Sigur Ros With Steindor Andersen, Hilmar Orn Hilmarsson And Maria Huld Markan Sigfusdottir - Odin's Raven Magic (2LP)

Some records feel like they slip through time before they land on the shelf. Odin’s Raven Magic is one of those, a live recording captured in 2002 and finally released on 4 December 2020 through the band’s Krunk imprint. Sigur Rós share top billing with rímur chanter Steindór Andersen, composer Hilmar Örn Hilmarsson and violinist-composer María Huld Markan Sigfúsdóttir, and the result is a stark, spellbinding tribute to Hrafnagaldur Óðins, the mysterious Icelandic poem that lends the album its title. It is a concert work first and a rock album second, but the voice of the band is unmistakable.

You can hear it in the long arcs of Jónsi’s falsetto and the creak of bowed guitar, the air lying heavy with strings and low brass, and the sense of ceremony that hangs over every entrance. Then there is the stone marimba, a lithophone built from Icelandic rock and played here by artist-musician Páll Guðmundsson. When it comes to the front of the mix, the music takes on a tactile, elemental pulse, as if the landscape itself has come to keep time. It is an image Sigur Rós have flirted with across their catalogue, but here it is literal, a percussion instrument quarried from home.

The album documents a performance in Paris in 2002, when the band were riding the wave of Ágætis byrjun and the then-new untitled record. Instead of doubling down on their own myth, they folded themselves into a larger Icelandic tradition. Andersen’s rímur delivery is the anchor, austere and unfussy, and he occupies the centre like a narrator by a winter fire. When Jónsi’s voice rises above him, you get that old tension between earth and sky that made the band famous, yet the balance never tips into melodrama. Strings gather, a choir swells, the stone notes clatter and ring, and the piece keeps circling the same grave, inevitable cadence.

The story behind the text is a whole rabbit hole. Hrafnagaldur Óðins sits alongside the Poetic Edda in many editions, but scholars have argued for years about its age and authorship. That ambiguity suits the music. You feel the weight of ritual without being pushed to decode a plot. If you come to Sigur Rós for their widescreen melancholy, there is plenty to sink into, though the mood here is sterner, more ceremonial than their studio work. It is closer to a requiem than a post-rock crescendo, and that distinction matters if you are eyeing off the Odin’s Raven Magic vinyl for your shelf.

The recording has the bloom of a good hall and the slight seat-creak of a real audience, which fits the material. Hilmar Örn Hilmarsson and María Huld Markan Sigfúsdóttir’s hand in the composition keeps things grounded in orchestral logic. You can hear how carefully the layers are introduced, how the choir is saved for weight and colour rather than just size. Fans who saw Sigur Rós with amiina on those early tours will recognise the way the strings cushion and then prick the texture, and how the bowed guitar is treated like another voice in the choir.

Not every moment glows. The pacing asks patience, and some sections tread in place by design, letting timbre do the work while harmony stands still. That can feel austere if you are in the mood for something like Glósóli. Yet with the volume up and the room quiet, the music opens out and settles into your breathing. Reviews at the time of release noted the solemn tone, and they were right, but there is warmth here too, not least in the way Andersen’s lines are answered by the ensemble like a congregation.

If you collect Sigur Rós albums on vinyl, this one fills a very particular niche. It sits apart from the core studio records, yet makes sense of the band’s fascination with old forms and elemental sound. The packaging on the Odin’s Raven Magic vinyl suits the gravity of the music, and the mastering preserves the chiselled edges of the stone percussion without crowding the voices. It is the kind of piece that rewards an uninterrupted side, needle down and lights low, the way we like it in a Melbourne record store listening booth.

For anyone looking to buy Sigur Rós records online, this is an easy recommendation, provided you know you are signing up for a modern ritual rather than a set of songs. It also makes a fine introduction to Steindór Andersen’s rímur tradition, and to the broader circle around the band, including María Huld Markan Sigfúsdóttir’s compositional voice. In a year when live music felt distant, the 2020 release landed like a postcard from an earlier era. If you’re browsing vinyl records Australia wide and spot Sigur Rós vinyl in the wild, keep an eye out for this collaboration. It is a time capsule, but it still breathes.