GIG: Sigur Rós - Alexandra Palace, 21st November

Ah, the Ally Pally. Many things both good and bad I’ve heard of it, but upon stepping off the free bus service to view the grand hall in the starry night is an experience of grandness and, frankly, downright 19th Century awesomeness. Its position upon a hill offers a fantastic view of Greenwich and Canary Wharf in its London-at-night splendour, adding to the electricity of all pre-gig atmospheres. Sigur Rós are a band that fully warrants high anticipation; I've heard they always deliver on the night.

Walking through the main hall feels more like a waltz, given the lovely surroundings. The merch is a bit crap, so I tango straight on into the concert hall. I’ve already missed For A Minor Reflection, which is very annoying, but I’m here for the Rós. The four Iceland-borne walk on stage to rapturous (yet refined) applause, tonight and on every night of this tour without their string quartet. It’s just Jónsi Birgisson sweeping his guitar with a cello bow, Georg Hólm providing the plodding bass, Ágúst Ævar Gunnarsson keeping time on the drums at speeds so slow it numbs the mind; and finally Kjartan Sveinsson, filling it all in with his ethereal keyboard sounds.

The peculiar but familiar noise of a submarine-come-life support machine signals Svefn-g-englar, their ten-minute long masterpiece (well, one of them). A perfect sound and minimal lighting already creates an intimacy inside the 8,000 capacity Palace, before the heavy middle-eight blows us away, and bringing us back to an airy closing. Glósóli is the latter of an opening double-whammy, knocking me off my feet for the last 2 minutes in all its crashing, wailing glory.

The rest of the evening is more divine epicness and divine closeness, each helped massively along by Jónsi’s distinct otherworldly falsetto. At one point in the show, he holds a note unaccompanied for nearly an entire minute, garnering cheers for the technical prowess but also for the beauty of the dynamics this group has: one moment the loudest thing in the universe, another the most quiet, focused hum. Whatever Sigur Rós do here has only one effect though: it lifts the heart to high places. Whether that be from beginning to end, or dropping you into depressive depths first before raising you back up, it’s a quality that positively shines from them.

Only a handful of tunes from the new album are – thankfully – played in tonight’s set, but the ones aired are the strongest. Among them are Inní mér syngur vitleysingur and Festival, real standout songs, mingled with E-Bow from the untitled album ‘( )’ and fan favourite Hoppípolla from ‘Takk…’, which despite the lack of stings / fanfare, still manages to retain its spring-stepped wonder. Hafsól is included later on, the live version being even more magnificent than its studio counterpart: the climax is a crazy amalgamation of ever-increasing tempo, unexpected beats and drum fills, and a single flute going spastic in the background.
The real highlight of the concert, however, is Sæglópur. It’s always been a track I’ve never taken much notice of before… but how wrong am I. A clever orchestration of xylyphones, pianos and other percussive thingies is the introduction, played by all four members of the band huddling round the keyboard section. As the song progresses and the band have returned to their original places, Sigur Rós allow the impossible: they make it rain inside. A sheet of falling water drapes in front of the band, recycling perpetually from the bottom back up to the top of the lighting rig. Images of the band are played across the water, whilst they are clearly visible themselves through the artificial rain. All of this would be indulgence if the special effect didn’t go so well with the music. It is a heartbreakingly beautiful few minutes. ‘Nuff said.

The sole problem I have all night, is that the sound could have been louder, but that was fixed before the second half of the show. Also, there were lots of tall fuckers in front of me. Bastards.

Nevertheless, the best is saved for the final song, the last half of the encore. Popplagið (Untitled 8) is a fucking monster, and its name should be included in the dictionary definition of ‘Epic’, ‘Massive’, and ‘Bloody Hell’. It starts innocently enough, before half-way through plunging into the greatest build-up you’ve ever heard. Said build-up lasts approximately six minutes, including coalescing riffs, subtly intensifying drums and a haunting vocal hook you won’t forget anytime soon. The screen behind them drops to a desert yellow, their silhouettes cast out over the crowd. When the climax hits, it is sheer audience awe: it’s as if each crowd member is stunned into silence, including this one.

Lots of strobe lights and heaps of confetti later, leaving the Ally Pally with the sense you got far more than your money’s worth tonight, you remember two things that are distinct: the first is that for the first time at a gig, no member of the crowd utters a word. And if they happen to during a quieter song, they are actually hushed. They’re here for the music.
The second realisation, is that they’ve done what no other band I’ve seen before have done in a venue. In ways physically and emotionally, Sigur Rós made it rain and shine in the Alexandra Palace.

Overall – 9 / 10

GIG: Fall Out Boy - Wembley Arena, 22nd October

(Apologies for the belated post. The continual attack of college and work are to blame.)

An arena tour was inevitable. Fall Out Boy are long overdue to tour this country carnival-style with all the pyro and confetti that goes with it, and tonight shows they can pull it off as good as the big guns.

Before they grace the stage, Surrey upstarts YouMeAtSix are first on the bill. Having not been impressed by their live outings in the past - and not even liking any of their songs - hopes weren’t particularly high. But a great sound and energy pours from the band, and I can’t deny them that at all; they’re bloody tight, and have a decent understanding of how to work a crowd. The only thing that stands between them and stardom now is, well, some decent songs.
Boys Like Girls. What a crap name. Guitar problems mar the first few minutes of an overall decent performance, including the obvious choice of last song, The Great Escape with a surprise guest appearance of Pete Wentz on bass. I’m not ashamed to say I was excited by it, of course.

The screams of the many teenage girls present tonight reach notes only dogs can hear, when Fall Out Boy satisfyingly make their entrance on a stage that is covered in a bizarre white veil. The first notes of Thnks Fr Th Mmrs dispatch the curtain, presenting the oddball band in all their glory. The great choice of opener gets things going, followed by a slew of Thriller, A Little Less Candles… and The Take Over, The Break’s Over, each greeted by increasingly piercing squeals from the female portion of the audience (bless their rushing hormones).
F.O.B. don’t seem daunted at all by the sheer amount of people before them; instead they revel in it. Wentz, love him or hate him, knows how to make chit-chat with who he’s playing to, with Stump adding in the brief – but humorous – remark. Despite his penchant of keeping to himself, this is made up for hugely in the quality of his singing. It’s just a sore shame to see mic stands where Wentz and guitarist Joe Trohman are rocking out, and not have them used by either when a backing vocal is crying out to be sung. Instead the vast majority of them are left out, much to my dismay.
Wisely, the band choose to play only one song from the upcoming album – I Don’t Care, which is already being lavished with much airplay. This is also where the show ups it a notch: a veil behind them the whole time is dropped revealing the band’s name, while the stage is pitch black. Come the chorus, however, and Stump, Trohman and Wentz’s guitars light up like neon signs, pulsing to the beat of the music. Novelty stuff, and it works brilliantly. Energetic performances of Grand Theft Autumn and the massive Sugar, We’re Going Down resonate around the arena, closing proceedings before the fantastic encore.
‘Open up a massive circle in the middle… bigger… bigger!... Now, moonwalk!’ This is the first instance of a moonwalk pit I’ve ever encountered. Dozens of people start getting their groove on to the opening beat of Beat It, the recent MJ cover. There is a sudden segue way into Dance, Dance (the best pit of the evening), before Fall Out Boy end the set the usual way with Saturday.

A fantastic show, a great performance from Stump and co., but a few things niggled me. A lot. First and foremost: the sound in places was abhorrent, notably the guitar mix in I’m Like A Lawyer…, and other times the drums were as muddy as a toilet that hasn't been flushed for nine years. However, it’s one of the few pop-punk gigs I’ve been to where you can actually hear the bass guitar, so that’s a plus at least. Also, it was simply too short. Between an hour and a quarter, and an hour and a half, is nowhere near long enough to properly get into a concert.
Nonetheless, the vigorous bouncing to genius pop tunes is enough for me. Fingers crossed, then, for more in Novemeber when ‘Folie à Deux’ is unleashed.

Overall – 8.5 / 10