( ) - Sigur Ros

( )

Sigur Ros
Fat Cat Records.

SCQ Rating: 88%

Picasso’s Blue Period, as far as I’m aware, was never meant to be interpreted beyond its aesthetic. Its signature - that the artist discovered and explored his allure to monochromatic contrasts – wasn’t nearly as durable as its name, which has been re-appropriated and reinterpreted countless times under emotional guises. Many artists since have explained their crafts as having been born from an affecting “blue period”, noting that personal conflicts (a break-up, addiction, death, etc.) became imbedded to their professional work. ( ), Sigur Ros’ follow-up to the much-heralded Agaetis Byrjun, is truly the Blue Period of my generation; a recording that deals in melancholic shifts as strictly as it abides by its monochromatic aesthetic.

The drastic divides between ( ) and the band’s previous output has been both drooled over exhaustively and, well, super-obvious, so I’ll sum it up quickly: the band tore apart its awe-inspired orchestral sound, Jonsi Birgisson embraced an imaginary language, songs were refused titles, and the resulting album was titled with punctuation. Oh, and their drummer was replaced, as if disoriented fans had a chance to notice. Interesting how all these innovations which make for such curious fanboy banter accumulate to make ( ), a record that is at once their most shockingly original full-length as well as a virtual blank canvas for listeners. So richly detailed one could spend a year disassembling its layers (for example, max out your stereo speakers and start ‘Untitled 2’ to hear this record’s ghosts being reborn), yet so sparsely designed as to comply with most modern ambient templates, ( ) is truly an elusive masterwork. Although most every track moves at a funereal pace, and although the nine minute dirge of ‘Untitled 6’ glides effortlessly into the nihilistic thirteen minute ‘Untitled 7’, ( ) overcomes its purposeful sterility with a ton of heart. ‘Untitled 1’ breaks its crest over waves of wrenching vocals and ‘Untitled 3’ dances over a starry piano coda, but it’s ‘Untitled 8’ that deems this album a classic; an easy acoustic refrain that morphs into an aggressive behemoth, detonating every careful nuance that came before it. After ( )’s second half lulled us into no man’s land, ‘Untitled 8’ is a perfectly timed explosion to remind us how thrilling Sigur Ros are.

The believed intent of performing all of ( )’s lyrics in Hopelandic was so each listener could interpret them personally and write them along the blank liner notes. Whether that’s fact or wishful thinking, I strongly stand by the theory. A record this oblique can undoubtedly mean something – no matter how varied or far-reaching – to anyone who gives it a chance. For me it was in a closet-sized student house in the winter of 2002; trying desperately to outgrow my adolescence. I never took to writing lyric interpretations through my CD liner notes although even now, listening to Jonsi’s hollow phrasing six years later, I remember old sensations - like phonetic memories - provoked and sculpted from his every word. It technically means nothing, yet somehow in that verbal vacuum it comes to mean everything we attached to it; a Blue Period we fans shared with the band responsible. Meanwhile, how Picasso’s Rose Period escaped all this reinterpretation is beyond me...

Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust - Sigur Ros

Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust

Sigur Ros
XL Records.

SCQ Rating: 83%

Last year's Heim/Hvarf collection, plus the accompanying release of Sigur Ros' first live document, Heima, found Sigur Ros where many bands are who issue stop-gap material: at a considerable crossroads. Although the icelandic troupe have never faltered since the breakthrough of Agaetis Byrjun in 1999 (nearly ten years now!!), Takk... was a clear climax, featuring enough cathartic releases of harmony and drama to exhaust even their most faithful followers. Epic, gorgeous and immensely satisfying as Takk... was, it still begged the question: what can they do after this? Really, what route can they take without releasing Takk II? And as breathtaking as Heim/Hvarf is, it's a double-edged reminder of how tired post-rock is as often as how brilliant Sigur Ros are. Being the flagship band for its genre, was it possible that Sigur Ros had outgrown post-rock?

Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust (translated roughly as With a Buzz in Our Ear, We Play Endlessly) doesn't go so far as to answer that question, although first single 'Gobbledigook' made a decent, first-single bid to overhaul the Sigur Ros sound with its tribal rhythms and raw acoustics. It's a perfect example of a band completely changing while maintaining the very best of their crafts; Sigur Ros make you believe they could rival Animal Collective in the freak-folk department any day of the week. So what happens after that? Well, we get alot of great songs, some of which employing a similar use of spontaneity, but in all, a record that isn't so far removed from its older siblings. This, like those before it, is a Sigur Ros record in nearly every respect: ecstatic, feel-good rushes of cacophony, densely moving ambient ballads, great production, better songwriting, and the occasional track that goes nowhere realllly slowly. 'Inní Mér Syngur Vitleysingur' is probably the sixty-seventh great reason to listen to Sigur Ros when falling in love, all slapped piano chords and arena-worthy hand-claps, while 'Ára bátur' evokes a sorrow I expected the band incapable of by this point, pushed to excellence by Jonsi's incredible coos.

The only clear distinguisher between this and the earlier Sigur Ros discography is how unbalanced it can feel, as if they're divided about whether to step boldly into a second 'Goobledigook'-inflected phase, or continue to peddle their brand of classical post-rock (a template that, for the record, shows no sign of wearing thin). The tempo of their more driven material is quicker here, the tempo of their reflective material even slower; it can be difficult trying to find your footing when Sigur Ros are usually so cautious with their sequencing.

Although many of my questions stated above remain unanswered, I have no doubts that Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust is wonderful, the kind of record that I feel, a month on, I'm still cracking the surface of. Sigur Ros constantly have their work cut out for them because they've so rarely faltered, but if With a Buzz in Our Ear, We Play Endlessly does eventually edge out Takk... as the better album, I wager its secret will lie in songs like 'Íllgresi' and 'Fljótavík': songs that sum up Sigur Ros' sound - as lame as it will read, the sound that reminds us how beautiful it is to be alive - but without the long-winded meandering or overdone climaxes that post-rock has clung to and Sigur Ros has evaded criticism over. Takk... reveled in those habits, and if Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaus does end up just another classic Sigur Ros record, these moments will be its small victory.

Ba Ba Ti Ki Di Do - Sigur Ros

Ba Ba Ti Ki Di Do

Sigur Ros
Fatcat Records

SCQ Rating: 90%

I don’t think there’s an EP that can compare with the rush of memories I recall when listening to Ba Ba Ti Ki Di Do. It’s indescribable and frustratingly so; I cannot pinpoint how these three lyric-less pieces can bring each of my senses back to the Spring of 2004, when Sigur Ros quietly dropped this oddity into stores. Besides being the perfect season to blind-side Sigur fans with ambient codas of piano, synth, and music-box, each of these tracks act as a web, stitching the threads of old memories and leaving the listener with a 20 minute whirlwind memento.

This recording is also special because it shows an impeccable band working at their most experimental. While these pieces were written for the Merce Cunningham Dance Company in 2003, I can’t imagine many fans of this EP wanting to trade in their personal interpretation to see how the music was actually used.