(Cover photo by npr.org)

What follows is the review I wrote for Prog magazine’s latest issue covering the Sigur Rós concert I saw this past September. Unfortunately, there was not enough room for it in the magazine. Mercifully, it had nothing to do with my writing and I’ve been given another assignment. That’s just the way it goes. Things could be worse.

So, here’s what I wrote. I hope you dig it.

It’s the last night of summer. The sun is out, the air is warm, and spirits throughout the city are high. In fact, the only thing more beautiful than the weather outside is what’s taking place inside the Auditorium Theater.

Sigur Rós is in town, and they have brought the Wordless Orchestra. Together, they make some of the most beautiful music the crowd has ever heard. The ushers walk through the venue with placards reading “quiet please.” They needn’t worry … even the pin is dropping silently out of respect.

The orchestra’s strings swell calmly during the opening strains of “Blóǒberg.” Lead vocalist Jónsi is bowing his guitar as his angelic falsetto lilts through the strains of his Hopelandic language. Listeners are taken on a journey of their own minds, perhaps picturing flights over the band’s native Iceland, or in and out of mountain ranges. Words like transformative and ethereal are overused, but if ever there was a place to put such verbiage to use, it’s here.

Sigyr Rós’s volume level is low and consistent. It takes several minutes to note the initial lack of percussion. When the drums do make their appearance, they don’t come anywhere close to overwhelming the rest of the mix. When some bands augment their arrangements with an orchestra, they come across as gimmicky. Sigur Rós and the Wordless Orchestra are a symbiotic unit, sounding like they have been playing together since the band’s inception. The band’s positioning – directly within the confines of the orchestra – only helps to drive this point home. The arrangements are perfect!

Jónsi’s voice might be the center of attention, but the audience doesn’t sleep on the subtle but earnest keyboard work of Kyjartan Sveinsson, who brings forth single notes and chords that make themselves known, then gently float off into the ether. Bassist Georg Hólm is offering just the right amount of support, often just one note at a time. Is this music tender? Yes, it is.

Songs like “8” and “All Alright” are offered with the quietest of intensity. The audience seems almost stunned at the level of emotion before them and wait until the very last strain of the very last note to go silent before bursting into thunderous applause. It is impossible not to get emotional over what is emanating from the stage.

Sigur Rós’s two sets offer an ideal balance of songs from their catalog, with no one album getting more than four songs. ÁTTA and Takk get the most attention, followed closely by ( ) and Valtari. “Avalon” is the closer, offered to the audience like them most beautiful of gifts.^ Everyone gets something familiar, and everyone wants more. We could’ve done this all night.

^ — SIDE NOTE (not in my initial review) — I was really hoping to hear “Untitled 8” as the show’s closer. In fact, I just knew it would be part of the encore. Alas, bands evolve, and no one wants to do the same thing at work every night. So, I had to do without. No big deal … the show was magnificent enough to help me get over my “loss” in a heartbeat or two. I also took the time to put together a Spotify playlist duplicating the show (and adding my favorite tune at the end). If you’re curious, you can check it out here.

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