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Hördur Torfa-- whose official biography describes him as "the first and, in a way, the only Icelandic troubadour"-- has recorded more than 14 albums, and has appeared in, written, and/or directed more than 50 plays. One of Iceland's most respected entertainers, he is also a principal founder of the Icelandic gay rights movement. Torfa now lives in Reykjavik with his partner of eight years, an Italian architect he married in 2003. Recently the actor/musician discussed his life and career with The Guide.

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What was gay life like in Iceland before liberation?

You could be gay as long as you shut up about it. To me, the self-respect of gay men in Iceland in 1966, when I first met up with them, was very low.

When I was 21, I was introduced to the underground life of a group of older men. They used and accepted the word kynvillingur, a very humiliating word in Icelandic meaning a person who has deliberately gone astray in sexuality. Alcohol and drugs were very common, in fact seemed to be the ticket into the gay world. But to me, the wonderful thing was gay humor and sarcasm.

In 1966, I also met two other boys my age who admitted they were gay. That number grew, along with readiness to show our gayness, but we had to be careful. We were tolerated at bars and discos, depending on the mood of owners, police, and doorkeepers. We had no legal rights, so when someone got into trouble, we had to live with it. I started questioning our attitude, but was told to shut up. The gay community seemed resigned to being doomed as long as they were in Iceland. Most gay men I knew at that time went abroad to have fun at gay saunas and gay bars, and they spoke about them as clerics speak about God.

You outed yourself in a fan magazine interview in 1975, a courageous act at time when most gay artists worldwide were still in the closet. What made you feel it was time to go public?

After graduating as an actor from the National Theater in spring 1970 at age 25, I did my first LP, and then a television show. Then I went to Copenhagen, where I learned about the Danish gay organization Forbundet '48, and became interested in gay history and political theater.

I went back to Iceland to do another LP and another TV show, and worked as a fashion model and as an actor at the National Theater. But I had a big problem. I was told to hide the fact that I was gay. It was even suggested I should marry some girl. To me that was purely an insult.

It never occurred to me to go to the papers about the gay issue, but I refused to hide the fact. I became sought after in theater, music, and films. Outing myself in a magazine seemed to me a very natural thing to do. I admit I was angry because of what I saw and heard. Other guys were beaten up and treated badly because they were gay, but around me there was this hush hush because I was famous.

I was not made for this duplicity. I had to start somewhere, and I've always believed that as a free person I take total responsibility for my deeds and words. With that interview [in the August issue of the magazine Samuel], my life changed, and so did the lives of Icelanders.

What was the immediate result?

I started getting harassed. My life got threatened many times. I had to flee the country to stay alive, and I moved to Copenhagen in January 1977. There, in 1981, a young Icelander tried to kill me with a knife at the Icelandic cultural center. I managed to bend away so the knife only scratched my breast and left a scar, but It left me in a state of shock for some time.

Still I went back every winter to Iceland and traveled around working with amateur theaters and doing concerts. My theater salary kept me alive because people didn't come to my concerts; I played for the janitors of the halls I rented. But janitors have families and friends, so audiences grew, along with my artistic vision. I began doing one-man theater, telling and singing stories. I knew everybody looked at me as Hommann-- The Homosexual-- so I never mentioned the gay issue, but emphasized the necessity of being honest with oneself and looking into our feelings and conduct as human beings.

What was your role in forming the national gay organization Samtökin '78?

While in Denmark, I played with the idea of creating an Icelandic organization similar to Forbundet '48. I moved back to Iceland with one aim, to establish a gay organization. It took nine months. Men were afraid to have their names connected to such an effort, because they could lose their jobs or apartments, or create trouble for their families or with their families. I tried enlisting lesbians, but couldn't find any. Finally, in May 1978, I managed to establish Samtökin '78-- in English, "Organization '78"-- with 20 men. I refused to be chairman. My aim was to draw more people into the fight for our rights, and it succeeded. As the years passed, their courage grew, and even lesbians showed up.

To what extent does your work as a theater artist and musician touch on gay themes?

In 1984 I made an LP called Tabu, and it became taboo in Iceland. Many considered it filth. This summer I put it on a CD, and critics called it the most polemical record in Icelandic publishing history. Today it's a good example of what used to be. I'll always combine the gay issue with my work, but my main message now is tolerance and cooperation between people. There should be a place for all of us. Let's stop dividing us into them and us, bad or good. We are all in the gray zone. That's why colors amuse us so much.

Your current projects?

I've just returned to Reykjavik after performing almost 20 concerts around Iceland, everywhere sold out. Now, at age 61, I'm working with a writer who's doing my biography. I'm doing fewer concerts and concentrating more on human-rights issues. Right now I'm head over heels in supporting gay rights in the Faroe Islands. That takes time, but the situation there is just like it was in Iceland 31 years ago.