Peculiar title aside, Sigur Rós’ latest release is the sonic equivalent of huddling on the beach on a cold day and watching the majestic tide ebb and flow. Some of the Icelandic quartet’s tracks wallop with tidal-wave intensity, the result of Georg Holm’s resonant bass and Orri Pall Dyrason’s muscular drums. That’s offset by the quavering vocals of guitarist Jon Thor Birgisson, which often swell to a siren-like wail. Elsewhere, the arrangements revolve around Kjartan Sveinsson’s music-box-like piano tinkling. The band continue to sing in "Hopelandish," their made-up language, and in lieu of a lyric sheet Sigur Rós have provided blank pages and neglected to give any of the eight tracks a title.
Whereas their 1999 release, Ágætis Byrjun, was marked by bursts of melodic rock, this time grandiose orchestrations prevail, splitting the difference between the electronic dreaminess of Radiohead’s Kid A and the sweeping, repetitive soundscapes of Philip Glass. The album’s two sets are separated by a half-minute of silence; though the second act is heavier than the first, with piano chords ringing like church bells against guitar feedback that has an almost soothing quality, overall the disc appears to encompass some sort of sweeping narrative — perhaps a musical reflection of the events of the day fading into the darkness of a lonely Icelandic night. Either way, ( ) fills its blank spaces with intriguing glimpses of light and color.
(Sigur Rós perform this Saturday and Sunday, March 15 and 16, at the Berklee Performance Center in Boston. Call 617-931-2000.)