After listening to these Icelandic post-rockers for almost 7 years, I was finally in their midst last evening. It was Sigur Ros who, alongside Godspeed You Black Emperor and Mogwai, had drastically altered my taste in music, drawing me into a genre that thrived on mystery, drama and enduring patience. When I first heard the glacial tones of Ágætis byrjun, I knew there would be no turning back to the comparatively shallow world of mainstream radio rock. So sitting in the front row of Massey Hall in Toronto, awaiting their highly anticipated performance, meant facing the force that sent me on to my musical discoveries.

Their performance last night exceeded my wildest expectations, not only triggering memories of past lonely winters but also brought about strange, warm feelings in the shimmering atmosphere of their new material. While I have stated previously on this blog that I prefer the somber, shadowy drama of their earlier albums, the bright innocence from Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust melted my apprehensions away as its translation on stage revealed the band’s newfound sense of intimacy. The trickling piano lines of "Inní mér syngur vitleysingur", Jón Þór Birgisson’s sweet falsetto on "Við spilum endalaust" and the infectious, hand clapping, confetti strewn finale of "Gobbledigook" showcased the wistful urgency of their latest work.

The scattered trips down memory lane were equally captivating, including the oceanic percussion of "Ný batterí", the sweeping xylophone intro of "Sæglópur" and the graceful chiming piano of "Hoppípolla". Everything they played was not only note perfect in accordance with their recorded counterparts, but also illustrated the emotional intensity within them with stunning clarity, due to the band’s dynamic and commanding stagecraft. From the bombastic crescendos to the soft creaking of Jón’s vintage pump organ, Sigur Ros had the audience hypnotized as they shifted between rustic, folksy textures and cascading psychedelia.

The highlight of the evening for me though came from the pre-encore rendition of "Untitled 8", the searing climax from 2002’s ( ) . The wiry guitar intro was immediately recognizable, leading the way for the inescapable power of Jón’s vocals. The intricate arpeggios continued to glide along until the building tension finally gave way to pounding drums, bringing us to that inevitable, apocalyptic crescendo. The band ignited into a fury of rapturous guitar solos, earthshaking reverb, and haunting wails, rivaling the cosmic scope of Mogwai’s masterpiece "Mogwai Fear Satan". That explosive performance alone was enough to justify Sigur Ros’ global adulations, as very few bands can reach those celestial heights.

To conclude, seeing Sigur Ros live meant falling in love with their sound all over again, having come face to face with the incredible emotionality of their performance. Whether it was the pained, lovelorn expressions on Jón’s face as he belted out those cryptic verses or the alien drone of bow scraping against a guitar, each glorious element demonstrated the band’s remarkable sensitivity, not only to melody and distortion but to love, fear and boundless joy. It was this sensitivity, rather than the actual set list itself, that had the entire concert hall hanging on their every note.

Untitled #6 (You and the Lights E-Bow), courtesy of Triasas and A.S.

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This entry was posted on Tuesday, September 23rd, 2008 at 1:42 pm and is filed under Reviews. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.