Music is a curious beast, it charms and it offends, it soothes and it enrages, it excites and it pacifies.
Simply put, it makes you feel.
If music leaves you feeling numb then something has gone wrong and that song really isn’t for you.
And if what makes you feel the most about a composition is its lyrics, then I’d bet Sigur Rós aren’t the band for you.
A complex mix of electro-acoustic-metal-classical-chillout-rock-dance-folk-pop-punk, Sigur Rós’ music is not easily pigeonholed.
But somehow, singing in their native Icelandic, sometimes even in their own made up language Vonlenska (Hopelandic), the trio’s music has universal appeal.
Vonlenska is described by the band as a form of gibberish vocals that just fit to the music – which sounds about right really.
Fans of the band pay little attention to singer Jonsi’s lyrics though, just the sublime delivery by his delicate yet powerful voice.
In the first of two sold-out Manchester shows, the band took to the Apollo’s stage to rapturous applause from their army of adoring fans, knowing that every Sigur Rós show is something to be treasured.
The trio, accompanied by a brass section, string section and several other multi-instrumentalists, began the show behind a veiled curtain.
Back-lighting cast threatening shadows onto the drape as they began the show with new bass-heavy dance-infused track Yfirborð.
Then followed 60 seconds of delicate piano and xylophone before a stamp of Orri’s foot on the bass drum and a sweep on Jonsi’s bow on his guitar brought a crashing halt to proceedings as Í Gær kicked into life.
The show was interspersed with new tracks from the band’s forthcoming seventh studio album, and as the veil dropped to the Apollo floor a flash of green lasers heralded the introduction of something intense.
Brennisteinn translates literally into brimstone and never has a name been more appropriate, sounding as it does, like this eight-minute epic emerged fully-formed from the bowels of hell.
Bassist Georg has previously described the new album as the aggressive antithesis of 2012’s blissfully electronic Valtari – and if this is anything to go by, he’s not wrong.
The only track of the night from last year’s release, Varúð, is accompanied on the giant screen behind the band by Inga Birgisdóttir’s beautiful video of a postcard coming to life.
And crowd favourites Hoppípolla, Með Blóðnasir and Glósóli were played out amid the warm glow of individual light bulbs perched on poles across the stage.
The trio of songs from fourth album Takk were a showcase in what the band became best known for, uplifting, life-affirming music to soundtrack nature documentaries and car adverts alike.
But Sigur Rós are so much more than that and the main set was closed by the final new song, Kveikur, itself another illustration of the band’s more aggressive nature.
Returning for the encore, the familiar ping of a submarine’s sonar marked the start of ten blissful minutes.
Svefn-g-englar was the band’s first ever UK release back in 1999 and still made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as if I were hearing it for the first time.
Then from the sublime to the monstrous.
Perennial set-closer Popplagið takes about seven minutes just to get going but when it does it grabs hold of you and doesn’t let go for another eight.
Those final stages of a Sigur Rós show are the band at their finest, stripped back to Orri’s furious drumming, Georg’s thundering bass line and Jonsi’s haunting falsetto.
Popplagið translates as pop song, yet this is as far away from a three-minute pop ditty as you can get.
It’s raw and primal and bone-shudderingly brutal, yet somehow maintains a warmth and beauty to keep the crowd onside as their senses are assaulted by ear-piercing volume and strobe lighting.
A Sigur Rós show is a physical experience, you exhale at the end of each song as if you’ve been holding your breath for ten minutes.
But I wouldn’t want it any other way, because when it comes down to it, Sigur Rós make you feel something, just as all great music should.
Picture courtesy of prusakolep via Flickr, with thanks.
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