Music Box | Sigur Rós

Mike Newmark Columnist

Sigur Rós
Hvarf/Heim
[XL]

National Public Radio’s Bryant Park Project called their Oct. 5, 2007 interview with Sigur Rós “possibly the worst interview in the history of electronic media.” Interviewer Luke Burbank lobbed the musicians unanswerable questions such as “Did you think you would be the kind of band that sold two million records?” to which they would look at each other and eventually mumble a thinly veiled kiss-off. It was painful. But perhaps the band simply has as difficult a time talking about their music as we do. When many of us listen to Sigur Rós, we try to describe it in terms of how it makes us feel, reaching higher and higher for adjectives that might explain its emotional power, but we can’t do it. Sigur Rós is a spiritual experience at best—an angel laying its hands on you and flying you above the clouds toward an exalted place.

But if Sigur Rós has a weakness—and it’s a significant one—it’s that they’ve been providing this experience for us over and over again since 1999’s Ágætis Byrjun. No other band sounded like them and few were as gorgeous, which legitimized their stagnation for nearly a decade. Hvarf/Heim marks the first time that this weakness seriously detracts from enjoying the music, despite how pretty it can be. It’s a lovingly packaged album, full of regal melodies, stretched choirboy chants, sweeping orchestration and the occasional uplifting crescendo, as is everything else in their oeuvre.

Granted, Hvarf/Heim isn’t the ideal place for Sigur Rós to experiment. Not quite a proper album, this double-disc is part new material, part reinterpretations and part live recordings. Hvarf (“disappear”) is the superior disc, offering three new songs (“Salka,” “Hliómalind” and “Í Gær”) and epic re-workings of “Von” and “Hafsól” from their 1997 debut, Von. The mention of new Sigur Rós songs should get any fan worked up, but the problems begin with “Salka,” which contains a vocal passage ripped from the buildup of Takk’s blistering opener, “Glósóli.” As someone who listened to “Glósóli” religiously when it first came out, I couldn’t help but feel cheated, though at this point in the band’s career, they’re only cheating themselves. It turns out that the rest of “Salka” plays out like an inverted version of “Glósóli,” treading a similar structural path in the same key, but wimping out whenever it threatens to burst.

So, properly speaking, Hvarf contains two new songs. The winner is “Hliómalind,” a lush rocker that feels perfect at just under five minutes. It’s also the only song here that hints at the band’s growth, moving closer to the majestic ebbs and flows of shoegaze than anything they’ve put to tape. The loser is “Í Gær,” which trudges wearily through some guitar and cello-begotten sturm-und-drang before petering out. “Von” and “Hafsól” trump their poorly recorded originals and should give diehard fans something to celebrate. Both are on the long side at 10 minutes each, but they reward patient listening if you’re willing to forget that they could have appeared on Ágætis Byrjun, Takk, or ( ) and no one would have noticed.

Heim (“home”) gathers six live tracks from the group’s 2006 Icelandic tour, in which they played in various natural locations: green fields, caverns, fjords and so on. Sigur Rós’ music lends itself to Iceland’s towering beauty, and they know it: They’re releasing a tour DVD called Heima later this November. Those who have seen Heima claim it’s spectacular, but without the visuals, Heim sounds like it was recorded in a spotless studio. These tracks are all acoustic (duh, how do you plug a guitar into a fjord?), which make them both amazingly boring and extremely enlightening, as Sigur Rós has never sounded this naked. Too often, however, these versions deviate little from their originals structurally, and the up-front pianos and vocals demonstrate that the songs themselves don’t carry much weight—a problem that befalls many acoustic sets.

The question of “value” often comes up with inessential releases, and how much Hvarf/Heim is worth probably depends on who you are. Loyal Sigur Rós followers may actually value it the least; for them, that eerie feeling of déjà vu won’t be worth its ludicrous $16 sticker price. On the other hand, new and casual listeners may find the record beautiful, dazzling, and moving, but that’s also part of the problem: With Hvarf/Heim, Sigur Rós have entered the realm of mere words for perhaps the first time since Von, and the adjectives we’ll use to describe it won’t be quite so sublime anymore.