Sigur Rós: The Language of the Sublime

Jónsi Birgisson sings in a language called Vonlenska — sometimes translated as "Hopelandic" — which he invented. It has no grammar, no vocabulary, no meaning that can be translated. It is a language of pure sound, of vowels and consonants arranged for their emotional resonance rather than their semantic content.

This is either the most pretentious thing in rock music or the most honest. Possibly both. Definitely both.

Sigur Rós have been making music since 1994, and in that time they have built a catalog that is genuinely unlike anything else — music that sounds like the Icelandic landscape it comes from, vast and cold and occasionally terrifying and, in the right light, unbearably beautiful.

Reykjavik and the Icelandic Scene

Iceland has produced a disproportionate number of important musicians relative to its population of 370,000 people. Björk is the most famous, but the ecosystem that produced her also produced Sigur Rós, múm, Ólafur Arnalds, and dozens of other artists who share a particular relationship with space, silence, and the natural world.

Sigur Rós formed in Reykjavik when Jónsi was 18. The original lineup included his sister Ára and two school friends. They played their first shows in basements and small venues, making music that was too slow and too strange for conventional rock audiences and too loud for the ambient crowd.

Von and the Early Years

Their debut album, Von (1994), is a curiosity — a record that contains the seeds of what they would become without yet knowing how to grow them. It is rough and unformed, but you can hear the ambition in it.

Ágætis byrjun (1999) is where they arrived. The title translates roughly as "a good beginning," which is either modest or ironic depending on how you read it — because the record is not a beginning, it is a fully realized statement of purpose.

Ágætis byrjun: The Arrival

Ágætis byrjun is one of the great albums of the 1990s. It opens with a lullaby sung by Jónsi's mother and closes with a 10-minute piece that sounds like the world ending and beginning simultaneously. In between, it covers more emotional ground than most bands manage in a career.

The production — by Ken Thomas, who had worked with Siouxsie and the Banshees and M People — is immaculate. The arrangements are orchestral without being pompous. The guitar work, played with a cello bow rather than a pick, creates textures that no one had heard before.

"Svefn-g-englar" is the track that most people encounter first — eight minutes of slowly building beauty that sounds like waking up in a place you have never been but somehow recognize. It is one of the most affecting pieces of music made in the last 30 years.

( ) and the Silence

( ) (2002) — the title is literally two parentheses, no words — is their most radical statement. The album has no track names. The lyrics are entirely in Vonlenska. The packaging is minimal to the point of blankness.

It is also their most emotionally extreme record. The first half is quiet, almost unbearably so — music that feels like it is holding its breath. The second half is the release: "Popplagið" (known to fans as "Untitled 8") builds for 12 minutes before erupting into something that sounds like the sky falling in.

Listening to ( ) is a commitment. It asks for your full attention and rewards it with something that is difficult to describe and impossible to forget.

Takk, Með suð í eyrum, and the Middle Period

Takk (2005) is their most accessible record — warmer, more melodic, less austere than its predecessor. "Hoppípolla" became their most famous track after being used in a BBC nature documentary, introducing them to an audience of millions who had never heard of them.

Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust (2008) — "With a Buzz in Our Ears We Play Endlessly" — is their most joyful record, opening with a track recorded outdoors in the Icelandic countryside that sounds like pure happiness.

Kveikur and the Darker Turn

Kveikur (2013) arrived after the departure of two founding members and sounds like a band processing that loss through volume and aggression. It is their heaviest record — industrial in places, almost metal in others — and it is magnificent.

Essential Listening

• Start here: Ágætis byrjun (1999) — the masterpiece
• The radical statement: ( ) (2002) — demanding and essential
• The accessible entry: Takk (2005) — warmer and more melodic
• The dark turn: Kveikur (2013) — their heaviest and most aggressive
• One track: "Svefn-g-englar" — eight minutes that will change you

Sigur Rós make music in a language no one speaks. Everyone understands it.