While it’s almost assured that the names Jónsi, Kjartan, Georg and Orri won’t ever be as famous as John, Paul, George and Ringo, Sunday night brought the sound of a revolution to Chicago, and it came from Iceland’s Sigur Rós. Touring behind their thrilling international debut, Ágætis Byrjun (meaning “A pretty good beginning”), Sigur Rós (“Victory Rose”) adapted the gorgeous racket of their studio work into a compelling live set.
As the band took the stage at Park West, lead singer/guitarist Jónsi Thór Birgisson, looking like Billy Corgan’s nicer younger brother, drew a violin bow slowly across his guitar to begin “Ny´Batterí” (“New Batteries”), and electricity filled the air. Birgisson’s guitar-style sounds closest to some of John Cale’s violin playing in the Velvet Underground: distorted, droning and strangely melodic.
When he sang, only particularly grumpy rocks could hold back the tears. A hypnotic mix of Björk and Radiohead’s Thom Yorke (like Yorke, Jónsi is almost blind in one eye), his voice soared over the epic swirl of his bandmates’ instruments. No one in the audience truly knew what he was singing about (he sings in an invented language called Hopelandic) but something emotional came through.
When a young string quartet joined the band three songs into Sigur Rós set, their contributions simply embellished the band’s already lush sound. It didn’t feel like a reach for musical credibility, as it would with a Metallica or a Matchbox 20.
Midway through the set, Jónsi invited “a very good friend from Iceland” to the stage to perform. From the wings emerged the Icelandic poet/performer Steindor Andersen, a balding, bearded man who, like Sigur Rós, is a lot bigger in Iceland than in the States. Andersen sang two songs in a deep voice that suggested an influence of Turkish music. After he left the stage, the band ripped through a blinder of a version of “Flugufrelsarinn” (“Freer of Flies”), their closest thing to a hit.
But all great things must pass, and before long the band was clambering off to a five-minute standing ovation. This was, remarkably, only the fifth time the band has ever played outside of Europe or Iceland. A pretty good beginning indeed. nyou
Medill sophomore Pete Mortensen is an assistant editor for nyou. He can be reached at [email protected].
Lanegan sings the sorrows solo in new album
By Dylan RisYou’d think that the ability to create beautiful music would be a cause for happiness, but it never really worked out that way for Mark Lanegan.
After years of writing grim songs with his band, Screaming Trees, Lanegan has used his recent solo career to explore the rock bottom of relationships and loneliness. Appropriately, he draws inspiration from American folk and blues confirmed by 1999’s I’ll Take Care of You, which features all covers. These influences return on this year’s aptly titled Field Songs.
The record Lanegan’s fifth as a solo artist is his first since the break-up of the perennially troubled Trees 11 months ago. What began as an outlet for more personal, introspective material now stands as the singer’s only medium for music. It’s therefore not surprising to hear powerful tracks like “No Easy Action” and the stunning “Don’t Forget Me,” performed with the force of Sweet Oblivion-era Screaming Trees. Yet most of Field Songs boils down to acoustic guitars and gritty tales of what one lyric from Field Songs calls “sorrow and misery untold.”
Much like the work of Mark Eitzel and Nick Cave, Field Songs makes you feel guilty for taking pleasure out of an artist’s despair. If it’s true that as Lanegan suggests on “She Done Too Much” there’s “not a thing in this world to do/Except be alone in it,” you only can hope for a copy of Field Songs to to help you bide your time in solitude. nyou
Stripping Down the Stripped Down:
Chesnutt’s home stylings mix songs of humor, heart
By Lee OvertreeIt’s a no-brainer that our country’s media-centered culture influences the things that we like to value as pure. Luckily we occasionally are treated to an musician who has been passed over by the American Media Behemoth. One such gem is Vic Chesnutt, who, with his seventh album, Left To His Own Devices, manages to sneak under the radar yet again with a set of his barest, most aching songs to date.
Recorded on a four-track in Chesnutt’s Athens, Ga., home, Devices consists of old outtakes recorded in the singer’s spare time. (He’s already released another album this school year, Merriment, with Kelly and Nikki Keneipp.) The words “this is what i do” are printed repeatedly within the album’s artwork, and, true to the singer’s words, the songs on Devices flow with natural emotion. Chesnutt’s music has been called Southern Gothic: That is, he follows the songwriter tradition of Neil Young, Cat Stevens and Van Morrison (with a voice to match all three), but holds a stark instinct for charming storytelling and dry humor.
The album benefits from the stripped nature of home-recording, though it is frustrating to hear the darker arrangements compressed onto so few tracks.
Especially striking are the lyrics, many of which confront Chesnutt’s medical problems (he’s bound to a wheelchair) with grace, emotion and humor. On the album’s final track, “Look at Me,” Chesnutt proudly sings: “It may not be pretty, my life up to here/but something bold and beautiful occurred.” There is something incredible about hearing a voice ring from the farthest reaches of honesty, away from any media giants. nyou