Live Review: Sigur Ros

Like their motherland, the music of Sigur Ros is vast, and starkly beautiful. Iceland's alien serenity inspires everything they write, and immense volcanic energy writhes and boils underneath the surface, occasionally bursting forth in luminous fountains of heat and light. While the group has down-shifted to a three-piece in the last few years, their unique power hasn't diminished. A sold out Hordern crowd will gladly testify to that effect.

The show was a vortex. Their slow passages of ambient drone drained time of its momentum. During crushing waves of bowed-guitar distortion, time sped up. It felt freeing. A complex light show of LED screens, spots and tube lighting felt like a direct link to a mind beyond the point of singularity. The iridescent blue-green swirls of an oil spill transformed into fire. Fire became stars flying by at light speed. Giant crystal structures appeared and disappeared, and what looked like a decaying metal boneyard bathed in red became the surface of the sun.

Over all this: Jonsi Birgisson's unbelievable falsetto. His voice is an international treasure. Iceland (like Wales) is peopled by natural singers. Birgisson is one of their greatest. Even dripping in reverb, it cut right through the noise. He glided through octaves like a bird riding an updraft.

Their sound has shifted throughout their career. Valtari, their sixth album, is quiet and meditative, while their follow-up, Kveikur, is far more rock-centric. Agaetis Byrjun, familiar to most, is their most mercurial, flowing between restraint and crescendo at will. The two-act show covered most of their work, favouring ( ) in particular. It was a tribute to their versatility as well as their skill. It gained some heft as it rolled implacably towards the climax, and ultimately will be remembered for these latter movements. The quiet moments, however, were etched somewhere deeper.