Sigur Rós
Með Suð Í Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust

THE REVIEW

Amidst marching, tribal rhythms, clear and light melodies, carefully redundant, alternate a carefree falsetto and a barely ruminating free song. Thus opens "Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust": a terrestrial atmosphere, no longer ethereal, and concrete, emanating from the pulsations of the burning blood under the sun of these boys who, naked, run towards the unspoiled forest, soaring away, far, beyond the bypass of smoky cement civilization. An artistic message in line with the previous works of the now famous and established Sigur Ròs, but expressed in a completely different form.

This new state of mind and an overall tendency towards a more traditional song form are, however, the only characteristics unique to this album: in fact, immersed in this atmosphere of clarity, after the title track ("Gobbledigook"), the only significant change in tone musically, the album delves into memories, already fading into the sublime pace of "Inní mér syngur vitleysingur", which explodes into joyful trumpets and strings, reminiscent of the most famous of "Takk..."; in refined revisitations of the atmospheres of a classical transcendental ambient of "Ágætis Byrjun" ("Festival"); in light-hearted echoes of the Freudian psychedelia of the poignant "()"; in the acoustic and nocturnal outbursts of singer Jonsì, who combines seraphically angelic tones with deeply human ones, with his guitar, in memory of the revisitations of "Hvarf/heima", of that well-packaged Christmas gift to reawaken the attention of fans.

That is: a creative and imaginative assembly divided into well-compact blocks of all the identities, peculiarities, moods that have previously enabled Sigur Rós to create a rare enchantment, in the era of use and throw as in many other eras: the enchantment of striking the essential chords of human nature, achieving widespread success and popularity, beyond time and space, of relativity, without compromising, with the difficulty of sound structures not easily disseminated, sought after, precious, complex, "elitist", but irresistibly, undeniably enriching, fascinating in the indescribable way it unconsciously fascinates the absolute value of the mysterious passion of life.

But in this album, which is more of a group revival, accompanied by sumptuous musical armies, one instead observes a poor reflection, where Sigur Rós self-parody and self-imitate, between nostalgia for the past and a labored determination to proceed differently, as much criticism hopes.

This emotional deficiency, this absence of essence, makes the grand orgies of the strings worthy only of Disney movies, the vague psychedelic or post-rock echoes tedious, vacuous, and disjointed, the acoustic minimalism suited only for decent bonfires, the pop songs reminiscent of takk fit only for distracted mp3s.

Are we at the dawn of the decline of the Rose Of Victory, (meaning of "Sigur Ros")? Or has the smoky success of the great music industry, which puts artists' souls in contact with market reasoning, with those songs priced on the official site, for a total of ten euros!, (after the commendable move of offering the entire album for free listening for a certain period) blackened the icy wings of inspiration of the Icelandic band, just now when general acclaim provides them with the most varied, technological and servile supports for their music? Are we simply expecting too much from this nevertheless grand band? Are we at a transitional album? Of artistic maturation?

Although they will surely extract a few smiles, some beautiful live performances, the notes of Sigur Rós in themselves, this time, have not managed to count for much.