Sigur Rós - Ný batterí

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/)

Sigur Rós - Brennisteinn

Ever since Sigur Rós took their breathtakingly beautiful, otherworldly-sounding compositions to an international stage in 1999, they have been heading towards a sound governed less by their Icelandic roots and more by their innate ability to create songs that resonate on an emotional level. Whereas Ágætis Byrjun and (  ) made strong use of the band’s foreign sensibilities, subsequent albums began to rely less on this aspect, with the songwriting taking precedence. Yet Sigur Rós have not often dared to venture too far out of their comfort zone, with last year’s ambient-leaning Valtari honing in on the more minimalist elements of their signature sound.

If Brennisteinn is any indication, all that is about to change. With the upcoming release of their seventh studio album Kveikur later this year, Brennisteinn points towards an overall darker and sludgier sound that the band has not channelled since the second half of 2002’s untitled masterpiece. The title track, which is also due to appear as the opener on the new album, sees Sigur Rós experimenting with harsher, more abrasive electronic elements grating over the top of Jónsi’s trademark vocals. Conflicting aspects such as these have only been used sparingly in the past but here Jónsi’s falsetto shines through the haze like a ray of light and it works brilliantly. The same can be said of “Hryggjarsúla” which sounds more like the kind of droning nightmare Michael Gira would conjure up rather than anything from the band’s back catalogue. Finally, instrumental track “Ofbirta” hearkens back to the dark ambient style of Von, perhaps the most ominous Sigur Rós had sounded prior to this.

Although no two albums of theirs sound exactly alike, this is the first time we are really hearing something of a reinvention from the group. As just a small taste of what’s to come, Brennisteinn certainly achieves its goal of whetting the appetite and fans will have to wait another few months before getting to hear the final product.       

Rating: 7/10

(Originally posted on sputnikmusic.com: http://www.sputnikmusic.com/review/55952/Sigur-Ros-Brennisteinn/)

The Angels of Light - How I Loved You

Michael Gira is a man who revels in misery. After his uncompromisingly brutal work with Swans in the 1980s (which remains some of the heaviest music ever recorded), Gira turned to more subdued forms of anguish and depression in the following decade. Proving that he didn’t necessarily have to be loud to get his point across, Swans became rooted in dark, psychedelic folk rock for a few albums before exploring the worlds of drone, post-rock and ambient music on their 1996 opus Soundtracks for the Blind. That album would signal the end of Swans until their surprising reunion in 2010, and it was during this period that Michael Gira began a new project known as The Angels of Light.

The Angels of Light took a far more song-based approach than Swans, focusing on melody and harmony rather than cacophonous noise and jarring rhythms. Dabbling in folk and country music, their 1999 debut album New Mother only hinted at what was to come a couple of years later. Whereas New Mother featured a massive 17 songs, How I Loved You almost equals its colossal 70-odd minute runtime in only 10 tracks. The reason for this lies in the latter’s ability to allow the songs to grow and sprawl over Gira’s barren soundscapes. Opener “Evangeline” almost effortlessly combines country with post-rock, a weird combination to say the least, but it works perfectly. The song builds slowly, subtly going from a simple acoustic guitar riff into an emotional climax with the full band, and the line “I can feel it now” being repeated as the music dies down. It’s a wonderful start to the album and this continues into “Untitled Love Song,” replete with female vocals and beautiful melodies.

“My True Body,” however, bears more in common with Swans due to the dark subject matter and occasionally shouted vocals. “New City in the Future” is another sinister-sounding track that erupts towards the end of its 12 minutes with Gira screaming “You were mine” like a madman. This forms the centrepiece of the album and unfortunately sets in motion the few mediocre numbers that follow, with “New York Girls” being the chief culprit. It’s not a bad song by any means, but it doesn’t really go anywhere to justify its length. Thankfully the best is saved for last with “Two Women,” perhaps the most brilliant song in the whole Angels of Light discography. Like the opener, it’s a sprawling epic that builds towards a magnificent climax. This time around, though, the real beauty is contained within the final minute as the music begins to fade away and Gira mutters the words “I can’t live without you... goodbye Jane.” That moment alone makes the whole album worth getting through, even though there are some typically oppressive and even frightening moments to withstand.

How I Loved You marked the end of an era for The Angels of Light, as the next few releases slowly began to realise the sound that would lead to the eventual reformation of Swans. Nevertheless, this album remains the pinnacle of the band’s work and it would take Michael Gira another 11 years before his potential was this fully realised again.       

Rating: 8/10

(Originally posted on sputnikmusic.com: http://www.sputnikmusic.com/review/55927/The-Angels-of-Light-How-I-Loved-You/)