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