I’m dropped from a UFO right into a cushy seat at the Queen Elizabeth Theatre. My blood percolates with alcohol and other substances that will, as of now, remain unnamed. Sigur Ros is already half way through the first song of their set. I see a lone figure standing still on stage, singing into a mic and playing a guitar with a violin bow. Shadowy outlines of two more people, mere spectres at this point, play the drums and bass around him. The light show for Sigur Ros mostly deals in shadows. Sometimes they burst out with images of nature, or geometric shapes which allow the music to give these digital polygons meaning and a landscape, yet for the most part, the lights glide and play with shadow and perspective, disappearing and reappearing the band: An Icelandic, post-rock phantasmagoria.
For a while I lose consciousness, utterly sucked in by the brilliant orgy of music and light. My body feels like it is expanding and stretching, like I’ve passed through an Event Horizon into another dimension.
Each song builds in that formulaic Sigur Ros style; the music always starts off slow, sometimes with a tinkling of piano, and then takes off with a crash and an explosion of light. The drums and bass become full on, and Jonsi will stop singing to bend over his guitar and fray the shit out of his bow. Sigur Ros plays many old favorites, with this lucky spectator being particularly blown away by “Saeglopur” and “Untitled 11”.
And so the music goes on for the next two hours. Goosebumps fleck my skin as the music vibrates my whole being. I close my eyes and take it all in. I exit my earthly being and become one with an artist that is both holistic and ethereal, both fleeting and eternal.