In May 2012, Sigur Rós graced us with Valtari, an exquisitely beautiful album that bassist Georg Holm likened to a slow-motion avalanche. Just over a year later, in June 2013, they surprised us again with Kveikur, a darker, sleeker, more electronically influenced iteration of their unique post-rock sound. Two full-length albums in just 13 months from one of the world’s greatest bands—these were not mere side projects or short-form works. And they were fantastic. Revisiting them now, both records stand strong as otherworldly post-rock spectacles that exemplify the ethereal grandeur Sigur Rós is known for. We were spoiled. And then, abruptly, we were left yearning for more.
It’s not as if Sigur Rós has been inactive for the past decade. Since 2013, they have graced fans with a steady stream of new music, including experimental pieces, dance soundtracks, live recordings, Jónsi’s solo album, and the occasional single or EP. I vividly recall their awe-inspiring performance at Primavera Sound in 2016 when they unveiled new material. It was truly one of the greatest festival moments I’ve ever witnessed. At that point, it seemed like they were onto something special. However, whatever they were building seemed to fade away, and much of their subsequent releases felt like transitional material—something to tide us over until they returned to their true form. Perhaps they were awaiting the return of multi-instrumentalist Kjartan Sveinsson, who rejoined the band after his departure in 2012. Maybe they had to start anew when drummer Orri Páll Dýrason left amidst sexual assault allegations. Or perhaps they were simply overwhelmed by administrative tasks. Regardless of the path that led them here or the reasons for the delay, ÁTTA, set to be released this Friday, marks a triumphant return for Sigur Rós as a vital creative force rather than a stagnant legacy act.
After a decade-long wait, their first proper album in ten years was crafted with the explicit intention of evoking the splendor that defines their best work. In interviews, the band members discuss their aim to capture a sense of hope in the face of prevailing despair, redirecting their focus from the external world to the enduring strength within. As Jónsi puts it, “We’re getting older and more cynical, so I just wanted to move us in a way that made us feel something!” While this proposition may seem clichéd in theory, Sigur Rós has always possessed the remarkable ability to elicit profound, universal emotions in listeners, transcending the banality of everyday life through grand and fantastical gestures. If anyone can frame their album as an antidote to doomscrolling, it’s these musicians. Their goal was to create “sparse, floaty, and beautiful” music, and they have succeeded on all three counts.
ÁTTA sees the Icelandic maestros moving beyond the confines of post-rock into a more fluid realm of neoclassical composition. They largely shed drums and most other remnants of rock music, instead embracing a series of spectral orchestral movements. During Sigur Rós’s prime in the early 2000s, directors like Cameron Crowe and Wes Anderson immortalized songs from Ágætis byrjun and ( ) as integral components of their film soundtracks. Yet, remarkably, Sigur Rós—the band most frequently described as “cinematic”—has never released an album that sounds more like a mesmerizing film score than ÁTTA.
Perhaps it’s the absence of a drummer in the band rather than an inherent drive, but Sigur Rós manages to make their unique approach work on ÁTTA. Any snippet from the album has the potential to catch you off guard and leave you emotionally devastated. The opening track, “Glóð,” serves as an overture, harking back to the band’s glorious past. With strings reminiscent of Ágætis byrjun and a celestial aura, it feels like being visited by an angel. “Ylur” echoes the verbal and melodic phrasing of ( ), evoking a similar sense of desolation. The elegant “Skel” grows increasingly beautiful and intense, with Jónsi’s falsetto ascending as if he’s scaling the symphonic heights. The closing track, “8,” finds common ground between Sigur Rós and José González’s crystalline indie-folk, before sending the stars into a dizzying whirl once again. Even when the grandeur subsides, the simple chord changes that remain radiate with a brilliance few artists can match. (Coldplay could never.)
However, focusing on individual songs misses the point. ÁTTA is meant to be experienced as a cohesive work, which is emphasized by the fact that my promotional copy was one continuous 56-minute file. Given the consistent aesthetic throughout, this approach makes sense to some extent. However, it also highlights the album’s main weakness: the lack of a robust percussion section results in the songs often blending together, causing momentum to occasionally stall. We’ve come a long way from the exhilarating jubilance of 2008’s Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust, a style that invigorated Sigur Rós while simultaneously eroding their ethereal allure. The new approach recaptures that sense of sacred pageantry, but the absence of contrast between the tracks becomes apparent when rare moments of drumbeats emerge. The pounding pulse on “Klettur” makes all the difference, and even a shift in pace, like stripping down to an acoustic guitar on “Andrá,” goes a long way in setting the track apart from the surrounding shimmering sameness.
Nevertheless, that shimmering sameness is undeniably beautiful. ÁTTA is an album that is easy to appreciate but challenging to fully comprehend. It possesses breathtaking qualities that render the conventional unfamiliar, almost holographic, and therefore elusive. With Jónsi’s longstanding use of both his native language and the invented language of Hopelandic, most listeners already experience Sigur Rós as a purely musical entity, where the human voice is just another (astonishingly powerful) instrument within the sonic landscape. Scaling back the rhythmic element to such an extent removes another dimension from the music, and the absence of bombast tempers my enthusiasm for an otherwise incredible hour of music. However, after all this time, I certainly won’t take such a majestic succession of sounds for granted.
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