“Ágætis Byrjun” | Sigur Rós

 

 

I came across Sigur Rós a few years ago, when I read that Radiohead’s frontman Thom Yorke attended one of their concerts. Being more than a casual Radiohead fan myself, and intrigued by the fact that Thom Yorke digs the band, I tried out an album by Rós. This album. And nothing could have prepared me for it.

Perhaps the most incredible aspect of Ágætis Byrjun is how ignorant it seems of music that came before it, like it was conceived in a vacuum. Alien. Sigur Rós’s  ambitious sophomore album seems forged in a volcano, raw and primal; more purposeful and acute than their debut “Von”. The tone, the arrangements, even the way instruments are used reflect a profound originality that’s rarely seen, the unfamiliarity of the language (Icelandic) adding to its otherworldly charm. The album, I feel, is one meant to be experienced in entirety, the songs are so well tied together and flow into one another. The segues are there for a purpose, almost like gear shifts that help you wade in these sonically blissful currents.

Sigur Rós

The opener “Intro”, is a synthesized loop that runs only 01:37. Fluttering sounds twirl around a choral chant in a language unknown. I struggle to understand the instrument used. Foreboding, oceanic. It says to you – calm yourself, the path ahead is definitely not one you’ve tread before. In 97 seconds, it somehow instills in you a feeling of wonder, you’ve begin the descent. What follows next pulls you down under –  “Svefn-g-englar”,  roughly translated to Sleepwalking Angels, brims with massive walls of distortion, gentle but precise percussion, and soothing submarine pings. Feedback after guitar feedback cocoons, and bassist Georg Hólm keeps the low-end dense. I can’t help but imagine a deep, calm ocean in the night, with gigantic whales moving silently under the surface. Such is the imagery inherent in the track, which goes for just over 10 minutes. They say it’s Iceland’s indescribable beauty that inspires its inhabitants to achieve such pinnacles of art, organic and epic all at once. Lead singer Jón Þór Birgisson, aka Jónsi, has a falsetto that could make the Devil weep. His voice he uses almost as an instrument in itself, inhumanly angelic, swirling in and out of the musical tapestry the band weaves.

Violins and Cellos have a strong presence on the album, one of the most prominent example being “Starálfur”. As do glockenspiels, toy pianos, trumpets, tin whistles, oboes… all coming together in an intensely rich sound. Starálfur waxes and wanes majestically, amidst strings and flutters. Jónsi doesn’t venture into his trademark falsetto here, instead singing in an earnest woody timbre. Keyboardist Kjartan Sveinsson plays with a soul of gold, his magnificent melody sailing throughout. The strings on the track are known as being palindromic, sounding the same even when played backwards.  Very cool. Flugufrelsarinn has a darker halo – tight bass, abundant feedback and moody beats. I feel it doesn’t quite soar as high as some other tracks on the record, but that’s perfectly fine. It embodies Sigur Rós’ essence, and paves the way for an entirely different, slithering beast.

The hypnotic bassline pulsing through “Ný batterí” (New Batteries) imparts a sinister core to the track, one of my favorites on this album. The song starts with sounds of dungeons, turning cogs, metal on stone. A pensive saxophone lazily comes alive, a wavering flute proves just how gloomy the band can be. Jónsi croons in liquid falsetto, the melody of his voice twisting. The lyrics are wonderfully macabre(I had to translate them of course), amplified by omnipresent guitar wails. Halfway through, it abruptly erupts into chaos, cymbals clashing and Jónsi’s bow eviscerating his guitar. Did I mention he plays his Les Paul with a violin bow? That’s one of the key sonic elements on this record; the warm, fluid, continuous distortion created by a sliding bow has a very unique tone. The chords ebb and flow, puppetered by Jónsi’s genius. The track pauses, like the calm before a storm, and raptures to its apogee accompanied by a chilling multilayered vocal. Another pause, drums and wind instruments fade the track out.

Jónsi – breaking rules

I think for me, the only weak track on this album is Hjartað hamast, which I find jarring amidst such a spectacular tracklist, probably because of the pop harmonica used and its strange pacing. But even then, it’s original, lush, and much better than the filler that plagues most albums. Viðrar vel til loftárása though, is a sprawling masterpiece that really takes its time, the haunting piano melody and crescendo is something to love. The title track  “Ágætis byrjun” unfolds like a lullaby, soothing and melodious. I love the way the vocals seem so effortless, drummer Ágúst Ævar Gunnarsson guiding with shattery and restrained brush drumming. “Olsen Olsen” is a track sung entirely in a language made up by the band. Just syllables and emotion, no words. The language is also used on an entire future album by the band. It’s like they’re trying transcend the limitations of language and rely more on the music itself. Avalon, the album’s finale, is actually a segment of another track on the album dramatically slowed down, glacial in pace. I’ll let you guess which track that is.

Nitpicking aside, Ágætis has the power to transport you to a celestial Elysium amidst exploding supernovae, or the frighteningly dark, desolate ocean floor. How ironic then, that the album’s name translates to “An alright start”. Their aberrance makes it difficult to cite references or similar artists, perhaps experimental Pink Floyd/Mogwai infused with My Bloody valentine? Post-rock? I’m not entirely sure. The album cover – an outline of an alien fetus on blue ink, the delightful font used, everything is well thought out and cohesive. I’m sure this review feels littered with hyperbole and exaggeration, but once you float through the ten tracks on this record, there’s no other way to put it. The young Icelandic quartet have crafted an aurora of an album, stunning, emotionally gripping, and original – the likes of which I have never heard, and probably never will.

Tracklist