Word: sigur
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...words of MY favorite poet, Sigur Rós frontman Jónsi þor Birgisson: “[Long, drawn-out silence. Very drawn-out.]” What does it mean to be a poet, or, better yet, what is prose poetry? Is this it? Nope, because I can’t write good, and that’s got to be a part...
...having a rough week when I saw Sigur Rós play at the Opera House. But when Abe Riesman comes upon rough times, there’s no better prescription than Sigur...
...There’s plenty of other chill-out music out there, and a lot of it has more elaborate symphonics, more accomplished musicianship, and lyrics in a language that’s comprehensible to me. So what is the Sigur Rós mystique? It became obvious to me at their show on the 15th. Their music is the sonic equivalent of going into the womb...
...show wasn’t really life-altering, but it did what Sigur Rós always does for me—makes me feel as though I’m lolling around in that amniotic fluid, inhabiting a place and time before girlfriends and bombing campaigns: mindless, carefree, and hypnotized by the melodies of what’s to come...
...does leave some breathing room, though. The precious M83 of Dead Cities survives in “Farewell/Goodbye,” a soothing scoop of inspiration á la Sigur Rós. And though even the quiet songs of Before the Dawn can be a stressful listen, the album is mesmerizingly and seamlessly stitched together. Paralleling the band’s own de- and reconstruction, Before The Dawn will cut open your heart with a Casio keyboard, sew it back together and still leave you looking forward to the sunrise...