Many a critical evaluation of Icelandic quartet Sigur Ros has resorted to stock imagery of molten magma, omnipotent ice fields and burbling hot springs--and reasonably so. There's no disavowing the geophysical heartbeat which invigorates the very soul of this most supernatural of bands. Takk may well be Sigur Ros's most stimulating interpretation of their habitat yet--verdant serenity to pregnant anticipation to brutal paroxysms of volcanic thunder via icicle-like celestes, howling electrical winds of curving guitar feedback and hymns seemingly sung by castrato pixies. Strange and overwhelmingly beautiful. Some may think of Sigur Ros as a permafrosted Pink Floyd (circa Zabriskie Point) and while it's facile to say as much it's an honour certainly worthy of them. There's a seamless, symphonic poetry to Takk where the exultant "Gong", the euphoric choristry of "Hoppipolla" (like the Beach boys turned into snowmen) and the National Geographic panoramas of "Glososli" blend with intuitive homogeneity. You'll wish you were here. --Kevin Maidment
