By removing
a key element of their sound and not allowing themselves their usual
cooked-to-perfection studio time, the members of Iceland's most majestic, respected,
and popular band has issued itself a serious challenge. On album number five,
Sigur Rós has basically ditched the bowed electric guitar sound that helped
define them for years. The songs have quieted considerably, and scratchy
surfaces have arisen that weren't there before. That news might give
diehards—a surprisingly large group for a non-English speaking band
specializing in lofty orchestral rock—reason for worry, but it shouldn't.
Sigur Ros make perfect music—they're just doing it a little differently
on Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust (translation: "with a buzz in our
ears we play endlessly").
Sigur Rós gave
devotees further reason to worry with the early release of album opener
"Gobbledigook," the least Sigur Rós -like track of its career: It's unusually reliant
on acoustic guitar, it chugs along instead of floating, and it sounds hurried
instead of carefully measured. (It also sounds remarkably like latter-day
Radiohead, but with organic hum and strum replacing insistent electro-clicks.)
An album full of these might've been too jarring, but it segues quickly into a
sun-bursting-through-the-clouds epic, "Inní Mér Syngur Vitleysingur," to set
things right. "Vid Spilum Endalaust" is similarly joyous, with horns and
strings providing the foundation that Jonsi Birgisson's guitar usually does. "Med
Sud í Eyrum" will have fans of the sadder, more contemplative third album (
) in thrall with
its hypnotically downcast rhythm and vocal melody.
Those
sides—the sunburst and raincloud sides—meet in the massive "Ára Bátur,"
which begins with simple piano and voice, content to luxuriate in Birgisson's
beautiful voice for five minutes before bringing in the London Sinfonietta and
London Oratory Boy's Choir to add a massive emotional swell. At its peak, it
hews a little too close to a Hollywood soundtrack—expect Julia Roberts to
come rushing through the door—but it's tempered by the band's affection
for left turns. Plus, it offers a peak for the album's final songs to come down
from: There's intimate and gorgeous (the acoustic-and-voice "Illgresi" and the
orchestra-and-voice "Fljótavík"), a bit of instrumental palate cleanser
("Straumnes"), and finally the band's first track sung in English, "All
Alright," whose strings, muted horns, and slurred vocals retain plenty of
mystery despite the lack of language barrier. It's a gorgeous descent for an
inimitable group that knows better than most how to deliver its highs high and
its lows low.