Sigur Rós--the sound of snow-capped peaks. Or winged things flocking over vast plains. Or salmon making that final courageous, muscular leap upstream, homeward bound. Ever since the BBC so aptly enlisted the help of their "Hoppipolla" single to theme their groundbreaking natural history series Planet Earth, the ever-ethereal Icelandic band have become somewhat typecast, finding themselves conducting the awe across the backdrops of nearly every other programme in that broad genre. And with that came the danger that all which followed would automatically become an instant cliche. And though their last album Takk saw a slowing of their evolution in favour of solidifying the established sound in accessible earfuls, the reassuringly unpronounceable Með Suð í Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust (which translates as "with a buzz in our ears we play endlessly") sees enough of a stylistic twist to keep things moving, without undercutting this new approachability. Where previously they sounded untouched by human hands, all alien post-rock abstractions, they now sound much more organic, sometimes literally like men playing instruments in a room. Albeit pensively, and extraordinarily. It is a perky record, attentive and exquisite, familiar but not derivative. The rhythmically adventurous "Gobbledigook" reminds of Brooklyn experimentalists Battles, unplugged, the xylophone heavy "Inní Mér Syngur Vitleysingur" is this album’s "Hoppipolla" and "Ara Batur" is trembling, lonely and eventually triumphant. "Festival", the album’s centrepiece, melds the old and new Sigur Rós dramatically over nine majestic minutes and must number amongst the best moments of their career. --James Berry
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