I don't know how to listen to music anymore

I listen to music a lot, but I don't really listen to a lot of music. I buy three or four albums a year and listen to them, which has seemed like the best way to do it. These become my albums. The ones that I listen to over and over again.  I used to buy them on CDs, and now, because CDs are kind of horrible, I download them. It's nice to have a collection. I know where I am with these songs, because they're mostly pretty good. Now big companies tell me I shouldn't be doing this. Don't pay for some of the music, they say, pay for all of the music. Give us ten pounds a month and you can listen to anything you want.

I didn't bother with Spotify, partially because it's easy to ignore, but mostly because it's called Spotify. Apple's new streaming thing was harder to ignore, since it landed in my iTunes and said 'Do this free for three months, you might like it!' And I do sort of like it. I can listen to pretty much anything I want in good quality and with no adverts (unlike YouTube). I can click around to find things that are similar to things I already like, and catch up on bands I forgot about five years ago. There's a freedom to it. I don't have to invest in anything. I can walk into a band's discography, play a few songs, have a nice time, then leave. Except, that's the problem. Music becomes easier, but also throwaway. Streaming music is oddly impersonal. There isn't the care that comes with ownership, or the attention. When you can listen to anything you want, you can give up on something after thirty seconds and find the next song that might be better.

I can complain about this, but then owning music doesn't actually matter. It's not like I'm polishing old vinyl records, or whatever you do with vinyl records. I have CD copies of my favourite albums in cardboard sleeves, and I'm fairly sure 'owning' anything on iTunes is an illusion. Still, having something is a different feeling to consuming it. Taking books out of the library is nice, but my books are excellent, lovely objects that I read more carefully. They take on a different quality.

This might all be nonsense, though. I've discovered that there's a different problem: I don't really like new music. By that I mean I don't like music I haven't heard before. When I want to listen to music I go for something I know I like. The hypocrisy in this is that all my favourite songs were new once. In my mind, though, that happened accidentally, like I tripped over them in the street or something. There's no point trying to look for them in a playlist called 'Best New Songs', and they won't be in 'Similar artists to this one' either. They are the unexpected things you don't know you like until you hear it. For me, that doesn't happen often.

I wonder if I found my new favourite band on Apple Music, whether I would instantly click away to find something better. And there's plenty there, plenty this-is-alright-but-I-would-never-actually-buy-this albums. Cutting off all this noise into a collection is having your own little haven. The internet is a big cloud of floating stuff, and we reach into it and say I'll have this and this and this and keep them over here. I think we need to do that, or it's just endless noise pouring out of speakers. It won't mean anything. But if this is true, why do I keep going back to Apple Music? I'm always looking for the next thing, the next great thing. It's in there somewhere. When I hear it, I don't know what I'll do with it.

Is all my stuff obsolete?

In my lifetime, which seems to be getting longer all the time, I have amassed a lot of stuff. In the bottom of my wardrobe there are stacks of old magazines. There's a lot of them. About fifteen years worth of a games magazine that I was subscribed to. There is no good reason for me to still have them. The magazine was eventually closed down, like all magazines will be, because who wants to own a pile of paper when you can get everything on the internet? And that pretty much goes for a lot of my other stuff. There didn't used to be a problem with it. Now somebody could easily call it clutter. Why have all this physical media when it could be transferred to a computer?

Are racks of CDs now plastic irrelevancies when they can be contained invisibly in a silver box? In fact, CDs are easy to get rid of. The discs are only a storage medium for data files. It's the music that counts, and that can be stored on a computer. Transfer them over. Get rid of them. Yes. But what if I don't want an album on iTunes, but would still like to keep it? Okay, I'll keep a few. Not many, though, right? After all, some new computers don't even come with optical drives, because why would you even need one, like some loser stuck in 2005? Technology is marching forward, determined to leave physical media in the past, and if I'm not on board then I'm just not doing it right. The last few years have been a tipping point. Some people have ruthlessly cleared their shelves, and some, like me, haven't really bothered.

I might be changing my mind. For instance, I've been slowly going off the idea of owning films. It might seem like a good idea, but in reality I'll watch a DVD once then put it on a shelf forever and never touch it again. And what's the point in that? I used to watch all the commentaries and little extras. They just seem like a novelty now. So I should get rid of the DVDs. Well, maybe. Mostly. Everyone needs a few favourites to watch sometimes, and I'm not convinced there's a proper digital alternative. A streaming service like Netflix will only ever have some things, and I like the idea of owning a collection. It's possible to download films to iTunes and connect them to a television, but who really does that? And when it comes to books, I still choose to be stubborn, even though I could make the same arguments: paper is just a material for displaying words, words that could be on a screen, and I only ever read these things once. The difference, though, is that unlike data on a disc, books are real objects. They are nice to own. They are nice to have. The only time I see the point in e-books is when I'm trying to clear out old books, which isn't that often anyway. Maybe I would read more without wondering where I was going to fit each new book onto a shelf. Maybe I wouldn't.

There's a brutal and kind of appealing way to approach all this. I've read articles that say we should throw everything we're not using away and live in rooms of pared down minimalistic beauty. Just clear everything out, the articles say, get rid of anything that is clogging up your air space and keep the essential things. I imagine, though, that this is more fun to think about than it is to actually do. Tidy is good. I like tidy. Actually, that's not true. I like tidying. That's the satisfying part. A tidy room is boring. There's nothing to tidy. Even writing about tidying is fun. Not going to watch that film again? Throw it out the window. Why do I have these old books? Get rid of them. Make space. Start fresh. Sounds good. Sweeping away all these physical objects might be fun, like I was lessening some imagined burden, but I suspect there isn't much difference between an almost empty room and the lair of a psychopath. Because what would I have if I threw everything out, dumped all my films, pushed all my books onto some little device? A lot of empty shelves is what I would have.

Using books as decoration seems like a hollow argument, but the media we surround ourselves with is part of our identity. Lining a shelf with certain books is saying 'this is what I like, these are my favourites'. There are some objects that relate to my history. Like my vast collection of Nintendo games that I could never part with, even though they take up all that space. And the stacks of magazines that I believe have some connection to the time I read them. I will never really look at them again, I know that, but I do need to keep some stuff from the past. This is where I disagree with the constantly evolving idea of newness, with all the yearly updates of slim computers to more efficiently hide and organise our things. Yes, CDs and DVDs are on their way out, but we need to keep some real objects from the past, not virtual versions of them. Tidy is good, in moderation. Prune the DVD collection. Donate old books. Clear CD racks. The rest can stay. Some of my stuff is obsolete, but I'll keep it anyway.

Sigur Rós - Valtari

After the album Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust, people thought that Sigur Rós were becoming too commercial. There were jaunty pop songs on there. And then Jónsi's side-project Go had jaunty pop songs sung in English. But now, on Valtari, they've gone a hundred miles in the opposite direction. It's ambient, introverted, and relaxing. It's calm. This is what they've come back to after a long hiatus, and it sounds a little bit like they've come home. Með suð was a departure (a very good departure), and then they went back to Iceland to record something much more patient and experimental. At times it sounds like Takk, in others Ágætis byrjun, but it is much quieter. Ambient choirs, electronic soundscapes - it has most in common with the Jónsi & Alex album Riceboy Sleeps. It is not an immediate thing, and is best listened to all at once. They occasionally turn the volume up, like on the third track, with a familiar build to somewhere loud. But they finish with three ambient instrumentals that show they're confident enough to do what they want. It goes without saying that this is all beautiful, and when all is said and done, I think Valtari will be remembered as one of their best.

YouTube videos sound flat compared to the proper deep sound quality of the actual album, but, er, yeah, here's a YouTube video.

That band from Iceland

It's time to get unreasonably excited about music again. There's a new Sigur Rós album out May 28th. After the energy of the last one, this album is said to be 'ambient' and 'floaty'. Years, I've waited. Years.
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A brief musical interlude

In the absence of anything particularly mildly interesting to say today, I'll just say this: The Tallest Man on Earth is very good at his job.

Music from before

Some music sounds like a long time ago. There might be bands or film soundtracks that sound like your childhood. It's not like that for me. There's only one thing that was the soundtrack to my twentieth century. And films have got nothing on this.

For when you're swimming around calm waters with a giant eel
You can't go swimming without this. You'll feel a lot more relaxed, and you'll be able to hold your breath for longer. If you feel like you're about to drown, look for air bubbles or coins. Then when you're jumping around a massive castle, wondering what to do next, you'll realise there's a slide in the attic.

For when you're standing in a field feeling epic
Listen to this. It works better if you've got a sword and a shield. When you're feeling epic enough, walk into a forest to look for money in the bushes. If you accidentally open up an ancient underground labyrinth, don't go in without a few bottled fairies. If you make it back to your village, go into your friends' houses to break their pots and steal their money. Then go back out at night.

For when you're crawling through ventilation shafts
The only place they lead is the toilets. Make your way through the building, killing no more than two scientists. Shoot everyone on a train. Shoot everyone on a boat. Get thrown in jail. Then climb an electricity pylon for the final showdown with your nemesis.

Stuff and stuff

There's Stuff and there's stuff. The things you've accumulated throughout your life deserve a capital letter. Boring and plain objects that you don't care about is just stuff. Because if you think about it, every object in your collection of Stuff has memories attached to it. Usually not very exciting memories, but you might remember unwrapping a film, or reading a book for the first time, or listening to music in a certain place. Some things might have come in on your birthday or Christmas, and the rest you bought or found. All of it together is arranged in order somewhere, in rows and piles and boxes.

So, I decided to count all my Stuff:

94 books
28 films/tv seasons
88 CDs
128 games

The most noticeable thing there is how many films I don't have. I usually rent them, and I only really feel compelled to own a few of them. And still, that list isn't right. A lot of Stuff has been given away, or sold, or lost. Stuff that isn't relevant anymore. I seem to keep books, even though they take up a lot of space. And games. You can't get rid of games.The other noticeable thing is that I have many objects. 338 things.

Does your collection of Stuff fill rooms? Or do you burn everything every few years?

Some day we'll be drinking with the seldom seen kid

Elbow seem to be back in business. Three years after the release of stupidly good Seldom Seen Kid, a new album will be coming in a few months. Build a rocket boys! will be it, and there's not much to go on except this new video of the song 'Lippy Kids'. I don't usually write about music news, mainly because I don't know any. But this is the rare thing that's worth a look two months before release. The video probably speaks for itself, so you'd be better off watching that first. Though I'll put on my music reviewer's hat and put some words to it (note: this is not a real hat, but I could consider getting one). Elbow are a band that seemed to have peaked fifteen years into their career. They released albums before Seldom Seen Kid, but only a relatively few people were paying attention. I only came in on that album, when a friend said 'you'll like this', and the songs were the backing track to every second television trailer. It may be the case that they'll never better that album - the one that elevated them to stadiums and mainstream ears - but they'll do a good job trying. It easily flowed between ballads and catchy riffs and soaring orchestral wonderousness. Held together by Guy Garvey's soothing tones. As an album opener, this new song is more relaxing than usual. Doesn't even have any unexpected trumpet explosions. Whatever comes next will probably be a treat.

And if you liked that you'll probably like this. To my ears The National sound like an American Elbow. Their fans would probably say it was the other way round, but I'll make the comparison for the sake of this post.

Songs that should be in films: Hægt, kemur ljósið

I recently learnt that a Sigur Rós song is prominently featured in the new Danny Boyle film, 127 Hours. This pleases me. It's nice when two things I like come together - melded together like, er, something that's melded. Now, I could mention what Sigur Rós songs would work well in a film, but I'm pretty sure they've all been used. Making the exercise a bit pointless. But I've chosen something equally Icelandic: Hægt, kemur ljósið by Ólafur Arnalds. He's a composer, who Wikipedia reliably informs me is aged 23-24. That's a nice age to be. Adding to the confusion, he writes 'neo-classical' music (thanks Wikipedia) and his song titles contain letters I'm not familiar with. But the music speaks for itself. I imagine this song could come near the end of a film, or the climax of a television series - a montage perhaps. Everyone's sad, a bit downbeat. A lot of bad things have happened. Maybe somebody's been happy for five minutes until Joss Whedon killed everyone they loved. They could perhaps be on a boat. Cut to other characters looking pensive. Wide shots of the scenery. Then, at around fifty seconds, the song picks up and they realise they have a lot to look forward to. And they're happy, but still in a poignant, reflective way. I imagine someone could start running at this point. There are alternative uses, like a bunch of presumed-dead fishermen returning to port, and then looking back out to sea to think about the journey.

For all my sarcastic meanderings, this is obviously a good song. That's the technical term used by music critics: a good song. For more impressive sight and sound, watch this other video. To sum it up in noises, it'll make you go 'ooo'.

If the children don't grow old

There's a lot of pressure on Arcade Fire. In 2004 they released their first album, Funeral, which turned out to be quite good. It sounded fresh and old at the same time, a bit epic and a bit comforting. Behind convoluted song titles like 'Neighbourhood #1 (Tunnels)' and 'Rebellion (Lies)' are seemingly simple songs of positivity and energy that are unashamedly sincere. They work as pop songs but they never sound commercial, there's a rawness to the sound that stops them from being too easy to listen to. It was an album of highlights that mostly seemed to follow on from each other, the highlightiest highlight being 'Wake Up'. A song that, like most of the album, really is difficult to describe. It seems so obvious when you hear it but isn't easy to put into words. The problem with all this goodness is that, despite being called things like a 'modern classic', it was only their first album. Where does a band go from there? Well, they, um, release their second album. Neon Bible is a bit darker, and the highlights are there, but not as many and not as high. It's an impressive album, perhaps unfairly overshadowed by what came before.

Now they've released The Suburbs, which nicely goes back to the old theme of childhood memories. The difference here being that it sounds a lot more relaxed. There aren't any obvious highlights, it just goes from one pretty good song to the next pretty good song. What it lacks in 'epic' it makes up for in quiet confidence. It almost sounds like it's from a different time, like it should only be available as a record. It's more obviously influenced by classic American rock and isn't trying so hard to impress you. If I did have a complaint - which I, er, do - it's that some songs seem too focused on the lyrics. Which is a strange thing to say when they're as good as this - all nostalgic and suburban - but, to be honest, I'm not really interested. It's all about the music for me. Wasn't Funeral at its best when they were just singing sounds? The music was always above the words, and some heights can only be reached without them. Getting too attached to the words can leave a few songs featureless. That's just a little grumble though. On the whole, after listening to The Suburbs, you're just more likely to say 'that was nice' than be too out of breath to say anything.

The band of their generation

In a break from tradition, this a post about music that has nothing to do with any Icelandic people. Muse recently played at Glastonbury again, putting in a performance that shows why they deserve all those Best Live Band in the World awards. It was a relentless succession of the biggest songs from over a decade of albums, a huge crowd-pleasing rock show. Its been said that whenever Muse turn up at a festival they overshadow everyone else with the fireworks and sheer scale of their set, but they always belong on the big stage. There's a confidence about their playing that you don't find in most bands - they frequently add half-improvised sections at the end of songs just for the fun of it and leave whole verses for the crowd to sing. And they can switch to quiet, spacier moments without missing a beat. They weren't there to promote their newest album, they played all the songs that everyone wanted to hear - from 'Citizen Erased' to 'Resistance', from 'Time is Running Out' to 'Uprising'. The surprise arrival of U2's The Edge (why is he called The Edge?), whose own band couldn't play the night before because of the singer's broken back, produced an excellent cover of a classic song I'd never heard before. The only song that failed to impress was the dull-in-comparison 'Undisclosed Desires', a recent R&B effort which is fine is isolation but has no place in this set.

This is a band at the top of their game. From the release of Showbiz in 1999 each album has increased in size and ambition, culminating in grand three-part symphony to end their latest album. And the themes of the songs have evolved to encompass a broad and slightly insane world of conspiracy and science-fiction. Although, to be fair, this band has always been sci-fi. Every piece of artwork shows the stars, the sky, the planets. They'd play on the moon if they could. Some people might call them overblown, too big - but you don't listen to Muse to relax. They're not meant to be calm. And as a whole they work wonderfully, though it's clear where the heart of the band is. Dom Howard (drums) and Chris Wolstenholme (bass) are excellent musicians, but they must be pleased they know Matt Bellamy. It's fair to say they'd be nowhere with him. Songwriter, vocals, lead guitar, piano - all done effortlessly. He's the creative force behind the band and where much of the attention usually goes. Commonly described as one of the finest rock guitarists ever, he also has a powerful falsetto and amazing classical piano-ability to go with it. And instead of letting it all get to him he still seems completely humble, almost not aware of how big the band have become and determined to not become, in his own words, 'a tit'. They're described as the band of their generation. They're quite good. And they're not even Icelandic.

The quiet side of Jónsi

The special edition of Jónsi's new album comes with a little film called Go Quiet. It's from the director of Heima so you can only expect good things. Here Jónsi sings his songs acoustically, using any rickety instruments he can find lying around his house. Stripped of all the bombast and explosions of the album, these songs seem fragile and shy. Jónsi's voice is usually layered underneath the huge audio productions, so these sorts of performances always show the songs in a new light. A similar thing was done in Heima, but this is even smaller. There's no audiences or community halls. It's just one man and an instrument. 'Around Us' reverts to its original quiet piano, 'Animal Arithmetic' is slower and almost relaxing, 'Grow Till Tall' completely bare. That being said, it's definitely not Heima (although most things aren't). There's no journey, no scale. It only wants to be reflective. Which is fair enough.

It's beautifully shot too. Dean DeBlois knows how to frame a shot with some fancy focus, and it's fascinating to watch. There are segments of the New Years Eve party that Jónsi had just held, but they never outstay their welcome. It's not a documentary, it's a short film. One that's been expertly crafted to show off Jónsi's talent and general weirdness. At one point he wanders into a quaint shop full of lamps to find the antique pianos at the back. Why? It doesn't seem to matter. Sigur Rós teach you not to wonder what it's supposed to mean, only what you want it to. Above all it's a fitting accompaniment to the album Go. It's the other half of Jónsi. The quiet half that was forced into hiding. The songs originally sounded like this. Now the album is complete.

When bands have babies

Jónsi has started his tour after the release of his new solo album. The rest of Sigur Rós left this message on their website:

so, we may all be off on “indefinite hiatus”, “having babies”, but that doesn’t mean we can’t take a little time out of our busy diaper changing schedule to wish our singer jonsi heartfelt good luck on his own first baby-steps without his *real* band for the first time in, ooh, 15 years, must be. we’ve heard the record and, honestly, some of it is quite good. ok, that’s a joke. ‘go’ is bloody marvellous. well done, strákur, always knew you had it in you, etc – although you could lay off the english; we’ve got our ‘mystique’ to think about.

That just about sums it up. Go is like an explosion from the second you turn it on. Less interested with building up ambient soundscapes, it just wants to make you smile. The first two tracks, 'Go Do' and 'Animal Arithmetic' burst into an ecstatic cacophony of sound, building and falling quickly and unpredictably. It's a layered, full sound, with any instruments they could find shoved in. Even when the pace is slowed down for 'Grow Till Tall' it's still incredibly loud. And that's the highlight of the album - a soaring epic that stretches up and up until it breaks at the top. Here Jónsi's voice has never sounded better. He's not drowned out under effects, he's up front where he should be.



The fact that he's singing in English isn't that troubling. Sigur Rós shouldn't worry too much about their 'mystique'. He sings in such a way that it's hard to work out what he's saying anyway, and it's occasionally nice to have the mystery of the lyrics broken. The Icelandic that is here comes with a nice relief, comforting and unintelligible as always.

In places Go reaches heights that Sigur Rós' last album, Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust, never did. It's a colourful and wonderful thing that can be placed alongside the best of his 'real' band. That being said, I can't wait for the rest to get fed up looking after babies and start making music again. How interesting can babies be? This is what Jónsi can do by himself - the songs he has collected over about ten years. After this it'll be time to see what Sigur Rós can do next.

He's turning into a bird

Sigur Rós music videos are good. But I've only recently disovered that the creative force behind them might come from elsewhere. Arni and Kinski, who I can find hardly any trace of on the internet, have directed six Sigur Rós videos, including 'Glósóli' and 'Viðrar vel til Loftárása'. They seem to have a visual bond with the band and are responsible for the vibrant energy that makes up most of the videos (they didn't direct Heima, but you can't have everything). Now they've directed Jónsi's new solo single, 'Go Do'. Above all else, they seem to have turned him into a bird.

The sheer amount of stuff they fit into these four minutes is incredible. Barely half a second goes by without jumping into the next shot. Intricately designed but also chaotic and unpredictable. All with a visual style that I can only dream of at the moment. I'm still not entirely convinced by the song, but I do enjoy the animal theme. The stage show will be full of them, with animation and art falling out of his ears. It's all shaping up nicely. Watch the video here.

Jónsi's getting louder

With most of Sigur Rós busy with babies and sleeping, there won't be any new album this year. Jónsi has decided to take this time to release songs that he has 'collected over the years'. His upcoming solo album looks to be the polar opposite to the quiet ambience of last year's Jónsi & Alex album. This is energetic and 'ecstatic' music, pounding and joyous. Interestingly, he originally intended the project to be an acoustic album but was convinced to go 'out of his comfort zone' and write something louder. After hearing an acoustic version of the song 'Go Do' on a radio podcast, and then hearing the album version, I'm slightly concerned that these songs have been needlessly converted into 'big' versions. The acoustic version is nice, the album track a little bit too 'dancey'. I shouldn't worry though. The other track I've heard, 'Boy Lilikoi', is great. Full of all the vibrancy that you'd expect.

And now he's singing in English (not for long hopefully) it's easy to get an insight into what the album is actually about. I'll quote a reviewer who's actually heard the whole thing - 'If there's a theme to be found in the lyrics of Go, it must be that life is fleeting and is here to be enjoyed...It is soulful, fun, naïve and sad in its own fantastical world; if only life really were this good. This is a record that will make you believe it could be.' (musicOMH). I can't argue with that. No complaints at all. The album is released in April. I expect, because these Icelandic people never let me down, that it'll be wonderful.

Before you do that, watch this

Whatever you're going to do in the next few minutes - eating, drinking, watching television, making an origami cat, writing the sixth episode of a web series - watch this first. Loud. Full screen. That's better.

Muse return to their Resistance

Here's something that has nothing to do with films, television, or even Sigur Rós. The new album from Muse, The Resistance, is a glorious piece of theatre. Their previous album, Black Holes and Revelations, was far too polite. It was like they were holding back, trying to conform with bland pop music. It was still Muse, but it was lacking. Now they've completely let go and recorded an epic and sweeping album. And it's not just because they've added an orchestra. These songs reach heights that they haven't aimed for in a long time, the structure of the songs is adventurous, Bellamy's vocals are more powerful than ever. The title track 'Resistance' is uplifting and eccentric (there aren't enough songs based on Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four in the world). 'The United States of Eurasia' is grand and dramatic, with some Queen-style vocals punching into the chorus. 'Unnatural Selection' and 'Mk Ultra' sound like a Muse we haven't heard for six years, but are still exciting. 'I Belong to You' is perhaps the highlight, at once catchy, operatic and unpredictable. And the three-part symphony 'Exogenesis' is a surpise. I was expecting a prog-rock epic. Instead it's purely classical, being ambitious and wonderfully overblown. The only disappointment is 'Undisclosed Desires', a little electronic stain that has no place in this album.

If this is all sounds a bit pretentious, that's because it is. It's uncompromising space rock. It tells of humans leaving Earth in search of a new home and totalitarian goverments keeping an eye on everything. It's like they've gone a little bit mad. But mostly, it's just some good songs.

More Icelandic cake

After writing about Heima a few days ago, I should mention Sigur Rós' 'other' film - the music video for 'Glósóli.' It is, without any hyperbole, the best music video I have ever seen (ok, so I haven't seen many, but this is pretty good). I don't know how much input the band had with the video, but it perfectly matches the song's scale.

Very tasty Icelandic cake

After having this blog for six months, and writing about films every now and then, it's probably time to go into one of my favourites - Sigur Rós' Heima. After being mildly interested (extremely) in the band's music for a long time, the film is like some massive cherry on a very tasty Icelandic cake - or, to put it less embarrassingly, very good indeed. It's hard to describe Heima without using fluffy words like 'beautiful' and 'moving', so I won't. But there is something undefinable about the film, something that means you can watch it endlessly and still be impressed.

Essentially it's a tour film around Iceland, where the band pitch up in some field or community centre and play a song. The filming is much like the music - it's gibberish but it makes perfect sense. The camera spends more time on the landscape than the band - on rocks, grass, tractors, houses. The songs fit across these images perfectly, in all their stripped-down acoustic wonderfulness (my word). This isn't exactly a documentary, it's all designed to evoke a mood, and it does that brilliantly. For 'Glósóli' they capture the force of the landscape (waterfalls that go up? It's a funny place). In 'Gítardjamm', tracking shots of an abandoned fish factory are perfectly composed. 'Ágætis Byrjun' has a beach for no necessary reason. There's plenty of history piled on; archive footage of the locations show evidence of a far busier time for the country, creating that poignant theme they like so much. And at the same time there's the people that turn up near the middle of nowhere to watch the band.

It all ends with an extended version of 'Popplagið', an epic song that is louder than most other bands put together. This is surely Sigur Rós at the height of their powers. They'd be very brave to attempt another film.