Sigur Ros live at The Olympia, Dublin

Silencing a 1200-strong audience with little more than a glockenspiel is certainly no mean feat, but that’s the sort of band that Sigur Rós are. The Icelandic quartet have always been a bewildering phenomenon; universally adored yet respectfully left to their own anonymity, this is an outfit who sing in a hybrid language, and offer as little verbal interaction to an audience as is possible. Few fans can remember their song titles, much less pronounce them – at tonight’s show, someone shouts for ‘Track 7, Album 2’, while the crowd giggle knowingly.
Paradoxically, the Sigur Rós show is little less than a celestial experience – such is the charged atmosphere in the Olympia tonight that the overly reverential audience barely dares to breathe. For the opener, ‘Glosoli’, a cream curtain is still drawn over the stage, against which the shadows of the band flicker. The curtain falls to an excited, feverish whoop; as far as theatrics go, it makes for understated, beguiling viewing.
Tonight, the band’s intimate, exalted music is positively heart-stopping. Girls ac Róss the room are biting their lips, threatening to cry throughout, prompting their partners to draw them ever closer. ‘Viorar Vel Til Loftarasa’ (‘Good Weather For Airstrikes’) is an epic, shuddering monster of a song that boasts an apocalyptic crash, while the string-drenched ‘Hoppipolla’ glistens with hope and exaltation, moving the crowd into forming a sort of unspoken cocoon around the band’s painfully shy singer, Jonsi Birgisson.
Tonight, ‘Popplagio’ (‘The Pop Song’) ends the show and ultimately brings the crowd to its proverbial knees. Starting as a whisper, the 11-minute song ominously builds into a forceful climax that, as the cream curtain rises again, seems to crush the chest. It’s the sort of moment that defies explanation, logic and description.
Sigur Rós – shrouded in magic, secrecy, childlike charm and pale cream silk. Douglas Coupland once described falling in love as a very, very nice car crash that never ends. The same shimmering sentiment rings true for these unassuming, hallowed geniuses.