Sigur Rós were once described to me as "the sound of planets moving, if we could hear them", and I have yet to find a more apt way to relate their ponderous essentialism. Probably most famous for their inclusion in film soundtracks, including Vanilla Sky, this Icelandic collective have cracked the alchemist’s code, and distilled beauty in its purest form. Imagine flying over the Arctic wasteland beneath the Northern Lights, and Sigur Rós would provide the perfect accompaniment. Never have I heard music that so simplistically and hauntingly exposes the fragility of life itself. Each swooping note struck by the music box, the bow-played electric guitar, the soundscape synthesiser, echoes with ethereal wonder. The visuals of tonight’s performance add a further dimension to the already impossibly perfect music. At first, a white gauze and myriad of coloured lights disguise the band, then a backdrop and projections, with occasional ruffled material mountains. A solarised couple dancing in slow motion, the meiosis of thousands of stars, a shimmering close up of a foetal face are all appreciated afresh, with the wonder they deserve. Tonight made me shiver, and leave in an awestruck daze. With all the shallowness, terror and hate that shapes our daily lives, it becomes increasingly difficult to realise there is an alternative. Sigur Rós remind us that we are vulnerable, emotional beings, capable of creating intense beauty, instead of destroying it, and one another. |
