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Rating: The Garden Gnomes Who Were the Giants of the Ice Island.
It is a harsh reality to realize that even the pure ones, those we thought were incorruptible, have a price and have descended from the volcano summit to accept a compromise: that of selling Iceland, therefore, for English pop. Advertising, tours, fame... this is the means by which they offered themselves to everyone instead of being Unique.
The sudden mist is gradually disappearing. The elves vanish in the dim lights to transform into garden gnomes drinking the Queen's tea at five in the afternoon.
The strange Nordic sounds have faded away, the experimental combinations whose taste was not yet known but savored with the thrill of discovery. Surprising us.
The tinkling of bells remains, distant memory of the consistency of ice, towards the light that is already changing hue, through the air in which it spreads, under the certain percussions of hands that have become skilled.
Sigur Rós have studied, improving their technique. Losing a bit of their naturalness and spontaneity. Perhaps their managers have learned the lesson all too well.
Despite a loss of color, Jónsi's superb and powerful voice is the caress of what once was. The more accurate orchestration, the bow on the guitar and the new drummer, preserve the hope of a fascinating return to their origins.
Despite everything, there is no nostalgia, because live they unleash a vital force of unstoppable energy, and a style, still unmistakable.
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