It's time once again to take a trudge through the icy landscape of Sigur Rós. Over the past few years, the Icelandic band has wowed, confounded, mesmerized, and sometimes even bored audiences who were in the know enough to catch wind of their eerie, otherworldly music, a brand of post-rock with glistening keyboards and buzzing guitars creeping through the speakers at an often glacial pace. With vocals in either Icelandic or a made-up psuedo-language called Hopelandic, and the fascinatingly weird androgynous cooing of lead singer Jonsi Birgisson, it has become clear over the past few albums that understanding Sigur Rós is an extremely difficult, if not entirely futile task. But come on, who listens to music like this in order to understand it? Sometimes you just gotta go with the flow and let the music wash over you. Emotion is a good thing, right?

I decided to take that approach to Sigur Rós' music not long after getting into the band. Their breakthrough album, 1999's Agætis Byrjun, allowed some vestige of understanding if one went searching for translations online, but apparently several of those were poor and made the songwriting look childish in places. Better to let one's imagination run wild and be whisked away to a submarine lost in ice caves on "Svefn-G-Englar", an aurora-lit sky on "Starálfur", or a Viking ship from centuries forgotten on "Olsen Olsen". There were a lot of bells and whistles to that album, and despite the sense of coldness, it had an almost symphonic sense of life to it. What was confusing on that album became downright beguiling on their next album, though. Simply titled ( ), with no titles or discernible to be found among its 8 songs, the band seemed to be intentionally driving away all but the most adventurous of listeners. Always up for a good challenge, I dove in and tried to make sense of its happy/sad dichotomy and its much more stripped-down approach. Somewhere within the dark second half, it hit me. This band could make feel like I was giddy in love, or scare the hell out of me, and I enjoyed the ride all the same. Sometimes the repeating musical passages got tedious and I wondered if they were too in love with a simple motif that just got repeated for ten minutes. But it proved to be excellent music to contemplate life to. I ended up liking that album better than Agætis Byrjun, and I was curious as to where the band could go from there on a follow up.

The answer to that question is twofold: A major label, and a much happier musical outlook. Their latest album, entitled Takk... (which means "Thanks..." in Icelandic), seems to be an unabashed exercise in happiness and warmth. To be sure, they haven't gone pop in any imaginable sense of the word, because the slow, carefully building crescendoes that the band is known for still dominate this album - actually, almost to a fault. There's been a certain "payoff", an outpouring of noise and melody that I've come to expect from almost any Sigur Rós song, and here, virtually every track takes its time to build to that predictable, though still gleeful, moment of bliss. The band is actually more aggressive in places than we've heard them anywhere, save for perhaps the noisiest moments of "Ny Batterí" or the closing track on ( ).They've got pounding drums and an arsenal of keys and strings and guitar grandeur, and while I wouldn't accuse them of "rocking" in any traditional sense of the word, the effect is enough to bring you out of your tranced stupor on several occasions. It's nice, but after a while, I find myself wanting to hear something that I haven't heard Sigur Rós do before. Takk... has more than its share of beautiful moments, but somewhat like a predictable romantic movie, I might get caught up in the emotion of it all, but I still get somewhat bored waiting for the buildup to the obvious to happen. If you're into ambient music, this probably won't bug you as much as it bugs me, but I could do with a little more variation in tone and color during those waiting periods.

Despite my complaints about this not really being anything terribly new for Sigur Rós, I have to say that Takk... is an entrancing enough listen to keep me coming back time and again. It might be my least favorite of their three albums thus far (yes, I know, they had a first album called Von, but that one's such a trashy waste of time that I don't want to bestow upon it the honor of being in this band's discography), but that doesn't mean that I dislike it overall. There's always a musical passage that seeps into my consciousness at a point where I might have zoned out previously, compelling me to remember that there's a reason to listen through to every track. As a matter of fact half-paying attention seems to be the best way to appreciate this album - new morsels of pretty music seem to pop out time after time, whereas much closer listening kind of dulls the surprise of it because the band usually telegraphs what they're doing way ahead of time. So Takk... is best recommended for late-night pondering, meditation, reading... the kinds of activities where you can tune in and out as needed. Just trust me, it's better that way.

Takk...
The record opens with a wordless intro, a vaguely shimmering sound drifting in like fog, somewhat similar to the track "Daybreak" on The Echoing Green's most recent album. It's a calm tone poem that runs for two minutes, before a few beeps segue into the first song, reminding me of the sonar pings that opened up the classic "Svefn-G-Englar".

Glósóli
A slight crackling sound, slow fluid bass, some pretty bells, and strange percussion that sounds like someone trudging through dirty snow are the initial hallmarks of this song. As odd of a "first song" as ever, it features a little bit of a high-pitched warping on Jonsi's voice. We've heard a variant of this in the first track from ( ), so it's not as otherworldly if you know the band's history, but it's still got an entrancing, wide-eyed melody to it, and of course there are those bowed guitars lurking about in the background. Within the span of 6 minutes, the band manages to bring this unusual little song to a blistering level of noise, where the guitars are moaning and the drums are crashing and it sounds like the audio levels are purposefully being maxed out - it can actually be a bit painful on the ears, as the overbearing noises of "Hjartad Hamast" from Agætis Byrjun. I like cymbals and all, but here they sound like they've been run through cement mixers. Once this warped version of a Coldplay-ish cresnedo backs off, the song is left to fizzle out and flicker in the background for a little bit, with the bells lingering like peaceful evening stars.

Hoppípolla
More of an acoustic piano song leads off this track, a grandiose, marching number all about hopping in puddles. No, seriously, that's what the title means. And Jonsi sounds rather happy about this gleeful, childish activity as the drums pound out their steady pace and the many digitized voices sing in unison. This is the sound of a happy Sigur Rós, like what you heard in the blissful beginnings of ( ), but comparatively more lively. (That means medium speed.) And that ain't a bad thing, because when a string and horn section joins the celebration, I have to admit that I've missed the symphonic elements external to the band that played such a large role on Agætis Byrjun. At 4:28, this track is positively modest by Sigur Rós standards, but it's enough to get the job done. I have to admit it's a bit too familiar when it eventually dissolves into aimless horn blurting, but it's fun while it lasts

Med Blódnasir
This track's title means "Having a Nosebeleed". Ewww. Fortunately, the music doesn't evoke that sort of unpleasantness, choosing instead to ripple around for a bit before a bass-driven rhythm starts up a sort of coda to "Hoppípolla". This track doesn't stand up as well on its own, but with its bells and wordless "Ooh"s, it makes for a pleasant little intermission. Yeah, "pleasant" is the operative word on most of these tracks. I like that Orri Pall Dyrason gets to beat out more of an interesting rhythm instead of just hitting the same drum or cymbal over and over, but there still isn't enough to push this one into the foreground of my consciousness.

Sé Lest
Well, if you haven't grown to like Jonsi's soft, high-pitched cooing by now, you might as well give up trying, because it's only going to get more noticeable from here in. I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with it myself - it's pleasant in its own idiosyncratic way, but being distanced from what the band is saying makes me care a lot more about the instruments than the vocals. Anyway, the instrumental work doesn't disappoint on this track, with piano and xylophone creating a compelling latticework, a delicate snowfall for Jonsi to spin about in like a child in a field of flowers. The replaying of Jonsi's voice at high-speed in the background is becoming a bit of a played-out trick, but it's thankfully easy to overlook that and just get swept up in the grandeur of this composition. It's got an interesting rhythm to it that seems to be 4/4, but extends an extra measure here and there so that it comes in a cycle of 20/4. Midway through, a calm xylophone actually changes this rhythm into more of a swaying 3/4, which gives way to an unintentionally humorous moment as a big brass band slowly wriggles its way into the music, playing a joyful "oom-pah-pah" in time with the odd rhythm. It's a bit out of place, and yet not played in a cynical way, so while it's one of the only moments when I'd ever consider laughing at a Sigur Rós record, I have no doubt that the intent is more happiness than irony. The song would have done well to fade out at this odd moment instead of bleeding back into another few minutes of bells and the swelling of strings, but whatever, I don't get to make these decisions.

Sæglópur
This song establishes a confident, firm rhythm at its outset, even though it's just more pretty piano, bells, and voice. The title means "Lost at Sea", and the song evokes just that, as the band suddenly moves into one of its most aggressive states with pounding drums and a general maelstrom of uneasiness. It's still very melodic, but it's nice to have such a sudden surprise instead of the always-obvious move to a musical high point that the band usually pulls on us. The piano gets darker, the guitars buzz dramatically, and somehow this curious marriage of beat-driven appeal and Icelandic coldness makes a genuinely appealing (and single-worthy!) track for the band. Some might scoff at such a notion as it applies to a previously way-underground band, but since the feel is more "film score" than "Top 40", it really works. If some cymbals weren't broken in the making of this one, I'd be quite surprised.

Mílanó
Oh, my. I think we've got another "Vidrar Vel Til Loftárása" on our hands. To some of you, that might be a good thing - that song was one of the band's more visible ones, with a solid melody and a rather interesting music video to boot, but it had way too long of a fade-in and it stretched out to a tedious ten minutes. The same is true for this solemn tribute to the Italian city of Milan, centered around a glistening piano passage that clings to the memory like an exquisite dream that one can barely remember. As a brief interlude, it could have been a work of beauty, but instead the band goes epic with it, poring over the same musical passage again and again while bringing the volume level to another blistering high. I swear, Jonsi sounds like he's singing "You shine on in violence" over again - I know it's really Icelandic, but the man has a habit of repeating similar phrases quite a bit, whatever those phrases might be. This track is where I start to get the idea that Takk... is better half paid attention to than fully paid attention to, because you'll suddenly realize you're deep in the middle of this track and find it to be a thing of beauty, and if you don't concentrate on it too much after that point, you'll have more positive memories of it than if you start to listen intently. There's a point where the song sounds like it should be finished and start to fade out, or morph into something else, about five minutes in, but nope - we just get the same gradual burst of energy all over again. Finally, the song ends in an extremely long fade to silence - I got the need for some silence to ponder what I was in the middle of between tracks 4 and 5 of ( ), but here it just seems like lazy editing.

Gong
Now this one is a nice change of pace. It gets going with the swelling of strings, and before too long, a brisk, nicely brushed drum pattern establishes a somewhat upbeat and compelling rhythm on which to base the most different song on the album (other than perhaps "Sé Lest"). I don't hear any gongs, but the percussion is certainly center stage here, with a fluid, two-note guitar riff lazily wandering in and out, set to its own rhythm. Jonsi's doing that old "You say" thing that he did so much on ( ), but whatever, let's look past the lyrics, since none of us understand them anyway. I almost want to say that this one has the pace and structure of a Radiohead song, one of those in-between tracks that didn't make it onto Hail to the Thief or something like that. It has a melancholy, foreboding tone to it, and the strings wander about like ghosts in a "How to Disappear Completely" sort of fashion. I like that the track remains at a fairly constant level instead of going for the obvious explosion - the drums get a little more complex and loud as time goes on, and there's a lovely piano break, but for the most part, it's a track where you can easily get lost in the groove. At 5:33, this one doesn't overstay its welcome. Think of it as a less frenetic version of the previous album's final track.

Andvari
A contemplative guitar line lingers as a bridge into the next track, which seems at first to be played as a coda to "Gong", but it's actually a longer piece. It wanders in slowly with another delicate piano melody, and at first it threatens to be another tediously long piece like "Mílanó". However, despite its deceptively simple structure, it slowly transforms from ordinary to beautiful, as the strings take over partway through and gently bring the song to a very long close. It's one of those sections that I'm not sure what to feel about - on the one hand, it's tear-jerkingly beautiful and there seems to be a real outpouring of emotion behind it. On the other hand, no matter how pretty that simple chord sequence is, do they really need to draw it out for as long as they do? There are about three points where you think the strings should just end after one last careful vibrato, and then they just keep going. OK, you guys make gorgeous music. WE GET IT. Moving on.

Svo Hljótt
More of an electronic keyboard sound takes center stage after some ambient tones set the mood - once again, we have a good case of a lovely melody dragged out for a bit too long. You all know the drill by now. Play the pretty melody slowly and carefully. Get a few tears worked up in the corner of their eyes. Let the guitar and strings slowly swoop in. Come in with drums blazing and blow 'em away. Yep, never fails. I really wish I could say more about this track than "it's pretty", because this band has a way of crafting simple melodic fragments that just don't let you forget them. At least this one has a way of letting you float in midair for a few seconds where you'd expect the big, grandiose moment to come, and then delivering the payoff. It's more pleasant than some of the other excessive noise exercises on the album, too, so I won't say it's a bad song, but at this point, it's kind of Sigur Rós by the numbers.

Heysátan
No, they're not greeting Satan. It's Icelandic for "Haystack", and with a title like that, I'd almost expect some bluegrass influence, but we'll leave that stuff to Nickel Creek. Actually, finding the point or value in this final song is a lot like finding a needle in a haystack, because it's nothing but slow, ponderous keyboard chords carefully played while Jonsi gets his last musings out. It kind of leaves an odd taste in my mouth, much like "Avalon" coming at the end of the otherwise lovely Agætis Byrjun. Maybe if I speed it up or reverse it with my WAV editor or do some other funky operation on it, I'll find out what's so special about it, but as it is... snooze. The only slightly amusing moment is where everything falls to silence you can just barely hear the players shifting about in the studio, as if turning their scores to the last page before playing the last few notes of the piece. Then it ends just as abruptly as it falsely ended the first time. Ooooo... kay.

I'm settling for an above average rating on this one, simply because even at their most pedestrian, Sigur Rós generally still makes some pretty tasty music. You won't hear much else like it, and it's a refreshing break from the norm for that reason. But if your norm is their last few albums, this one might be a bit of a letdown, simply because it sacrifices the weirdness factor for more of a straight-laced warm feeling. I like feeling warm and cuddly at the end of an album, but only if I feel like I've been through an emotional journey that earns that final sense of rest and elation. Sigur Rós will have to keep taking risks for their albums to continue paying off, and while I hear a few such things here such as that brass band or the interestingly crafted upbeat songs, there's a part of me wondering if this band's 15 minutes are almost up.

Well, at least they thought to thank us for paying attention.

ALBUM WORTH:
Takk... $0
Glósóli $1
Hoppípolla $1.50
Med Blódnasir $.50
Sé Lest $1.50
Sæglópur $1.50
Mílanó $.50
Gong $1.50
Andvari $1
Svo Hljótt $1
Heysátan $0
TOTAL: $10

Band Members:
Jo Por (Josi) Birgisson: Vocals, Guitars
Kjartan (Kjarri) Sveinsson: Keyboards
Orri Pall Dyrason: Drums
Georg (Goggi) Holm: Bass

Website: http://www.sigur-ros.com

Recommended: Yes

Great Music to Play While: Going to Sleep