Sigur Ros - ()
(MCA)
No album title, no song titles, nothing other than a 72 minute piece of music for you to take in, digest, and only begin to comprehend. Sigur Rós' latest album, the almost untitled (), rights any wrongs made on their US/UK debut Ágætis Byrjun. That album's penchant for U2-style pomposity and sappiness in grandiose displays of ear candy melodicism has been wiped away leaving only the bare forms. Nothing other than 72 minutes of music. Perhaps nothing to "comprehend" at all, only 72 minutes that just are, like the ground existing below you and the air existing around you. With this album, Sigur Rós has matured into some sort of modern day Led Zeppelin, one where there is no Robert Plant preening and bulging; instead the singer hides in the darkness, crying words we won't understand, leaving only sound to explain his blues. Like Zeppelin, the drums still pound, and the guitars still crash, but the focus is a post-Cobain sensitivity, one that is never talked about directly but one that is clear to the naked eye. There are many spectacular moments in these 72 minutes, like the way the drums slow down the album at the beginning of the sixth song, the skeletal sound of the song making time seem to stand still, or like the way the familiar piano melody pulls you in and tugs you along during the third song, or like the way the album erupts in its final moments at the end of the eighth song, leaving the listener with the sense of fury and fire as the epic album finally closes. However, by not naming anything, Sigur Rós makes it clear that these parts are only pieces of the whole. Listen to these 72 minutes like you view your favorite movie, taking in as much as you can to uncover every nuance and meaning.
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