SIGUR ROS Agaetis Byrjun (2000) 2X LP

	£		38
	$		50

General Info:
The original UK vinyl pressing through Fatcat of Sigur Ros's breakthrough album, printed in 2000 onto very good quality discs. The case is in very good condition minus a little crease in one of the corners; having the bought the record fist-hand, the vinyls themselves have only received a couple of plays and have been kept to the high standards of my record collection, however (through the general aging process) they have a slight crackle that would probably benifit from a quick once over with a static brush. Apart from that they are in very good condition.

Tracks:
Intro – 1:36
Scefn - g - englar [Sleepwalkers] – 10:04
Starálfur [Staring Elf] – 6:47
Flugufrelsarinn [The Fly Saviour] – 7:47
Ny batteri [New Batteries] – 8:11
Hjartað hamast (bamm bamm bamm) [The Heart Pounds (Boom Boom Boom)] – 7:11
Viorar vel til loftarasa [Good Weather for an Airstrike] – 10:18
Olsen Olsen – 8:03
Ágætis byrjun [An Alright Start] – 7:56
Avalon – 4:00

Praise:
Just as speed garage disciples make pilgrimages to Aiya Napa to sample their particular preferred sonic tipple, then perhaps space-rock aficionadoes might be pointed in the direction of Iceland. For, despite the nebulous, challenging, resolutely un-commercial noises they create, topping both the singles and albums charts at home comes easy to Reykjavik's Sigur Rss.

Dreamy beyond belief, this, Sigur Ros's second album (the title, roughly translated, means 'A New Beginning'), explores further the band's predeliction for non-narrative beauty. Waves of unidentifiable noise, dulcet vibraphone pulses and singer/guitarist Jonsi's ethereal singing (more like some ghostly instrument than any conventional vocal, borne out by Jonsi's fictional 'language', Hopelandish, which he often sings in) mesh to create an elegant, grand music that's equally ambient and epic.

On first listen, the album recalls many previous masters of narcotic rock reverie. The serrated guitar blushes of 'Svefn-G-Englar' echo seminal tripped-out noiseniks Bardo Pond; while 'Staralfur', with its sighing strings and featherlight psychedelia, captures the bilious beauty of Mercury Rev, both pre and circa 'Deserter's Songs'. Elsewhere, Sigur Ros' intuitive sense of dynamic suggests kindred spirits in Mogwai, as the drone-drama of 'Hjartad Hamast' strings along the foreboding bombast of late Spiritualized.

But Sigur Ros' music doesn't feel as if it is composed to be the soundtrack to furtive stude drug-dalliances. There's a profundity, a palpable vastness to their songs, and a hushed reverence too. This feels like church music, eschewing the sonic cathedrals of shoegazing infamy in favour of music that feels as awesome, as extravagantly bejewelled as, say, the Sacre Coeur. And as impressive as this is, it also renders 'Agaetis Byrjun' somewhat impenetrable and aloof. You are meant to admire this record, but there's precious little within its immense grooves that feels human, nothing to actually love.

But this shouldn't overshadow the breath-taking conceit, the blissful music of this album. Although unlikely to score them the kind of mainstream acclaim they're accustomed to, 'Agaetis Byrjun' will certainly win Sigur Ros some dedicated disciples.--NME


Reykjavík-based noise quartet Sigur Rós are the biggest band in their native Iceland, which should say much, much more about the collective insanity of that earthquake-ridden, blizzard-beaten crag of an island than anything to do with Sigur Rós's sound. But in their music, Sigur Rós reflect all the breathtaking glory of the Icelandic wastes--a fairy-tale explosion of unhinged elemental majesty that's finally crystallized here, their debut European release. Poised somewhere between the haunting soundscapes of Labradford and the lilting Celtic falsetto of Enya, Agaetis Byrjun is a truly breathtaking listen. Frontman Jon Por Birgisson sings in a language that Sigur Rós dub "Hopelandic"--an otherworldly mutation of Icelandic, sung in the falsetto cadence of angels; similarly, he plays his guitar with a violin bow, opening the floodgates for brilliant waves of feedback. And while it's the opening "Svefn-G-Englar" that's Sigur Rós' moment to date, there's far more that they have to offer; listen to the pomp and flourish of a full orchestra on "Flugufrelsarinn," or the awe-inspiring near-religious mantra of "Ny Batteri." --Amazon.co.uk

Critics don’t quite know what to say about Sigur Rós. Those who like them either go over the top with praise, calling them the best band of the new millennium, get pretentiously creative, writing about flashes of light and angels and the like, or quickly sum them up with a label like “post-rock” or “ambient rock.”

Yet as easy as it is to criticize the critics, I’m not sure what to say about Sigur Rós either. Their music mystifies me. The first time I heard one of their songs, I thought it was a woman fronting a mini-orchestra, with strings and woodwind players. Then I saw a picture of them; they’re four guys who look like hundreds of other rock bands.

As foolish as it seems to say that any music is 100 percent new, I’ve never heard anything like this before. Apparantly Sigur Rós is hugely successful in their native Iceland, which gives me another reason to love Iceland. They’re vaguely in the same vein as other musicians who’ve tried to create an atmosphere of dreaminess, from the shoegazers to the most recent wave of blissed-out ambient and electronic artists. They have the sense of space, environment and knowledge of how disparate sounds interact that the best ambient musicians have; yet, at other times, they sound like a Radiohead-inspired rock band. Their second album Agætis Byrjun, the first available in North America, is filled with gorgeous mystery. No labels or descriptions can begin to tell the whole story.

The highest compliment I can pay Sigur Rós is that their music surprises me at every moment. Instruments continually arrive mid-song just to catch me off guard: Wait, is that a violin? A flute? A steel guitar? The first time I listened to the album straight through, I found myself dropping my jaw in awe, no kidding, at some point during nearly every track. “Sven-g-englar” changes from a pretty pop tune with ambient background noises (like an imitated sonar tone) into a full-on rock song. “Viorar Vel Til Loftarasa” is a soulful ballad mixed with a scary rock tune, until it ends with what sounds like the world exploding.

Another amazing fact is how this music transcends any cultural barrier. Every song is sung in a language foreign to me, either Icelandic or a language the band made up called “Hopelandish,” yet each song delivers powerful emotions. Perhaps that’s the true test of a vocalist’s strength: how well he or she can deliver feelings across a language divide. Lead singer Jon Thor Birgisson’s voice is not only expressive, but unique; many of the songs are sung in a wonderfully weird falsetto.

Sigur Rós’ Agætis Byrjun is a great test to use on jaded critics who claim that there’s nothing new under the sun. Anyone who says they’ve heard music like this before is lying, plain and simple.--Popmatters