:: Track Listing

1. Takk...
2. Glósóli
3. Hoppípolla
4. Með Blóðnasir
5. Sé Lest
6. Sæglópur
7. Mílanó
8. Gong
9. Andvari
10. Svo Hljótt
11. Heysátan

:: Record Review

Sigur Rós

Takk...
(Geffen; 2005)

Rating: 83%
Combined Rating: 79%


By the time Takk... actually reachs the hands or computers (insert obligatory slap on the wrist for downloading here) of its listeners, a supermarket's worth of canned responses will likely loom over the album. Major mags, having missed the novelty-boat a few years ago, will likely jump to apologist adulation. Critics storing up backlash for years will likely feel their time to strike is now, since time and a sophomore album will have dulled the band's edge of newness and overwhelming alien sound. Indifferent critics will probably write a few lines about how the band's had a clear formula (after all, don't all their albums kind of sound alike?), and it's more of the same, so whatever. These canned responses, all of which could be made without ever having contact with the album, are nothing new; they're prepared for just about every established band that began with a bang.

So why bring it up if it's nothing new? The answer is that Sigur Rós illustrates the generalization better than any other band that comes to mind. Their second state-side release, ( ), suffered some critical concomitance - despite its quality - largely because their generalized "sound" didn't change sufficiently for some critics. More simply, they weren't "new" anymore. In the spirit of responsible meta-criticism (a fervent hobby at CMG, in case you hadn't noticed), it's worth noticing how little critics register habits like these automated responses to albums, and what unfortunate consequences result from those responses.

Like, for instance, missing out on Sigur Rós's powerful Takk.... For those looking to change a good thing, it will surely be a disappointment. The post-rock style that the band has been moulding and the instrumentation which forms that style haven't changed. They still take full advantage of the rousing crescendo (but not as a cheap trick), still sing in Hopelandish, still strive for and attain bombast, and still (ironists beware!) sound innocently earnest.

And they still sound hauntingly beautiful. The eleven songs on Takk..., a few of which are transitional pieces, each develop concurrent melody, dynamism, and swelling atmosphere to ravishing effect.

In fact, one of the difficult things about assessing Sigur Rós - as a self-confessed technically-oriented critic - is finding a suitable explanation of precisely why their music is so peculiarly emotive. The best that I can do, insofar as cathecting emotional power-points is possible, is point out how lead singer Jónsi's celestial vocals, both in their timbre and their avoidance of conventional lyrics, create a primal, non-linguistic impression. By avoiding words, he centers attention on the actual sound of his voice, and thus reaches more directly to a listener's emotional consciousness (and since that of cynics is dead, this probably accounts for their befuddling complaints of "Ugh, this is so sickeningly sincere"). That chanting voice, combined with the fury of the group's percussion, their shoe-gaze tendency for explorative guitar-textures, and smart cultivation of space, creates an ideal sonic landscape for emotional identification.

The other remarkable technique that Sigur Rós employ especially well on Takk... is one that some would reduce down to mere atmosphere-building: the wavering synths, bowed guitars, and keyboard lines that create a shifting background of melodic undertones. One doesn't have to read into it too far to understand that these elements create, conceptually, a sense of evanescence, a sense of the uncertain and consequently precarious beauty of sound. Practically, they serve the group's songs well as a backdrop through which the certain and insistent power of their crescendos charge. This duality, expressed particularly rousingly in "Glosoli," "Saeglopur," and "Gong," further contributes to the group's emotive strength and balance.

As for those immense crescendos, one can complain about them, sure. But Sigur Rós earn those crescendos and the impact they create. They don't merely come out of nowhere; instead the group patiently constructs them as furtherances of developed, pre-existing ideas. As a result, the catharsis they generate are far from cheap; in "Glosoli," the immense crash of guitars, cymbals, and skyscraping vocals is both a mathematical intensification, from 4/2 to 8/4 time, and a thrilling visceral experience. Further, it builds and melodically varies the vocal and synth lines that preceded it. When it reaches its breathtaking apex, the group has nicely manipulated its initial line into a heart-piercing finale. In "Saeglopur," the group's massive crescendo isn't an exclamation point but a prelude to a movement whose stunning melodic swoons are so moving precisely because they're put into relief against that crescendo. In "Saeglopur's" case, its winning card is not The Crescendo, but the climactic melodic ache that follows.

Wisely, Sigur Rós also reserves plenty of space on Takk... for low-key passages, not just as placeholders, but as good ebbing points for the album's energy. In these passages, strings harmonize with gentle glockenspiel and piano leads to form confidently, comfortably pretty stretches that serve both as comedowns and preparations for sonic intensification. "Milano," separating the surging "Saeglopur" and "Gong," with delicate iterations and reiterations of melodic refrains and vocal lines, is one such highlight, though it too has its rousing moments.

Of course, analysis won't put the music in your ears; but it should make clear that the visceral pleasure of Takk... is not a function of simple, cheap atmospherics. Yes, the album is in the same ethereal vein as its predecessors, but the least thing that it warrants is a canned response. Hell, even if you tried, a serious, involved listen to Takk... will blow that can right open. It's that well-constructed, thoughtful, emotionally provocative and cathartic. Amir Nezar :: 7 September 2005 |