Sigur Ros: Live at MoMA

Live at MoMa
Sigur Ros
(CURRENT TV)

Words are such useless little things. Nothing more than kitschy, clodhopping caskets of ink. The very fact that we use them is merely our stubborn need to define everything.

In Sigur Ros, there is no definition. A masterpiece of alt-human cinema, its music seeps into what we think is an overdeveloped consciousness and reboots it. When our screens refresh, we are struck dumb by the grace exhibited.

As its Hvarf/Heima tour DVD so magnificently displayed, Ros’ roots are a postcard, picturesque foundation, and probably why music journos hardly fail to mention Iceland all the time.

Singer Jónsi Birgisson’s “hopelandic” may never be the official tongue of the locals, but who cares? At worst, its tonality suffices. At best, he is translating for angels.

Need we discuss the dynamics? As accomplished as they are emotional, they’re a force for good and inspiration to other artists: Two songs in, my roommate ran downstairs and wrestled a long-dormant chorus out of one of his songs. Maybe those words are useful after all. —Mat Herron