They played music from across their career, from their breakout 1999 album Ágætis byrjun through every studio album until 2013's Kveikur. It feels like a lifetime ago, that 2007 documentary, yet the band is still releasing music in a patient manner. Sigur Ros were the sound of my early teenage years. It was a small dose of blurred nostalgia for many in the crowd. It was as though the band had made a connection with the audience, when previously it was unrequited.
The sound was deeper and more fulfilling. The audience - teenagers to grandparents - was captured.
From quite substantial walls of sound to a strangely compatible contrast of Jonsi's delicate falsetto back by a single keyboard.Īfter a 20 minute intermission, the three returned with the only track they've released since 2013, Óveður. In Sigur Ros' case, it's landscapes that are atmospheric, swollen and heavily reverberated. The sound, broadly, is marked by rock-style instrumentation - guitars, bass and drums - being used to create atypical sounds. The band was at one point the biggest name in post-rock, and maybe still is, with the dwindling attention the genre receives. It was unexpected for a really experienced live show that has toured for two decades. People were gazing around for no reason no one was applauding particularly hard or long. It sounded fine, but was missing an element. With only the three core members on stage - Jónsi Birgisson, Georg Hólm and Orri Páll Dýrason - Sigur Ros eventually constructed an immersive and mesmerising environment, thanks - in no small part - to their award-winning lighting and visual design. So seeing them in Spark Arena, a metal box, on Friday was a little different. Families shuffled to remote locations set between mountains and cuddled up with blankets in grass fields, in one of the more wholesome displays of pure music I've seen. Meaning "Home", the feature-length video piece followed the members as they played free, outdoor shows in their native and beloved Iceland. In 2007, at the peak of my fascination with the strange, gibberish-singing, ethereal rock band Sigur Ros, I sat down at home, alone and in need, to watch their new documentary, Heima.
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