The Brothers Grimm of Iceland

Sigur Ros return to give thanks

Glimmering, pirouetting and pinging, the music of Iceland’s Sigur Rós often teeters between poised and perilous like a porcelain music-box ballerina caught ticking on a gummy sprocket. This quartet of intentionally vague musicians channels a misty subconscious. Its compositions quiver at a glacial pace as if in some elfin processional, which seems appropriate considering the fairy lore of Iceland. But something far earthier sums up the group’s dynamic while working on its latest full-length, Takk.

“We do play a lot of football [soccer], actually, while we’re working,” says bassist Georg Holm by phone from Los Angeles, where Sigur Rós rehearsed for its current tour. “And we have this one game we often play where we try to keep the ball off the ground as long as possible, sort of like hacky sack. It’s a very collaborative thing, that game, and so is the band. We do everything together — write the music and lyrics and record them. So you could say that game sums us up.”

There are plenty of moments across Sigur Rós’ catalog that could be described as hanging in mid-air, but not particularly playful. The group crafts songs of incredible heft. Holm, vocalist/guitarist Jónsi Birgisson, keyboardist Kjarri Sveinsson and drummer Orri Páll Dýrason have released albums easily likened to polyphonic cascades resounding off cathedral ceilings the way the modes seem gracefully bowed yet weighty.

Yet Takk (Icelandic for “thanks,” a word Sigur Rós signs to any autograph) is like a series of little children’s stories to the band.

“In the past, many of our songs have been experiments, to the point of our having established our own language [Hopelandish] for atmosphere,” says Holm. “But on this record, the lyrics are in Icelandic and are meant to finish the songs, describe thoughts and moments rather than create atmospheres or put forth politics. For instance, the song ‘Hoppípolla’ is about when you’re a kid and it’s raining and you’re jumping in puddles and you fall. But it’s OK and you keep going.

“Another song is about an old man thinking about something he lost,” Holm continues. “Maybe it’s a family member and he’s alone and has an accident and is lying dying, but he’s feeling all right about it. He’d had a full life, is looking forward to lying down to rest. Some tales do have sad but OK endings.”

Above the obvious use of the Icelandic language, Sigur Rós’ songs reflect the country’s personality by incorporating dark little twists. Holm says Icelandic fairy tales are quite shadowy and often ghost stories, but that’s quite natural for a country with almost nine months of darkness. “We like candles, some natural light with a glint of hope in our lives,” says Holm. “But some stories can be dark and gruesome.”

More important for Sigur Rós than achieving resolution, however, is capturing the quests of endearingly naive central characters. On the cover of Takk, a faded, age-stained print shows a child walking through foliage, which Holm feels is a suitable insignia. “Like in a forest, things can change quickly,” says Holm. “Whether in the open or back in the brush, you see things differently from minute to minute — lots of things can happen in a blink — and that is much like the songs.”

It’s also an apt illustration because the songs on Takk are Sigur Rós’ most concise to date, almost approaching “traditional” structure yet retaining a celestial reverence. Sigur Rós wrote its last full-length, 2002’s (), during a relentless three-year period of touring. By the time the group made it into the studio, the tracks were old and grueling to finally capture. But Takk’s delicate yet surprisingly dexterous surges proved relatively effortless and were expediently laid down following a spate of side projects. While () reminds Holm of moss and cold water — a constant, frigid flow and babble — Takk is more those colorful, encapsulated little forest scenes you can revisit for positivity or, perhaps, to break out the football.