Touring the heavens with Sigur Rós

It's safe to say that before the year 2000, most of the world had never heard of the Icelandic band Sigur Rós. Although they formed in 1994 and released their first album Von in 1997, it wasn't until their stellar sophomore album, Ágætis Byrjun (Icelandic for "An Alright Beginning"), was released in the United Kingdom in 2000 and the United States in 2001 that they captured the minds of the music world. With their new-found fame, they went so far as to win the Shortlist Prize and join Radiohead on a leg of their European tour while exposing listeners to their home blend of pounding drums, weeping guitars and Jónsi Birgisson's angelic vocals.

 With their tour-tempered third album ( ), Sigur Rós proved to fans and detractors alike they were not a falling star, but a comet intent on carving out a place in the galaxy for its celestial sound. Sung entirely in a fabricated language called Hopelandic, the album is divided into a "sweet half" and "heavy half" by a 36-second pause. ( ) failed to repeat the success of the band's previous album, although "Njósnavélin" went on to be featured in Cameron Crowe's "Vanilla Sky" and extended the exposure of their unique sound to an even greater audience.

Their latest release, Takk... ("Thank You…") marks a welcome return to the format and composition of Ágætis Byrjun, sunshine horns and sanguine melodies in tow. With their warmth restored, Sigur Rós begins the record by setting the table for a feast. "Glósóli" sounds like a mile-long march through a foot of January snow and ruptures into a blizzard of face-melting guitars. Although the second half of the song reads like a stolen page from the Mogwai playbook, the song's hot chocolate warmth belongs entirely to Sigur Rós. "Sæglópur" is devastating in its beauty as it moves in like a twinkling star and builds up strength with a seraphic melody to a cosmic blast of piano, cymbals and screaming guitars, only to wane to a whisper.

Despite its more triumphant moments, Takk... falls just short of providing its intended banquet of sound. "Milanó" is the longest track on the album, clocking in at 10 minutes and 25 seconds, and strives to attain the sonic grandeur of "Glósóli," but peaking once at the 4-minute mark and again at the 7-minute mark, there is no definitive climax and its mustard is spread far too thin. One of the strengths of Sigur Rós is their ability to build a powerful sequence of aggressive and ambient moments that elevate the listener. On "Sé Lest," rather than transcendence, they opt for too many shifts in sound through the Icelandic wilderness and leave us somewhere in the woods with no light to follow home. Despite its lesser moments, Takk... stands as a testament to the growth of Sigur Rós as a band. Their sound is currently situated somewhere between the recent accomplishments of Mogwai, M83 and Radiohead, although the challenge for them now is to set out in search of unsettled terrain. Like Ágætis Byrjun, it will take Takk... at least half a dozen spins before it unpacks its bags and fills that warm place in your chest, but if you give it a chance, it certainly will.