spellbinding is barely sufficient to describe the experience of catching sigur ros live. seconds within opening, iceland’s finest commanded the limpit-like audiences every move. a misplaced crisp packet rustle could sabotage the intensity in one fatal blow. we’re entering the realms of the epic: this is music that can make neck hairs bristle and nipples stand embarrassingly erect.

projected images abound of fire and water, reflecting the natural beauty and effervescence of vast, ethereal soundscapes. shy singer jonsi sings into his guitar pickup during ‘svefn-g-englar’, his voice echoing with the power to move mountains. and rival celine dion. gliding alongside tremulous guitars, you can’t help but marvel at the enormity of this meek four-pieces sound. flames flicker behind ‘hjartao hamast’, mirroring the barest silence and most thunderous noise to astonishing effect.

the more-than-modest crowd lose their opportunity for a much-needed encore. but in a setting masquerading as minimalist, less is frustratingly more.

the album ‘agaetis byrjun’ is out now on fatcat records.
(debbie ball)