moment in the song – where she sings in repetition:
“What if we don’t connect the head now?
What if we just don’t think at all now?”
It’s not complex. It doesn’t need to be. Sometimes the most radical act is surrender. To stop thinking. To just feel.
For me, the entire track feels like what happens when you reconnect with someone after years apart and talk about everything and nothing in equal measure.
It’s the kind of song you could cry to without knowing why – not because it’s sad, but because it’s open. And after five years without new music, this feels like water after a long drought. Refreshing, necessary, and deeply human. What makes “Television Love” matter, both musically and personally, is how it gently shifts between past and present. This isn’t a band chasing trends or trying to recapture former glory. This is a band choosing presence. Choosing to grow slowly, quietly, intentionally. For longtime fans, it’s a reminder of why we fell in love with them in the first place. For new listeners, it’s a warm introduction to what indie-folk can sound like when it’s honest, unhurried, and grounded in something more than a beat drop.
Of Monsters and Men have always been a kind of safe haven for me – the band I return to when I need to slow down, when I want to reconnect with nature, when I crave stillness in a loud world. I write songs myself, and every time I hear a new release from them, I can’t help but wonder how they do it – how they capture so much with so little. There’s no excess here. Just precision. Just feeling. In some ways, this release feels like the beginning of a new chapter. Fever Dream, their last album, leaned into synths and surrealism. “Television Love” feels like a recalibration – not a return to the past, but a conversation with it. And if this is any indication of what’s to come, then I’m ready for the next journey into the Icelandic wilderness.
So who should listen to this song? Honestly, anyone feeling burnt out. Anyone who wants to feel held by music. Anyone who lights candles at night and watches the shadows dance across the walls.
This is a song for late evenings and quiet mornings, for Nordic sunrises and hygge rituals. Light a candle. Put on your comfiest jumper. Let the melody wrap around you. For me, this song brought back memories of my “Nordic mornings” – a few years ago when the heating in my house broke, and I’d wake early to the cold, lighting candles, watching the sunrise, listening to Beneath the Skin. I’d sit in that quiet, tea in hand, and just exist. This track brought me right back there.
And maybe that’s what “Television Love” does best – it gives you space to just be. Not to solve, not to process, not to fix. Just to sit in the present, stretch out in the stillness, and breathe. The final refrain is almost whispered, but it crashed into me like a wave. I didn’t expect to tear up, but I did.
That’s the magic of Of Monsters and Men. No matter how much time passes, they always know how to reach you – not with noise, but with truth.
What if we don’t connect the head now?
What if we just don’t think at all now?
Television love
What if we don’t connect the head now?
What if we just don’t think at all now?
Television love
Television love
Television love (I’m bleedin’ love)
Television love (A sea of love)
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“Television Love” – Of Monsters and Men
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© Eva Schram
© Eva Schram
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