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SIGUR RÓS
Opera HOUSE artistry
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It’s hard to imagine a better match of artist and venue than Sigur Rós and the Opera House. Back before it closed in the late ’80s, I remember seeing a trio of post-punk British bands there: Siouxsie & the Banshees, the Psychedelic Furs, and Echo & the Bunnymen. The combination of cynical sentiments and swirling anthems that characterized all three outfits seemed well suited to the setting’s rundown splendor. The refurbished Opera House, however, has the feel of a classical hall, not a house of rock. And the mercurial Sigur Rós, an Icelandic foursome who may once have fit some notion of a post–My Bloody Valentine trip-hopped "band" in the rockist sense of the word, have evolved into something way beyond rock. Never mind Jón Þor Birgisson’s lyrics, sung either in the made-up "Hopelandic" tongue or the equally foreign (to most American ears) Icelandic that he favors on the group’s new Takk . . . (Geffen). As with everything else concerning Sigur Rós, it’s more about sound — in his case, an angelic, androgynous falsetto — than content. That he uses a bow to coax unusual textures from his guitar is, more than anything, a visual hook: the overlapping tones and textures that swirled through the Opera House last Thursday were difficult to connect with any one instrument or player. Both drummer Orri Páll Dýrason and bassist Georg Holm had consoles of their own to tend to as they added to the layered synths of keyboardist Kjartan Sveinsson. And as on Takk . . . , the avant-classical Amina string quartet was present for most of the 90-plus minute set, adding everything from pizzicato passages to furious bowing to the already dense wall of sound, a new-agey yet never quite soothing sonic monolith shot through with otherworldly overtones and earthy undercurrents. Sure, as one composition segued into the next, it was hard to distinguish them. A drum ’n’ bass-y programmed rhythm or a pounding drum crescendo might have served as touchstones for anyone familiar with Sigur Rós’s recordings. Midway through the set, a long, silent pause broke the orchestral spell for maybe 90 seconds. I’ve never heard a band cop a riff from John Cage’s infamous "4:33." But at the Opera House, Sigur Rós exploded the very notion of what "band" means.
BY MATT ASHARE
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