Sigur Rós - Ágætis Byrjun
(Fat Cat)
Considering what Iceland's Sigur Rós is heralded to be, what they actually
are on their first British-released full length is somewhat disappointing.
Grandiose rock heavyweights and harbingers to a new millennium of sound they
most certainly are not. The merger of late 80s 4AD cooing pop and late 90s
Canadian rock pageantry they hinted towards in their first two British
EPs ends up sounding more simply like Iceland's answer to Radiohead when
seen in full portrait on their LP, Ágætis Byrjun.
Of course, Iceland's answer to Radiohead is not all that bad of a thing.
Ágætis Byrjun does pack all of its 72 minutes with beautiful, somewhat
interesting music, the sort of music that mainstream rock critics can
rave about: easy listening enough not to offend them, different enough
to perk their ears, bloated enough to give them credibility, and pretty enough
to woo them into saliva-producing adoration. However, those traits do
not make Sigur Rós interesting or important; it simply makes them another
pretty orchestral pop band with an allergy to rocking out, trying to be
important.
While Sigur Rós' music is not essential or outstanding, it is good. It
definitely is pretty music. Unfortunately though, of the three standout
tracks on the album, two, "Ný Batterí" and "Svefn-G-Englar," were the
lead tracks on the band's previous two British EPs, so anyone who hopped on the
bandwagon early will find less new things to love. "Ný Batterí" is
the closest Sigur Rós gets to being a rock band on this album, but even
here it is the drums supplying the noise and fury, pounding loudly with clanging
cymbals, with ne'er a guitar to be found.
The main bit of innovation in this album, if you want to call it that, is the
use of a cello bow on an electric guitar which creates the bed of sounds in the
intro to "Svefn-G-Englar," and the song builds off that sound tremendously,
one of the definite highlights of the album. However, much of the rest of the
album sounds like what dinosaur rock bands do when they feel their formula is no
longer as powerful: become more and more bloated. Many bands use orchestral
flourishes to accent their sound and songs; Sigur Rós uses them to excess,
creating mawkish, overly lavish arrangements. For instance, "Olsen Olsen"
starts as a mellow rock song with a strong bassline and multiple vocalists
with flute and strings popping in, a great sound that buries itself in your
subconscious. Unsatisfied with just a very good rock song, Sigur Rós
adds a three and a half minute orchestral section that turns the song into the
type of music heard during the climax of a Christmas special, when the Dad
accepts his role as Santa Claus' temporary replacement and takes to the air,
delivering presents. The music truly is that over the top and schmaltzy,
ruining enjoyment of the more subdued first half of the song.
The name of the album, Ágætis Byrjun, means "a good beginning"
(the album's lyrics are in both Icelandic and the band's made-up language
Hopelandish). The album ends with the lyrics, "We sit down excited, listen
to ourselves play in rhythm to the music, but the sound wasn't good. We were
all in agreement; we will do better next time. This is a good beginning."
The lyric is made somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but the band does vow that the
next album will be better. Hopefully that means a little more restraint and
a little less reluctance to the use of guitars. Ágætis Byrjun is
worth putting in the CD changer, just don't expect it to change your life.
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