The Icelandic ensemble Sigur Ros have built their reputation on the systematic disorientation of their listeners. At first, it was nothing more than atmospheric post-rock featuring ghostly falsetto singing (a cross between Thom Yorke and a Chihuahua puppy’s howl) and a clever linguistic device. Jon Por “Jonsi” Birgisson sang in a language – Hopelandic – of his own creation. And, okay, I’ll admit… I took the bait in 2001 when they released their gorgeous single and video “Svefn-g-englar”. It was ten haunted minutes of outer-atmospheric transcendence, the kind of song that can make even the most mundane of daily experiences – slow-moving traffic, folding the whites, walking through automatic doors at the grocery store – feel like scenes from some grainy indie film (with subtitles).
The band took things a step further with the release of the untitled 2002 album, commonly known by a pair of empty parentheses, dropping the listener into a formless, not to mention endless, entanglement of mainly guitar textures. The album seemed as much about elaborate (however credit-less and song-title-less) packaging (including a die-cut plastic slip-case) as it was about music. And though the band’s refusal to offer titles for the songs was meant as an artistic choice - a way to avoid framing the experience of the so-called songs for listeners - a listen or two to that insufferably dull record suggests that the band themselves had no real idea what they were on about.
Song titles are back on their latest, Takk…, as well as elaborate packaging. The album comes in a heavy cardboard, book-like folder with lovely monochromatic ink illustrations on a tromp l’oeil litho stone, some elements of the illustrations embossed for added effect. It’s all quite lovely, and it may be the most recommendable point of this record. It looks like a work of art – it’s hard to believe there’s a major label behind it.
Until, of course, you put Takk… into your CD player, and what comes out sounds suspiciously similar to the empty arena bombast of Coldplay. Where the Hopelandic language (okay, okay, I know, it's Icelandic this time around) once seemed validated by the band’s music, here it feels like an add-on gimmick, a pretty, artsy superficiality; and for a band that has thrived on removing any familiarities or points of reference from its music, Takk… falls heavily into a tidal predictability. The songs all follow a general pattern of ebb and flow, wax and wane. We see every big wave approach and crest before it happens; the only variable is how many seashells get left on the beach after each wave recedes.
“Glosoli” opens with a bit of mood-setting atmospheric noise, slowly introducing a repetitive instrumental motif, then a repetitive, minimal falsetto melody sung by Jonsi, climaxing with a speaker-testing power-chord assault before slowly retreating to a few residual electronic whirrs and gurgles. Next track.
“Hoppipola” opens with a bit of mood-setting atmospheric noise, slowly introducing a repetitive instrumental motif, then a repetitive, minimal falsetto melody sung by Jonsi (or rather a chorus of overdubbed, harmonic Jonsis), climaxing with a speaker-testing power chord assault before slowly retreating to a few residual electronic whirrs and gurgles. Next track.
“Meo Blodnasir”. All the elements of “Hoppipola” mashed up in a blender. First quietly. Then loudly. Then quietly, retreating to a few residual electronic whirrs and gurgles. Next track. Next track. Next track. Et cetera. Et cetera. Et cetera.
“Se Lest” opens with a bit of mood-setting xylophones, slowly introducing a repetitive instrumental motif, then a repetitive, minimal falsetto melody sung by Jonsi, climaxing with a speaker-testing power-chord assault before slowly retreating back to its xylophones. Oh wait. There’s a horn section. And they’re playing an oom-pah-pah worthy of an old world Oktoberfest celebration. And then it retreats back to those xylophones and some residual electronic whirrs and gurgles.
Whimsy lives after all! But only ever-so-briefly.
Despite its over-reliance on sturm und drang formula, Takk… nevertheless manages to be a hell of a lot more listenable than its parenthetical predecessor, and in fact, its strongest track – “Milano” (which may or may not have anything to do with an Italian city or a Franco-Czech novelist) – succeeds not because it eschews the pattern, but rather, after finding a most appealing piano-driven melodic fragment, repeats the pattern several times over, over the course of its ten-minute running time, each crest more magnificent than before.
Still, Takk… never transcends guilty pleasure status. It pushes our buttons as shamelessly as the score of Les Miserables; with every hollow crescendo of easy prettiness, every regal pose, every majestic sonic mountain, it strokes our petty suburban egos and lets us believe that what we’re hearing – what we’ve, in fact, just bought - is capital-A, ultra-high-brow Art. (As opposed to the latest Coldplay CD.) But let’s not kid ourselves, folks. Sigur Ros is no Henryk Gorecki. And Takk... may sound good the first time, but its obviousness offers little incentive for replay.
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BECAUSE YOU NEED TO KNOW:
“Takk…” by Sigur Ros
Geffen Records
Released 9/13/05
Produced by Sigur Ros
65 min.
SONGS: Takk… - Glosoli – Hoppipola – Meo Blodnasir – Se Lest – Saeglopur - Milano – Gong – Andvari – Svo Hljott - Heysatan
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