Sigur Ros - Með Suð I Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust (2LP)

Sigur Rós have always sounded like weather, but in June 2008 they surprised everyone by stepping into the sun. Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust arrived with that Ryan McGinley cover of naked runners caught mid-flight, and the music matches the image. Less glacial drone, more skin and breath. The band didn’t abandon the sweep that made them cult heroes, they just swapped some of the frost for bare feet and daylight.

“Gobbledigook” sets the pace straight away. Handclaps, tumbling drums, acoustic guitars that feel strummed from the back of a van, Jónsi whooping in a melody that flickers like a campfire. It’s chaotic but tight, and you can hear Orri Páll Dýrason driving the whole thing from the kit while Georg Hólm’s bass keeps it from floating off. Coming after the autumnal drift of Takk..., this opener felt like a dare. Stick around, it says, the band you love is still here, just laughing a bit louder.

“Inní mér syngur vitleysingur” follows with a piano hook so simple you’d swear you’ve known it for years. The horns punch through like a parade taking a corner, and the chorus rises in dizzy waves. It became a fan favourite for good reason. You can picture it echoing around arenas, strangers smiling at each other through the noise. The title track, “Við spilum endalaust”, keeps the euphoria rolling with a head-down pulse and Jónsi’s voice darting across the top like a kite. If you’ve ever tried to mumble-sing Icelandic while cooking dinner, this is one of those songs.

The old grandeur hasn’t gone anywhere, it just bides its time. “Festival” starts with a single sustained vocal line and a shy organ figure, then grows and grows until you’re lifted up in the finale. It is a classic slow-burn Sigur Rós build, the kind that makes time feel elastic. And then there’s “Ára bátur”, recorded with the London Sinfonietta and the London Oratory School Choir at Abbey Road. The arrangement spills forward in waves, all strings and massed voices, but the band keeps a human pulse underneath. When the choir finally crests, it’s proper goosebump territory.

The quiet corners are just as strong. “Fljótavík” and “Straumnes” feel like Polaroids, all salt air and fog, with Kjartan Sveinsson colouring the gaps in soft piano and harmonium. “All Alright”, the closer, is their first song sung in English, and the intimacy is striking. Jónsi barely raises his voice, the lyric reads like a private note, and the restraint lands harder than a wall of sound would have.

A lot of what makes this record sing is the sense of being in the room with them. They tracked in familiar spaces at home, then opened things up in London for the big choral moment. You can hear chairs creak, strings bite, drumsticks clack together. It’s a more immediate Sigur Rós, not so wrapped in reverb, and that suits these songs. The translation of the title is “With a Buzz in Our Ears We Play Endlessly”, and that’s exactly how it feels. Less cathedral, more hall with scuffed floors and the doors flung open to the street.

If you’re the type who hunts for Sigur Rós vinyl, this is one to own. The acoustic guitars and low-end warmth love a turntable, and the pressing brings out air in the room, especially on the slow bloom of “Festival” and the gale-force centre of “Ára bátur”. Plenty of folks discovered the band through this period, then went backwards to Ágætis byrjun, and that makes sense. It’s friendly to newcomers without dulling anything important. If you want to buy Sigur Rós records online, keep an eye out for Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust vinyl because copies don’t sit long. Among Sigur Rós albums on vinyl, it pairs neatly with Heima on the shelf, a sunnier companion to those field recordings and post-tour sighs.

I’ve picked this up from a Melbourne record store bin more than once, handed it to a mate, and said, start here if the name scares you. If you’re digging through vinyl records Australia wide and you spy that McGinley cover, grab it. It’s the sound of a band letting light in, then sharing it around.