As Steve Zissou plunges into the icy depths of the Atlantic, he and his crew seem skeptical that they will finally face their unseen nemesis the jaguar shark. After a moment of foreboding silence, the mysterious shark emerges from the darkness and rushes over Zissou's mini-sub.
Eleanor Zissou turns to her husband and faintly mentions, "It is beautiful, Steve."
Steve stares back into the darkness and says, "Yeah, it's pretty good, isn't it. I wonder if he remembers me." Steve then breaks down into cathartic tears.
It is this poignant moment from Wes Anderson's "The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou" that formally introduced mainstream America to Nordic rock band Sigur Ros. As Zissou first sees the jaguar shark, the gentle first chords of the song "Star Lflur" ruminate in the background. When Steve finally breaks down into tears, the haunting voice of Jonsi Birgisson slips seamlessly into the already celestial instrumentals.
Anderson, a director noted for his ability to choose the perfect song to suit a scene, might have picked Sigur Ros as the music for this pivotal and moving scene because the band's music is packed with such emotion. Its ability to be simultaneously ethereal and densely touching gives their music a certain intangible weight, which inevitably strikes some chord on the spectrum of human emotion.
Sigur Ros's fourth full-length album, Takk, does not feature the song "Star Lflur," but continues the band's signature prog-rock sound.
The first and most obvious flaw with Sigur Ros is that they do not sing in English. This might sound like a xenophobe's opinion, but in Ros' case, it is very true. Lead singer Birgisson sings only in cryptic native Icelandic. His falsetto sometimes makes it hard to decipher when one word stops and another begins. Sure, with Spanish, French and even German, certain words are recognizable as words, but Birgisson's version of Icelandic sounds like one long word chanted to music. Then again, maybe the sound isn't even about the words. With Sigur Ros' droning style, Birgisson's voice does not serve the purpose of lyrics, but rather sounds almost like another instrument creating a symphonic harmony.
Takk's most moving song, "Glósóli," creeps up on you with its slow-paced introduction. As the music builds and the crescendo seems almost within grasp, the song seems to wash over you like a pleasant wave of noise. When listening to Sigur Ros, it is not so much what the song literally means, but rather the surge of emotions it elicits. As "Glósóli" plays, it is hard not to think of sublime and euphoric images, and it is this feeling which makes most songs on Takk so engaging. Other songs of interest are the piano ballad "Hoppípolla" and the all-too-eerie "Svo Hljótt."
The whole Icelandic thing aside, the other flaw in Sigur Ros' music is its inherent lack of variety. The members of Sigur Ros almost define themselves with a catch-22. They employ their authentic sound in order to stand out, but their sound is so authentic it leaves no room for diversity. Unfortunately, this works against the band, making it almost tedious to listen to the entire album. Their previous album, with the over-pretentious title ( ) and no song titles, definitely had more of a somber sound. Nonetheless, Takk's light-heartedness is really only two degrees away from the band's previous work.
Is it possible for a band to be too weird and obscure to listen to? Sure. Is Sigur Ros there? Not quite. Its authentic style of rock proves fascinating and meaningful, but Takk has too many songs that sound too similar. A random smattering of songs here and there is refreshing and, in some instances — like the Zissou example — prolific.
After listening to over an hour of Sigur Ros, their style leaves the listener wanting more. Because — let's be honest — Icelandic chanting and celestial instrumentals can only carry you so far.
Sigur Ros will play at the Orpheum Theater Sept. 23. Tickets are still available.
Grade: B
