"I have no idea to this day what those two Italian ladies were singing about. Truth is, I don't want to know. Some things are best left unsaid. I'd like to think they were singing about something so beautiful, it can't be expressed in words, and makes your heart ache because of it." - Ellis Boyd Redding
Truer words have never been spoken when regarding music, but more importantly when referring to Sigur Rós' album ( ). Though it's been seven years since the albums release, it's not hard to ascertain the greatness nor the freshness of the music on the album. With every flutter of the strings or wrenching of the keyboards there’s an uncanny juxtaposition of emotions, a fine line maybe, where bleakness and isolation turns to redemption and reclamation. Even the music styling changes dramatically from the first half of the record to the second half; modern-classical with ambient and minimalist characteristics define the beginning portion while a more metallic and heavier post-rock tirade appears the later half. The packaging only furthers the state of the album's intent, while the production heightens the mood of the music and helps set forth a musical journey that is slightly more in-depth than your typical fare.
In general, when speaking about Sigur Rós’ music it’s usually hard describing to someone, who has not experienced it themselves, what it’s all about and that sentiment has never been more apparent than on this record. From their enigmatic packaging to their ”Hopelandic” (a nonsensical scat language based on Icelandic syllables) lyrics the band seems at ease with it all though. According to Jónsi, the lead vocalists and guitar player, "the booklet in ( ) is empty so people can write down or draw their interpretations of it. It's a kind of "human experience". Everyone has their own opinions and when people buy the album it's kind of unfinished, so people have to finish it themselves. It's not the singer telling stories, it's sort of a soundtrack for each person's life. They can write lyrics for their own lives." Even before entering our ears the band is trying to accomplish something unique. A mood and projection that the barren artwork would suggest before one even heard their “Hopelandic” language and celestial music.
Ah, and the music. What can be said that hasn’t already been discussed in great length? Everything really, because the quality of music on the album could and should be discussed a million times over for its exquisite beauty yet brutal sincerity. Recording was held at the band's converted swimming pool studio in Álafoss, Mosfellsbžr and took place over a much longer time span than their previous album. The band was searching for the right sound that fit the music rather than the right sound that fit the radio airwaves. Jónsi said the production was more “bare and alive” sounding with “less polished tricks” when compared to previous work. Furthering the music along a course that reaches endearing qualities, the kind that can open up a person's heart. The album wasn’t intended as a milestone for production enthusiasts, but a tool to help mold the music. The slightly unpolished and chilling recording techniques only add to the atmosphere and compositions.
Sigur Rós tapped into something while writing ( ) that most bands strive for at least once in their career, but usually come up short. As writers the development of the band is on full display here, because each song builds upon itself, layer by layer and note by note much like a classical composition does and much like a classical composer Sigur Rós shows great restraint. Never indulging or digging themselves into unnecessary corners. Each song works with and supports the rest of the music. They do so with a marvelous blend and at times blurring of music boundaries. However, they do this as the album progresses rather than within a single song. From a heart-wrenching opening number that deftly fuses modern-classical and minimal music into a soaring unison that leaves one speechless to a full ensemble ready to explode with all instruments blazing and building during the climax of the closing track. The album offers something for everyone from soft and somber to metallic and uplifting; piano with vocals to blistering guitars and thunderous drums. Throughout one’s first listen you sense you are being taken on a journey, but more importantly like any memorable journey you are unaware of the destination or the means on which you will arrive. For that the album leaves you free and vulnerable, but strangely uplifted in a way that most bands never dare attempt. It’s hard not noticing that the band reached new heights in their writing, something more profound and more intimate than before.
Now, some refer to it as Parentheses or Brackets, the credits in their movie Heima list it as The Untitled Album, while the band goes by the Icelandic name of Svigaplatan or in English The Bracket Album, but anyone of those would sum the record up perfectly. And again that’s the beauty in the album that anyone from anywhere can have their own interpretation of it. At the end of the day that’s what loving art is about, finding your own thoughts and ideas within a given piece. Sometimes it’s confusing and you can’t do the art justice when telling someone about it, but that’s OK because as long as it speaks to you that’s all that matters. It’s quite an admirable attitude for a band to suggest the listener project their own life or meaning onto the album and it’s actually more remarkable when a band accomplishes that.
Awe-inspiring might be the best bet when trying to achieve with words what the band did with their music. Maybe you could warrant it to the musical growth of the band or maybe the production methods they upheld for this particular recording or half a dozen other tired propositions, but trying to figure out exactly what it is is the same as trying to figure out the name of the record or the meaning behind the songs and artwork or what Jónsi is singing. It all depends on who you ask and at the end of the day it doesn’t matter because to describe it would go against the very nature of the “nameless” album and be a disservice to a band that set out to make it as such. Just open up and let the art consume you and maybe in doing so your heart will ache.
