() [CD]

Anyone expecting Sigur Ros to have abandoned their emotional and majestic approach will think again after hearing the opening bars of their new album, ( ). When Sigur Ros released their second long player Agaetis Byrjun back in 1999, they caught everyone on the hop. Though it was pretty much the first anyone outside of their native Iceland had heard of them, the quartet had been studiously honing their sound for the last five years, developing a spellbinding mix of rock guitars scraped with violin bows, angelic falsetto vocals and dramatic builds of percussion fuelled tension that offered all the ineffable quietude of religious music.

( ) is a slightly rawer, undoubtedly heavier experience than its predecessor, but it still manages to shine a torch into the darkest corner of our souls, describing accurately the aching beauty and the hopeless anguish that makes up the contradictory essence of human existence. Experimental flourishes hark back to their eldritch debut album Von, and Jonsi's vocals-–which have devolved over two albums from Icelandic to his own "Hopelandic" half-language–-finally melt into lyric-less harmonic textures that still float across the band's earthy tapestries as naturally as clouds cross the night sky. Rest assured though that any changes are slight; the melancholy brilliance that made Agaetis Bryjun such a life-changing event is still very much the driving force behind Sigur Ros's music, making this new album every bit as essential as the last. --Paul Sullivan

The title of Sigur Rós' second album Agætis Byrjun translated as 'An Alright Start'. It was quite a down to earth title for a record that sounded like it was constructed from the stuff of dreams. As it turned out it was a slightly over modest title too, as its fragile, lush concoction of yearning, waif like vocals (sung in an invented language) and oceanic, slow motion prog rock won the hearts and minds of a good few of us (your humble reviewer included, who found it extremely hard to remove from the CD player for a good few months).

So it's difficult third album time for the Icelandic quartet. No title, no track titles, a largely blank booklet, which seems rather arch considering these songs have been a feature of their live set for a good year or so and have had titles in that setting. But labelling Sigur Rós as pretentious sort of misses the point (they're hardly the White Stripes after all). What they seem to be doing is stripping away all the trappings, leaving the music to exist on its own terms.

It's the same big, melting chords, swelling strings and bowed guitars, emotive climaxes and hushed comedowns, with tiny samples and environmental sounds hovering on the threshold of hearing. But after a few listens a bleaker, slightly rawer muse emerges, more reminiscent of Radiohead perhaps or even (on the last track) Godspeed You! Black Emperor. There's less of their wide-eyed wonder, more desperation at work (in short, more Thom Yorke than Elizabeth Fraser). They seem more content to stretch out, unfolding their songs gradually. This may something to do with the songs having been in the live set for a while; whereas the previous record sounded like the songs were conceived in impossible, studio mediated acoustic spaces, () seems more conventional, more linear.

Still, there's much of () that's immediately gorgeous in a way that defies description. It's early days yet and with music like this it's probably best to write about it after a year rather than a week or two of listening. So I'll shut up and leave the rest to you...

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Graham Coxon - The Kiss Of Morning --Peter Marsh

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This album contains 8 untitled tracks

SIGUR ROS () (2002 UK CD album from the Icelandic trio featuring 8 untitled tracks presented in a jewel case picture sleeve with outer die-cut white plastic picture slipcase)