Release Date: June 18, 2013
Sigur Rós is one of those bands to get lost within. Each swelling passage flows patiently into the next while remaining on a certain wavelength, like some sort of Icelandic raga. For yours truly, the music embodies sensuality for life and every instrument awakens the senses. This holds true on Kveikur, but this particular journey has taken a new and bleak route.
As the album opens, a faint crumbling fades in and transforms into violent electric thumps, akin to the industrial gods Throbbing Gristle, and sets a precedent for Kveikur. This first song, “Brennisteinn,” is carried by these abrasive buzzes, as opposed to the soft hums and twinkling glockenspiels of previous albums. Inversely, other songs bring out a catchy beat where a full string section might have been before.
Sigur Rós has long been in the craft of serenity, but on Kveikur this tranquility is built with an aggressive energy and a contemporary touch.
The song “Kveikur” earns the title track position with an off-kilter and aggressive energy. Birgisson’s vocals swirl around, and a heavy guitar buzzes and warps in reverse. This chaos falls into balance only for the cohesion to be replaced with harsh feedback and a few haunting lines sung by a children’s choir.
The same powerful energy of previous Sigur Rós albums remains, but songs like “Kveikur” have a daunting feel that the band’s sound used to seemingly oppose. The song stares into a void, a nothingness that was once ignored. The distance between songs then seems empty and vast, with nothing but mechanistic rumbles, low creaks, and flittering textures for minutes on end.
These intense moments also share some relief. Kveikur’s distant stare looks back toward the jovial on “Rafstraumur,” which has sharp edges of excessive gain on the guitar but is uplifting nonetheless. In the same way, the dissonant turns of “Brennistein” are resolved by the calm mystery of “Hrafntinna” with a trumpet’s solemn melody carrying over the raw percussion of what sounds like metal shards tinkling.
This new approach on percussion is less about timing and more about accenting a feeling.
Cymbal crashes erupt from the off-beats and fall back into time. Sigur Rós has found beauty in the resolution of dissonance, as opposed to stretching those beautiful moments into entire albums.
Birgisson’s vocals have always been one of those beautiful, distinctive parts of Sigur Rós, and on Kveikur little tweaks and effects added to his voice bring out surreal dimensions. At times, his voice folds in on itself in fractal delays, or an eerie reverb makes his voice float in a sea of its own glowing resonance. On “Isjaki,” oddly harmonized, wolf-like howls accent the joyful, poppy tune.
With only three members active on this album, there is less constraint and more control over the dynamics of each section. There are moments on Kveikur that are reminiscent of Sigur Rós’ classic sound, but this album delves into shadowy places in order to illuminate the rest.
Kveikur has fragmented inclinations, though it has an upward trajectory in spite of the wretched moments. The final track, “Var,” is a meditation on two chords and each new note voices a resolution, making the final minutes of Kveikur more reflective than penetrating. Kveikur, like everything else Sigur Rós has touched, is an album that will stand the test of time.
Sigur Rós – Kveikur tracklist:
- “Brennisteinn”
- “Hrafntinna”
- “Ísjaki”
- “Yfirborð”
- “Stormur”
- “Kveikur”
- “Rafstraumur”
- “Bláþráður”
- “Var”
