When I was young my mother would sing German lullabies to
me; not all the time, mostly just when I was sick or upset, but those are memories
that stay with you as you grow older. And while I never understood what she was
singing (having been brought up in an English-speaking household) the words
were strangely comforting. Their foreignness engrossed me more than anything
else, that alien quality to language you are unfamiliar with captivating me to
such an extent that my eyes would eventually just shut and I would drift off
into a peaceful sleep.
Those moments of weakness, of frailty, are the moments when
we need guidance and support most. As nothing but a helpless child, this came
in the form of my mother’s singing. Twenty-odd years later, my attention turned
to lullabies of a different kind. Sigur Rós’ dark, emotional rendition of
traditional Icelandic lullaby “Bíum bíum bambaló” would mesmerize me in a way
very few songs have before or since. Jónsi was the mother of my haunted soul,
gently singing me to sleep as I struggled to come to terms with a period of
change in my life. Lying there in the darkness night after night, staring at
the ceiling and thinking too much, Sigur Rós changed my perception of what
music could be and what it could do for someone. This humble EP meant more to
me than a lot of other music at the time and it still holds a special place in
my heart for its incomparable sincerity.
And while “Bíum bíum bambaló” was really at the crux of the Ný batterí EP, I couldn’t imagine
hearing it without “Dánarfregnir og jarðarfarir” coming afterwards. The latter
is Sigur Rós’ version of a song played on Icelandic radio as a theme for death
and funeral announcements and it provided a fitting epilogue to my misery. And of
course there’s the title track. One of the band’s most majestic pieces, and even
more so when combined with the extended introduction of “Rafmagnið búið,” “Ný
batterí” builds slowly towards its epic climax featuring the famous bent cymbal
the band found on a street in Reykjavík. This is among the bleakest and most
desperate Sigur Rós songs, although in a way that was very unique to the Ágætis byrjun album as a whole. It
maintains the mystical aura that made that album such a classic, yet a simple
translation of the lyrics reveals a much more human side than one might have
thought possible of the group’s otherworldly music.
It’s not often that music speaks in the same way this
relatively overlooked release does and perhaps it is entirely due to my own
personal experience with it. For that, I am forced to admit that it is probably
not perfect. But I can’t see it any other way and so all I can say is thank you
Sigur Rós. Thank you for saving my life.
Rating: 9/10
(Originally posted on Sputnikmusic.com: http://www.sputnikmusic.com/review/56589/Sigur-Ros-Ny-Batteri/)
