Did I rate it 1 star? I meant 5.

Curious to see on what grounds something so directly and obviously beautiful as this CD could be disliked, I scanned all the negative reviews here to date. Aside from the one respectable negative reviewer--from Iceland--who simply and honestly declared that he "just doesn't get it," I noticed a rather amusing pattern. Intriguingly, there is the nearly universal employment of the word "pretentious" somewhere in the review. This is coupled with the nearly universal pretentiousness of the negative reviews (endless namedropping, amateurish "rock-reviewer" posing, and even some music "biz" kibbitzing, as if they were addressing a stockholder's meeting). The earliest negative review is the paradigm: Devon Reed manages to use the adjective "pretentious"--without irony--in a review that not only contains a quote from Pauline Kael, but attempts to coin the idiotic word "overwhelmingness." I can think of few more pretentious exercises than to dress up one's gut dislike for a work of art with bloated prose about "influences" and solemn pronouncements on the state of contemporary music.

The verdict seems clear: if you are a pretentious--that's right, pretentious--would-be rock critic who has spent years cultivating a refined musical dyspepsia as a replacement for ears, and whose tastes serve as a pseudointellectual identity badge entitling you to whine about people who find beauty where you don't, then stay away from Sigur Ros. You know who you are, and you paradoxically risk a dangerous blood-pressure spike whenever you listen to anything deliberately tranquil. However, if you are just about any other stripe of human, there's a good chance you'll be pleasantly hypnotized by this simply beautiful CD.


Not of this world   May 30, 2002
 94 out of 101 found this review helpful

Reports suggest that Sigur Ros is from Iceland, but if they ended up being from Pluto, or some far off galaxy, it wouldn't be surprising. Nor would it make any difference. Agaetis Byrjun, a hypnotic siren song of an album, glides in as if delivered by an advanced alien civilization. Warmer and fuller than any of Radiohead's attempts at moody, ambient music, Agaetis Byrjun would suggest the future of music if you actually believed anyone else on earth was talented enough to replicate its unique sound (no one is).

After a beautiful appetizer of an intro, the album goes right into the epic "Svefn-G-Englar" (try saying that 10 times fast), 10 minutes that may as well last a lifetime. It sounds like a submarine maneuvering through a newly discovered celestial body. Relaxing, powerful, and touching all at once, it sets the tone for the rest of what follows. "Staralfur" follows, a track as hopeful as a newborn child's birth. Listening to it is as cathartic as My Bloody Valentine's shimmering wave of feedback from ten years ago. After the demise (or hibernation) of that band, it's wonderful to see a new band trying to bring rock music to an entirely different level.

Scared of the language barrier? Don't be. Like any opera, the emotion comes through regardless of whether or not you can understand the words. From the dazzle of "Svefn-G-Englar" to the Celtic waterfall of "Olsen Olsen," Sigur Ros bursts with feelings of hope, despair, happiness, sadness, and all points in between, perhaps even creating new emotions as they go along. It's an incredible achievement, not likely to be matched by anybody anytime soon. Unless you count the band itself, but they may have moved on to another solar system by then.


Manipulative and embarrassing   January 3, 2001
 44 out of 97 found this review helpful

Sigur Ros' Agaetis Byrjun is quite possibly the most gorgeous, impeccably produced album I have heard all year. With their latest, the Icelandic quartet has released one of the most potent packages of orchestral sound in recent memory.

And I hate every minute of it.

"Whom could this operetta offend? Only those of us who, despite the fact that we may respond, loathe being manipulated...and are aware of how cheap and ready-made are the responses we are made to feel."

That's what Paulene Kael had to say in her wonderfully scathing review of The Sound of Music, but the sentiment fits precisely my reaction to this overdone piece of gooey new age schlock. Do I dispute that Jon Birgisson delivers some of the most soul-wrenching vocals ever committed to disc? No. Am I not moved at all by tracks such as "Flugufrelsarinn" and "Ny batteri?" Of course I am. But do I feel that I am being addressed as an intelligent, thinking listener, and that Sigur Ros wants to win over my mind's attention as well as my heart's? Not at all. This record reeks of manipulation. From the layered strings to the haunting vocals to the cosmic production, all I walk away with is an overwhelming feeling of...overwhelmingness.

Initially I thought that perhaps my contempt of this album might have been overkill. I mean, these are just a few hard-working boys from Iceland, right? Well any restraint on my part was dashed when I encountered this little tidbit on the Sigur Ros website: "Let us add one more thing about Sigur Ros. We are not a band, we are music. We do not intend to become superstars or millionaires, we are simply gonna change music forever, and the way people think about music." Now these may be noble aspirations, but I'm not sure whether to laugh or be frightened. After all, the prospect of this musical Prozac percolating into the mainstream is enough to give me nightmares. And given the lavish praise this album has had heaped upon it over the past few months, it seems as though somebody is taking this seriously.

I'm all for new sounds, for musical experimentation and innovation. For change. But aside from the unbearably pretentious "Hopelandish" which Birgisson howls all over the record, I can't find anything different or special about this work (and even this single gimmick seems to be an awfully blatant ripoff of Liz Fraser's far superior vocals on the Cocteau Twins' albums). After a listen or two, when the trick has worn off, it's actually pretty boring, despite some production efforts (like those annoying segues) to make the album seem deeper and more important than it really is.

I wonder what people who respond to Sigur Ros' music actually take away from it. Are they sad because Birgisson is sad? Do they feel because the violins command them to feel? Is it a powerful experience because the entire package, from the glowing embryonic figure on the cover to the cryptic lyrics, dictates that it must be powerful? I'd really like to know.


An old guy likes this stuff too   July 21, 2006
 35 out of 35 found this review helpful

With nearly 300 reviews of this CD already written, and no one but the most deranged fan willing to read more than a few, why add another? Well, because I suspect there are listeners other than myself who look and listen and wonder how to decipher all the woozy praise or hysterical hatred. Besides, of course, buying the darn thing and listening.

I have been a fan of Sigur Ros for over 4 years, having been exposed to them by my daughter, who thought this right up my alley. And she was blindingly right. I have witnessed them twice live. This is amazing stuff. Now, not everything they do is amazing....some of it is rather pedestrian. Tedious. A little embarrassing. Even Mozart wrote uninteresting music. But there is nothing dull on this CD. It is transcendent and intoxicating. Their consistently best work to date.

I do not believe snippets or scraps can really capture what this can do. You need to immerse yourself into the world they create, a sonic palace of bizarre digital noises and weird little drones, a wispy little vocalist and a breathtakingly brilliant percussionist, and savor it all. Unlike anything else, and unrelated to anything else, it stands on its own as something worth experiencing and enjoying.

Sigur Ros is like a Jackson Pollack painting. Often when you look at a Pollack, not a print but the real thing, you wonder what the heck he thought he was up to. He got paid for that? But sometimes Pollack hit it perfectly; he took the same old swirls and drips and spatters on every painter's dropcloth and produced something gorgeous and permanent. This CD has all winners on it, a flow and a movement using the the most elementary, and often most repetitive, little sounds and weaving and blending them into a tapestry of endlessly surprising and often unimaginable beauty.


Like whales with gas   September 20, 2001
 22 out of 73 found this review helpful

The guy I work with plays this constantly. It sounds like whale song. Worse, whales with gas.

Next time he steps away from his computer, I'm going to delete these songs from his hard drive. I think I know where he keeps the CD...