The drums are almost danceable, playing against blips of feedback, horns and sirens. “lisjaki”, is a wonderful hybrid of what Sigur Ros have done before, and what they’re doing now. As rhythmically assaultive as “Brennisteinn” is, it remains fragile within the vocals and is as dark and brooding as anything else the band has done. The attack here is harsh, but never overbearing. His return, is filled with the fire of somebody who missed his craft. Valtari almost completely ousted drummer Orri Páll Dýrason from behind the kit.
The opening track, “Brennisteinn”, absolutely attacks with drums. I was not prepared for the wandering vibe of Kveikur, as if the band decided to be nomadic musically, letting the chips fall where they may.ĭynamics and percussion play a heavy hand in Kveikur. 2012’s Valtari, while a gorgeous record, felt stagnant, it failed to move me the way past Sigur Ros albums have. Sigur Ros seem more focused on what they want, more intent on actually surprising us with their sound. Don’t get me wrong, Kveikur is still glacial and moody, but it’s also darker, grittier. The breakdown of what they were, has left room for what they’ve become. Apparently, band entropy was good for Sigur Ros. The year of our lord 2013, and Sigur Ros lays at our feet their newest offering, Kveikur.
With the departure of Kjartan Sveinsson, we were left to wonder what the next Sigur Ros album would sound like. Some of their work was astounding, but some came across like nature channel background music. As layered and rich as Sigur Ros can sound, an element of boredom began creeping into their recent albums.
It’s the type of epic, atmospheric, music that pushes rock critics to use big, professorial words to describe their records. Sigur Ros has always been a band I saw, in my mind’s eye, writing music while surrounded by fairies, dwarves, and all types of magical creatures.
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