Sigur Ros Album: "Takk" Release Date: 09/13/2005 Label: David Geffen Company Rev Value: [7.0/10] Genre: Rock Styles: Alternative Pop/ Rock, Indie Rock Buy It

Tracklist:

1.Takk... 1:57
2.Glósóli 6:15
3.Hoppípolla 4:28
4.Meo Blódnasir 2:17
5.Sé Lest 8:40
6.Saeglopur 7:38
7.Milanó 10:25
8.Gong 5:33
9.Andvari 6:40
10.Svo Hljótt 7:24
11.Heysátan 4:09

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review by:Pitchfork
reviewer: Amanda Petrusich, September 12, 2005
Album Value: (7.8/10)

When Sigur Rós' second full-length record, Agetis Byrjun, landed stateside in 2001, its extraterrestrial oozing was so unfamiliar (and, subsequently, unnerving) to American ears that it managed to finagle a staggering number of meticulously rendered comparisons to glaciers and fjords and icebergs: By year-end, it seemed oddly plausible to presume that Sigur Rós' songs were actually being mouthed by giant mounds of snow. Something about Agetis Byrjun-- its celestial groping, its shimmers, its weird vastness-- seemed handcuffed to the landscape from which it was born. Thus, the mythology of Iceland-- of staggering literacy and longevity, of Björk, of Reykjavik, of volcanoes and fisheries and giant slabs of ice-- became the mythology of Sigur Rós. Unsurprisingly, domestic intrigue peaked almost immediately: The record's liner notes and cover-- a silver alien-baby hybrid boasting angel wings-- revealed precious little about its creation, and vocalist Jonsi Birgisson openly admitted to howling in an entirely self-fabricated language. In 2001, Sigur Rós were deliciously strange, the only sensible soundtrack to post-millennial comedowns, all future and faith, bones and blood and ice and sun, culled gently from an island far, far away.

In the years that followed, Sigur Rós released three EPs, reissued their debut, and popped out another full-length, the ever-contentious, unspeakable ( ). With each new record, the band dutifully maintained their trademark swells, bowing consistently before the altar of ebb and flow, until Sigur Rós began to sound less like an icecap melting and more like Sigur Rós. The mystery melted, the fascination faltered, and the animated, barstool retellings of The Sigur Rós Story died down. Still, Sigur Rós are more than just a conversation piece, meatier than their reputation, better than the otherworldly blubbers they're so casually accused of: With Takk, the songcraft that once made Agetis Byrjun everyone's favorite sunrise record re-emerges intact. Melodies stick, songs coalesce, and Sigur Rós lay off the grim theatrics, reminding listeners everywhere that they intend to play theaters, not funeral homes.

Ultimately, Takk is a warmer, more orchestral take on the band's defining sound, and easily their most instantly accessible record to date (shockingly, over a third of the album's songs clock in at under five minutes each.) The cheerless drones of ( ) are replaced by more bass, drums, piano, horns, and samples, strings are more prominent than ever before, and Birgisson's lyrics are especially incidental, all barely-audible squeals and sighs. Mostly, Takk is ecstatic, constantly erupting in funny little waves of joy. Dissenters who rejected Sigur Rós as the soundtrack to wrist-slittings everywhere might be temporarily perplexed by the band's new, wide-eyed giggles-- but mostly, Takk just sounds like Sunday morning Sigur Rós, all yawns and sleepy grins and quick yanks at the curtains. (...)

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review by: Splendid
reviewer: Mike Meginnis
Album Value: (-/-)

Why do people get mad about Hopelandish? If you've somehow missed the kerfuffle, this is the whimsically named nonsense language in which Sigur Rós's Jon Thor Birgisson sings. It's striking, even strange, just how many people -- including Splendid's own -- have seen fit to bitch about the nonsense language. Hipsters are constantly complaining about how under-appreciated instrumental music is, yet when somebody sees fit to use his voice as an instrument, unmoored by language but tapping the intensely sympathetic power of human noise, people get their dander up. Seriously, hipsters, what gives?

While Takk is by no means the revelation that Ágætis Byrjun was, it makes a strong argument for listeners who have casually dismissed Birgisson's nonsense and his band's music to reconsider that unfortunate decision. Branching out from their basic, glacial aesthetic, and in the wake of a series of EPs, curios and collaborations, Sigur Rós have emerged at once familiar and new.

This apparent contradiction expresses itself most clearly in "Sé Lest". Clocking in at just under nine minutes, the song is as slow, subdued, and secretive as anything the band has recorded. Amid much negative space, sweet bells and warm strings cheerfully unfurl. Of course, there's also the Hopelandish, but the band is braver now than ever before, committing themselves to the sort of sounds you might expect to hear on a Disney soundtrack. Minimalist pianos shimmer as strings swell majestically, puffing themselves up and up and up like the breast of a panicked robin. The music gradually recedes until we have only the bells, then builds again, up and up and up, now to truly classic brass and downright romantic string flourishes that might be more at home in a Tchaikovsky piece. There are all the little touches we expect from Sigur Rós, as well -- synth burbles, tin clicks, and what sounds like the love lives of toys, clattering away in the background.

All traces of affectation -- assuming you can get past the Hopelandish, and you really should try -- seem to have been abandoned. The powerful, majestic guitar in "Saeglopur" couldn't sound more right with fourteen minutes of Godspeed You! Black Emperor behind it, and neither could the ensuing elaboration -- the gorgeous piano, the beautiful strings and all that lovely jazz. The song takes a massive step back after the crescendo and proceeds to build again, so slowly, so carefully that you hardly notice until it's dissipating for a second time.
(...)

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review by: Rolling Stone
reviewer: BARRY WALTERS
Album Value: (3.5/5)

Takk . . . is the most accessible album yet from Sigur Ros -- if a band featuring a falsetto vocalist moaning Icelandic and/or nonsense syllables over a slow symphonic-rock background could ever be considered accessible. Lighter and more piano-driven than the Reykjavok quartet's previous three albums, Takk . . . suggests a far more abstract Coldplay stripped of their stadium bombast. The majestic guitar climaxes that marked Sigur Ros' 1999 breakthrough album, Agaetis Byrjun , are fewer and farther between. Here, the guitars are generally restrained, augmented by orchestral flourishes and tinkling keyboards, while the steady rhythm of "Glosoli" sounds as if it's supplied by boots trudging over snow-covered tundra. With strings, horns, backward sound effects, an atypically straightforward vocal and a naggingly catchy keyboard hook that another band could make millions with, "Hoppipolla" offers itself as the autumn's feel-good anthem. Radio won't get it, but the iPods will understand.

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review by: Popmatters
reviewer: Maura McAndrew- 26 September 2005
Album Value: (6/10)

Sigur Rós is a band that, though celebrated by critics, have barely made it onto the radar of the trendy rock scene. A band of quiet misfits from Iceland, they broke through to acclaim in the Radiohead-worshipping era of the late 1990s. After that initial burst, however, they have received little attention. The reason for this is obvious: Sigur Rós makes strange, atmospheric, orchestral music that sounds like Kid A without the heavy iBook dependency.

Their new album, Takk..., is no exception. "Se Last" sounds like Coldplay in a dream world, and the magnificent "Hoppipolla" like Radiohead if guitar iconoclast Johnny Greenwood was the front man. This music is not created to be popular; the mere thought of these songs playing on Top 40 radio is laughable. Takk... is like music from a film you really like; it focuses so much on creating atmosphere that you barely notice it's there.

Takk... is in no way a departure for the band, and it's easy to forget that though the music is very different from most of what's out there, we've heard it from Sigur Rós before. These new songs flow together perfectly, and as with all Sigur Rós albums, it is difficult to tell where one begins and another ends. Only one song is a real standout, the dynamic "Hoppipolla," which allows us a brief glimpse of what Sigur Rós might be like as a "rock" band. Not a traditional one, mind you, but the closer they inch towards The Bends-style guitar crunch, the more I seem to like them. Of course, there is the issue of the vocals. Lead singer Jon Birgisson sings small and far away, in mostly Icelandic. Though his voice is obviously beautiful and quite powerful, it becomes one with the layers of sound the band creates.

This is Sigur Rós' intention: They alienate impatient listeners in favor of a new album format. Takk... is like the score to a movie the listener has the power to create. The music doesn't draw on anything tangible, but follows its own narrow, twisted path, whether the listener dares to keep up or not. That said, I can't help but wonder how great they would sound if they just rocked out a little.

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review by: Stylus
reviewer: Colin Cooper
Album Value: (A)

Perhaps right now, some way through the year 2005, we’re witnessing something huge. We’re experiencing options, choices, new levels of technological development combined with widespread accessibility. Actively listening to music is something that has become ever easier: the sheer number of ways in which one may purchase songs is slowly reducing the financial burden of musical media whilst simultaneously exposing a wider audience to a wider selection of genres, eras, influences. Some may still find it difficult to hear what they want—folk-electronica still isn’t riding high in mainstream radio playlists, and you still have to shell out extra for “speciality” CDs on the high street. Conversely, the unusual is becoming less so because we are sharing, opening our eyes, ears and wallets—the power of the consumer is raising everybody’s game. So whilst pursuing new and innovative sounds may still appear superficially difficult and niche, there has never been a greater number of methods to gain access to some sort of higher musical plateau.

In such a climate then, perhaps there has never been a better time to be Sigur Rós. Three full-length studio albums into their career, turning the huge critical acclaim their discs have always attracted into commercial success (audience numbers, exposure, sales) appears to be a very real prospect. It is surely testament to the band’s technological relevance that Takk’s lead single “Glósóli” was an Internet-only release—and one that will undoubtedly fare better in the digital, rather than physical, realm. And, coming in on the back of a self-conscious two-minute introduction (as if a track comprising of layer upon build upon layer upon increased tempo definition doesn’t carry its own warning of the tempestuous noises to come), “Glósóli” is a perfectly executed prelude to chaos.

What the introductory piece does for the listener is act as some sort of musical sorbet, neutralising one’s emotions, responses and heart rate created by whatever you saw or did or heard or felt before. All of this in order for Takk… to get a clear shot at your senses. And if “Introduction” is preparation, then “Glósóli” is microcosm, for Takk is in many ways a much darker record than any of the band’s previous work, with tempestuous conclusions and moody, almost pouty endeavours making up the bulk of its content.

Of course, many of these pieces offer their own interpretations of ecstasy, but by methods far removed from those improved in the past. Where we felt elevated and indeed airborne during the climax to “Starálfur,” or merrily roused by the choir’s contribution to “Olsen Olsen,” “Gong” (the current live favourite amongst fans) seems to excel in turmoil, sheer negative energy inherent in its staccato-ed percussion and ghostly falsetto. Perhaps the greatest example of this all-encompassing downward force is “Sæglópur.” A piece that begins on piano, sweetly punctuated with glockenspiel and non-specific effects, sternly administering mental images of clinging to rotting trees and to hope, screaming against the eye of the storm. Several minutes later the piece then descends into relative tranquillity, orchestral melancholy. It is seven and a half minutes long. In the most wonderful way, it feels like all your life. (...)

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review by: Allmusic
reviewer: Andy Kellman
Album Value: (4/5)

A strange thing happens before the two-minute mark in "Saeglopur." All the twinkling and cooing erupts, at what might seem like eight minutes earlier than normal, into a cathartic blast of tautly constructed group noise — or, as those who prefer songs and motion over moods and atmospheres might say, "The good part comes." "Saeglopur" is emblematic of Sigur Rós' fourth album, released nearly three years (!) after ( ). Nothing resembles a drone, and no part of it could be described as funereal. Even so, Takk... is still very much a Sigur Rós album, due in large part to the ever-present otherworldly vocals, but also because the only real changes are the activeness of some arrangements — arrangements that deploy a familiar combination of bass, drums, piano, vocals, lots of strings, and some horns — and some of the colors that are used. Despite opening with what sounds like a happy walk through a snow bank, the album is just as suited for a sunlit spring morning as ( ) was suited for a winter trudge across a foggy moor, so in that sense, it isn't a repeat and is more tactile than illusory, but it's not likely to win over anyone who suddenly felt an index finger push against the back of his throat while hearing "Svefn-G-Englar" for the first time. And it's not as if the band is suddenly writing three-minute pop songs, either. Half of the album's tracks are longer than six minutes, with extended cresting, sudden bursts of action, and a couple particularly fragile moments that seem to be on the brink of melting away. One thing to consider when wondering whether or not this band has changed in any way: they've gone from providing the background music to death announcements to "Sé Lest," a fluttering children's lullaby that is briefly crashed by an even more gleeful oom-pah-pah brass band.

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