Album Review: Sigur Ros- Kveikur
Touring in support of a record that isn’t out
yet is an ambitious undertaking. It seems counterintuitive—usually a band will
tour once the record is out, play a lot of it in their live set, and hope that
people will buy the album from the merch table before leaving the show.
While they are pretty much on the road for the
rest of 2013, when Sigur Ros’s North American trek began in the spring, they
were a good two months away from the release of their seventh studio
album, Kveikur, which Wikipedia tells me translates “Candlewick.”
The last eight years of Sigur Ros’s career
have been interesting to track. After a foray into the majors with 2005’s Takk (Thanks),
released on Geffen, that record saw the band steering things into a more
focused, pop-song format. Takk is filled with the band’s more
recognizable, mainstream efforts—singles like “Glowing Sole,” and “Hopping into
Puddles,” always draw a big reaction from the crowd in a live setting. Three
years later, on With a Buzz in Our Ears, We Play Endlessly, the
band frontloaded the record with just straight up pop music—effectively shaking
any of the noise and menace that they explored on their earlier material.
After frontman Jonsi’s one-off solo
joint, Go, the band unassumingly released Valtari (Steamroller)
in 2012. Strangely enough, it was their highest charting record in the States,
but it is also their most inaccessible to a casual listen, and it seems like it
also has been their most panned by critics, who wrote it off as, “Oh, here’s
Sigur Ros making another album of pretty sounds again.” Valtari almost
didn’t happen at all—the music was compiled from abandoned recording sessions
done in 2009, which were then handed over to Jonsi’s life-partner Alex Somers,
and he was instructed to make a record out of it. The result was their most
restrained, ambient, and gorgeous work to date.
Paired down to a three-piece now after the
departure of multi-instrumentalist Kjartan Sveinsson, Kveikur was
explained early on as the band taking their sound into a more aggressive
direction. If the lead single, the absolutely punishing “Brennisteinn”
(“Brimstone”) was any indication of what to expect, it was obvious Sigur Ros
were not here to fuck around.
While it is certainly their most noisy and
aggressive work in over a decade, it still is covered in a healthy layer of
studio sheen, and it’s still full of pop-song moments, carefully wedged here
and there in between the pounding drums and bowed-guitar feedback.
“Brennisteinn” is an obvious choice as the opening
track—setting the bar high and loud with its fuzzed out bass and clattering,
clanking percussion. In fact, Kveikur
is a relatively percussion-heavy affair. The clattering and clanking shows up
in a few songs, and almost all nine of the songs involve very complex rhythms,
which then puts the focus on the drumming—all of it produced in an overblown
yet somehow warm and clean sounding juxtaposition which makes for as
fascinating listen.
The band’s use of the term “aggressive” when
describing the album is a tad bit misleading. Yes it is more aggressive when
compared to their last two studio albums, but on many of the songs, aggression
seems to be traded in for just a “harder edge,” but they are still very
listenable and non-threatening. The title track is the only song that really
lives up to the example given by “Brennisteinn.”
The album’s second single, “Isjaki”
(“Iceberg”), along with “Stormur” (“Storm”) are both tracks that fall into the
pop-song structure that worked so well for the singles on Takk…. Towards the end of
the record, “Rafstramur” (“Electric Current”) finds the band at their most
triumphant sounding. And on the song that follows, “Blaflra-ur,” (“Thin
Thread”), finds them at their most lavish—I mean, all of Kveikur sounds “big,” but that song is, by far, the biggest.
I would go into a lyrical analysis of Kveikur, but part of the novelty of
Sigur Ros is that all of their songs (save for one) are sung in their native
Icelandic, and occasionally a made up, phonetic language called “Hopelandic.” For
American audiences, presumably the lyrics take a backseat, and you focus on the
melody, the theatrics, and the atmosphere created by the band.
By the time a band releases a seventh
full-length, you would expect to say something like, “it’s the next logical
step in their career.” With Sigur Ros, and especially with Kveikur, that’s something you’ll never say—or even think. Just as
the turn into a pop sound was a surprise, just as the backpedaling to a more
ambient sound-collage was a surprise, diving into this “aggressive” or “harder”
sound, at this point in the game, is a surprise.
I guess you could look at this album as all of
the facets of Sigur Ros coming together—forming like Voltron if you will. There
are “pretty” moments. There’s the element of the pop song—and also song length.
They never let things get out of hand on Kveikur.
And then there’s the noise, which is an element that was ever present on their
early 2000’s output. It’s an immediate album—in the sense that it grabs your
attention. It’s nowhere near as life affirming as, say, Ageatis Byrjun, or ( )
is, and it’s doubtful they will ever recapture that feeling. It’s attention
grabbing because it’s a loud, ever-evolving record, and it requires your full
attention so you can keep up with it.
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