() - Sigur Rós

() (Sigur Rós, 2002)

1. (Vaka) - 6:36
2. (Fyrsta) - 7:31
3. (Samskeyti) - 6:31
4. (Njósnavélin) - 7:30
5. (Álafoss) - 9:54
6. (E-Bow) - 8:46
7. (Dauõalagiõ) - 12:56
8. (Popplagiõ) - 11:41

Iceland's contribution to modern rock, Sigur Rós specialize in alternatingly somnolent and cacophonic rock experimentation. This album took a long time to grow on me, especially since all the songs are officially untitled (though the unofficial names are presented here for your viewing pleasure), and all the lyrics are in a made up phonetic language bearing a passing resemenblance to Icelandic. The album really is an outstanding opus, though, once you get to know it. This is music that can break your heart and make you catch your breath, provided you have enough time to let it work.

The first four songs are more in the "heartbreaking beauty" vein. Named (unofficially, of course) after the drummer's daugher, "Vaka" unfolds slowly to a cathartic bloom, featuring spare, melancholy piano and organ that anchor the cooing tenor vocals. "Samskeyti" (Attachment) is built on an arpeggiated piano riff that gently climbs and descends over swelling drones of violin and clean guitar. "Njósnavélin" (The Spy Machine) is the most successful of the softer songs: warm organ, icy guitar, relaxed drums and bass gently nudge the subtle harmony vocals through a fairly catchy (if slowed down) tune. The melody in the bridge, first stated by organ, then piano, then incorporating the whole band, is startlingly poignant.

The second four songs lead that beauty and melancholy into more turbulent terrain. "Álafoss," named unofficially after the band's studio, starts as a funeral procession. Musically, the chords and melody are a repeated descending figure over spare, brushed drums. The song has a classical elegance and soulfulness. At the end, it builds to a magnificent volume, with forceful drums and distorted, growling bass underneath a triumphant Hammond B-3 organ, which always stirs my heart to noble deeds.

The highest heights come in the last two songs. "Dauõalagiõ" (The Death Song) creeps up slowly from nothing, then folds in on itself several times, swelling and pulsing with melody and noise, cresting in two desperate explosions around the 4 and 7 minute marks. Lead singer Jonsi's mournful croon stands sharp and isolated above the dying drones, and you think it's all over. Then the drums come back in, insistent and crashing, the drones swell back to full force, and the vocals swirl in a vortex of howling lament. When the echos die, all that's left is a single, frail voice, breaking.

Despite its friendly appearance, "Popplagiõ" (The Pop Song) doesn't coddle the listener that just survived the dying star of " Dauõalagiõ." The first five minutes do start out as a fairly positive, relaxed tune. A simple yet emotive picking pattern on clean electric guitar supports understated harmonies and a big, even sunny, chorus. At the 6 minute mark, though, a doomsday distorted bass note hits, the drums start building, and Jonsi begins a plaintive, stark wail over the apocalyptic music. The drums are positively furious at the end, their unrelenting industrial assault like fireworks blazing above the mountain of sound.

The only thing holding back the album are the two songs I haven't mentioned: "Fyrsta" (The First Song) and "E-Bow." And even these aren't that bad, it's just that "Fyrsta" sounds like a lesser cousin to "Vaka," and "E-Bow" is way too close to "Álafoss" to justify a separate song, even though I do want to support any bass player who uses an E-Bow and gets his band to (unofficially) name the song after it.

Arbitrary rating: 4.5 out of 5 epic drones