CONCERT: Sigur Ros
Roseland Theater, Portland Oregon
November 25, 2002
Reviewed by Erick Mertz

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It began when I returned her earrings, those she'd left at my house from the weekend before. I placed them into her hand then noted how hair, long around the edges, and buttoned up wool coats, signaled the onset of winter. Being below forty degrees outside, it was no wonder the instant heat and intimacy inside gave them all the feeling they could snap: there is something here with the notion of breaking. Is it me?

As the band takes the stage - one strum, followed by one croon, the lights become as dim as late November is comfortable being. I reach back, inspired by this nascent musical Aurora Borealis and try to remember everything important.

When was the last time I cried?

Is this the Velvets doing The Exploding Plastic Inevitable, only times 10? All around, they want to cheer because they know something is being done to them, but when? Nothing stops long enough really or wants to. Is it inherantly dangerous to endeavour on music this personal live, in the presence of many? You just sit back and watch having already risked it - feel this - then note there are thousands of others around you. That collective silence affirms that an indescribable feeling may just eat you alive - you may just want it to, given the opportunity. If you let it, you might never be cynical again - good; if you let it, a piece of you might not return, having evaporated out of the room like so much steam - better. All the while you consider, there is music built on uncommon breadth and tension, all punctuated with lights and morphing video sublime - has the change already happened? You're one taut moment - another endless croon of meaningless poignancy from really grasping it - then, like gracious conversational guests, over for appetizers and one stirred cocktail of longing introspection, the band bows and leaves.

I just remembered.

© 2002 - Erick Mertz