As we neared midnight, the rational American in me freaked out. You could feel many in the audience carefully counting the minutes down, anticipating the amazing conclusion. Then Icelandic time kicked in. Out of nowhere, at about 11:50 p.m. the conductor raised the orchestra to booming pitch and crescendo, stood on his chair, waved his arms wildly, imploring the singers to let loose. At the end of that aria, at ten to midnight, he ended the performance. Everyone went bananas, breaking into wild applause, raising glasses, cheering, shouting. People began rushing back from the lobby and the bathrooms, startled to have missed the finish. A backstage party followed for anyone who wanted to come. Suckling pig was served; wine flowed. As I left at 2 a.m., a bunch of the singers — including women from the great Icelandic band Mum — joined Ragnar and the lead tenor, locking arms and belting out Shubert lieder at full volume.
