It's easy to stereotype Icelandic band Sigur Rós as fey post-rock softies. From singer Jónsi Birgisson's impossibly high falsetto and preference for singing in a self-created language to the use of "Staralfur" in Wes Anderson's The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, there's a perception that the band is forever destined to make interstitial music for rainy days and Hobbit coves. But the band also has a heavy, gnarly side, demonstrated Wednesday night at the Keller Auditorium by one awesome and shocking wardrobe choice—near the end of the band's two-hour, multi-part set, drummer Orri Páll Dýrason took his shirt off.
No, really, I'm not messing with you. For years, black metal bands have referenced Sigur Rós whenever they want to let some sunshine in, but this ultimate rock move was something else, a defining moment that made the crescendo of the last few songs of the night extra potent.
Touring for the first time as a stripped-down trio (keyboardist Kjartan Sveinsson left the band in 2013), Sigur Rós played two different sets with a brief intermission in between. The minimal approach worked well. Without distractions from superfluous horn or string sections, the focus was placed on the interplay between Birgisson's heavenly vocals, an underrated rhythm section, and a very cool and trippy LED light show. Even without backup players, the band touched on older material that hadn't been played live in years, including "Staralfur." The shifting stage and long runtime emphasized both halves of the its psyche—gorgeous twinkling lullabies and thundering noise loud enough to ask for earplugs.
Large swaths of the first section sounded almost like Sigur Rós Unplugged, with the band playing ethereal, delicate, keyboard-and-synth-led songs like "Ekki Mukk" and "Vaka" that made me scramble home to listen to fellow Icelandic glockenspiel-enthusiasts Múm for the first time in years. But make no mistake, Sigur Rós are really a post-rock band at heart, and it's been awhile since I've felt a chill creep down my spine like during the crushing apex of "Ny Batteri." By the end of the 10-plus minute finale "Popplagid," Birgisson was strutting to both sides of the stage with his mouth agape, screaming at the crowd to get loud. It was another unexpected gesture from a Serious Band, but he makes a good point. Even though Sigur Rós' music might sound alien, it's very much a living, breathing thing by humans not afraid to remove an item of clothing in the name of rock 'n' roll.
All photos by Colin McLaughlin.
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