Iceland was settled in the ninth century by Vikings. The scourge of coastal Europe for centuries; these burly nautical terrors came in long ships with broad axes, horned helms and torches. Like dark omens, they swelled upon the shores of Iceland and settled the hell out of it.

The country was pretty much empty at the time, but for a few industrious recluses who’d isolated themselves there as an act of communion with the Almighty. As it turns out, it’s pretty easy to subdue a scattering of bone thin ascetics and once that was done the Icelanders had little to do but enjoy their new home land, mild and windy in the winter, cool and damp in the summer renowned for its abundance of fjords.

Fast forward fourteen hundred years and their protracted Icelandic idyll had taken an interesting toll. It has apparently made them all into hippies. Their chief exports, Björk and Sigur Rós, paint them as absolutely the cutest population in the western world.

The first image most associate with Sigur Rós is that of an angel fetus, curled up in amniotic rest with tiny wings and an umbilical cord. That was the cover art from their second album, their consensus masterpiece, Ágætis Byrjun. Musically their trademark has always been simplicity cloaked in epic ambition. On Ágætis they stated and perfected a unique form of prog-rock composition, combining ambient swells of noise and luxuriously long running times in which they worked simple melodies out to their absolute breaking points in a mash up of elements and repetitions. The vocals have always been obscure, a mix of Icelandic and gibberish, a fact Sigur Rós turn into a strength by making the vocals as much a part of the compositional texture as any other instrument. And the arrangements are so complex that the vocals settle comfortably in, never raising the question, “What’s he saying?” Because the effect is so sublime it just doesn’t matter.

In the two albums since their opus Sigur Rós have made good use of their formula. Their essentially nameless 2003 album, signified by a set of parentheses, ( ), was a trip further down the rabbit hole, chasing the band’s sirenic muse into a world of pure sensation and zero meaning. It’s an epochal work of post-modern romanticism, beauty without fixed perspective.

Takk…, their fourth album (Von, their first, only gained release outside Iceland in 2005 and doesn’t figure into most fans’ perception of the band’s development) received generally positive reviews but to my ear seemed a little stale. It still boasted their trademarks and had strong moments but it seemed heavy on device and short on inspiration. Now, armed with a commitment to do things simpler, shorter, Sigur Rós have delivered Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust.

From the lead song, Gobbledigook, it’s clear we’re dealing with the same four men, but in a different incarnation. The voices, instruments and sounds are familiar but the energy is much more immediate and awake. The first track suggests they’ve been out with The Flaming Lips, battling pink robots. And the hook in Inní mér syngur vitleysingur, not a single melodic line repeated ad nauseum but part of a coherent progression, as you might hear on planet earth, is light years from anything they’ve written before, yet still ecstatically Sigur Rós-y. No matter how conventional they try to be they can’t help but echo, chime and resound.

The first half of the album possesses a self conscious immediacy which works brilliantly, making this previously opaque group seem sudden and present. It no longer takes four minutes of blips, scratches and build up to get the meat of a song. Not that I don’t adore their more obscurantist tendencies. I mean, the sense of chest thumping accomplishment when the last track from ( ) finally peaks is something I’d never trade for a hundred easy hooks. But there is something personal and rare in having a band as accomplished as Sigur Rós try something new. They’re comfortable with us and us with them and they’re good enough to take a step or a leap and make it work.

Sadly it’s not all so immediate. Within their new zeitgeist they also attempt slower more plaintive material and this is where things almost derail. Sigur Rós should never, no matter what they are doing, strip back the elements. Because, in the moments when it’s just keyboard and vocalist, or guitar and vocalist, or piano and vocalist, we have occasion to ask probing questions like, “What’s he saying?” and, “Why does he sound like that?” When there isn’t a narcotic melody banging at our heads from a thousand sources, when our judgments becomes intact, Sigur Rós cannot retain our attentions.

If this album had maintained its early pace we would be talking album of the year here. But the last five songs limp to the finish line like a wet noodle in track shoes. They might be better if I knew what  was being sung, maybe they’re really profound to an Icelandic audience. But to the rest of us it’s just high warbling mood music.

Ultimately I’m giving this album four stars because the strengths are not only memorable but unique and, even in their failings, Sigur Rós are taking chances and trying to grow beyond the forms they’ve already perfected.

Release date: 23/06/08
Artist website: www.sigur-ros.co.uk
Label: EMI

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