Sigur Ros' "Valtari" and the Counterculture of Hope

It often seems that the need to halt the conspiratorial and destructive spiral of contemporary greed and ambition is more pronounced than ever, but the struggle to just to make ends meet from one day to the next often takes precedence. For me, this dissonance between action and inaction generates a troubling undercurrent of frustration, shame, and helplessness. I feel even more disturbed when I, an unapologetic music consumer, consider the role that mediated music plays in this system. On the one hand, it has the potential to provide meaning (and perhaps a sinister distraction) in a culture of isolation. On the other, it is also driven by its status as a disposable commodity. This duality is not new, and there never seems to be a lack of countercultural music to represent the anger and rage it creates. There is far less music, however, that genuinely speaks for hope.

The nearly orchestral approach of Sigur Ros hardly gives the impression of countercultural defiance, but clearly, their distinctive mix of Icelandic and non-literal lyrics is a testament to their interest in musical expression over broad visibility. The band's previous album, Med sud I eyrum vid spilum endalaust, was as close to commercial as they have ever released. In comparison, their recent release Valtari prominently features Sigur Ros’ atmospheric and ambient side. Initially, it seems a bit unfocused and meandering, but it is a work of beauty that rewards the patient listener.

Sigur Ros has traditionally mined the narrative capacity of their music by pairing striking images with sweeping soundscapes in their film projects. For Valtari, the band sponsored twelve directors with a uniform budget and gave them the artistic latitude to render their mind’s eye, free of input from the band. The results from several of these projects have been released, and I found Varuo to be particularly moving. Like the album in general, it rewards the patient viewer with a subtle message of isolation, communication, connection, harmony, and transcendence.



Sigur Ros doesn’t explicitly proselytize for hope, but their music carries weight precisely because of its subtlety. From a pessimistic point of view, the majestic beauty of Valtari could be seen as a sedative for the hyperactive; a commodity intended to colorize a grayed-out existence. Conversely, it also leaves little room for doubt that there are human hands and minds at work to represent the poignant beauty of the human condition. This latter perspective is, in my opinion, defiantly hopeful in the face of disillusion, and provides the emotional space for me to be moved by the sight of my daughter sleeping peacefully in the back seat of my car as I struggle through traffic.

Ratatat's "Classics" Set the Stage

One of the best finds of 2010 was the band Ratatat. LP4 ended up being a top ten album, and the only reason that its 2008 predecessor LP3 did not push out MUTEMATH’s debut was because of the “one band/one album” rule (I really have to get all these rules written out - they're more complicated than they seem!). In retrospect, I have several albums from that list that are still sort of “stuck in 2010,” but I still regularly get the craving to get my Ratatat on. Even today, the Little One often has obligatory dance contests to Neckbrace.



By February, I was convinced that Ratatat could do no wrong and I was ready to dip further into their back catalog, so I picked up their 2006 album Classics.  As I stated in my roundups, however, Classics put an odd damper on my fascination with the band. If you are familiar with Ratatat’s distinctive sound, the album clearly exhibits the same kalideoscopic, sliding grooves of its successors. On the surface It seemed that all of the pieces were in place for another Ratatat masterpiece, but no matter how much I listened to Classics, I couldn’t get it to click.



During my year-end review period, I have returned to Classics to see if I could figure out if I was missing out on something.  Going back to it now, it seems to me that an average track on Classics would serve as mere accompaniment on their later work. It’s like a play that has really amazing and elaborate sets, but has actors that stand awkwardly on the stage, smiling and waving ambiguously. There might be value in just admiring the sets, but ultimately, it’s the narrative as presented by the actors that provide the interest for the audience. In comparison, the slick melodic focus on LP4 and LP3 might best be compared to a Cirque del Soleil extravaganza.

In reviewing previous posts, I noticed that I mentioned the “narrative capacities” of music, which is the sort of academic claptrap I initially tried to avoid in this blog. Early on, I promised myself that if I were going to stoop to such lingo, I probably should take the time to clearly define what I mean. I’ve pretty much failed to do this since, oh, March or so. Sorry about that.

A superficial conception of narrative capacity might rest entirely on the story that a song’s lyrics tell. For example, do the lyrics mean only what they say, or do they point out to a broader context? From a perhaps more holistic point of view, narrative capacity can also refer to what the music is trying to say, either directly or by implication, as an entire experience. From this perspective, instrumental music can say something as clearly as music with lyrics, so much so that even the most vague imagery will seem to imply some kind of story or subtext.



Yes, that's the official video.  Say what you will, but don't pretend that, for the briefest of seconds, you didn't wonder what the bird was thinking.

Classics certainly sounds like it says something, but its statement is not nearly as clear as those found on LP3 and LP4. It’s mostly made up of grooves, which speak most clearly when they serve as a framework for melodic expression. Without listening to their first album for perspective, I will venture to guess that that Classics was a necessary step in Ratatat’s development. It’s pretty good, but it doesn’t represent what they would go on to do.

Pink Floyd's "Obscured by Clouds:" The Ghost of Steve Jobs

While the rest of the city was waking up, the shopping center was eerily still.  Its well-lit window advertisements faced one another but, waiting in the early dawn, beckoned to no one. The only establishment open at this hour was the quiet coffee shop that has become the site of my ritual morning stop. I exited with a large coffee in hand and finally felt prepared to start my day when I noticed that the Apple store, with its frameless windows and backlit iconography, seemed particularly surreal in its stillness. Stopping for a second to absorb the moment, I found several flower arrangements set up by the door, left in tribute to Steve Jobs.

From a business standpoint, I never forgave Apple for trying to convert my MP3 library to ITunes format. As an idea person, though, Steve Jobs did a lot to make computers less like the 80s movie Wargames and more like the idealized 60s future in Star Trek. His gadgets and others based on them have burrowed into everyday American life, and because of this, Apple devotees regard him as a saint. Still, to go out in the middle of the night and lay flowers on the front door of your local Apple store seems a little like zealotry.

As I pulled away, I took in the scene one last time through my car window and the surreal took a turn towards the dreamlike under the influence of Pink Floyd;s distinctive atmospherics. I have always been a dedicated fan of Pink Floyd, but my teenage prejudice against 60s style production has been a limiting factor on anything released before Dark Side of the Moon. I'm really quite embarrassed to admit that my knowledge of this era of Floyd’s repertoire is patchy at best. With the exception of Meddle, I’ve never gone back to immerse myself in it - that is, until the recent spate of sale-priced Pink Floyd remasters provided the incentive. Obscured by Clouds was the one to open this can of worms, and that was, at the time, serving as Jobs’ ad-hoc requiem.

There was a lot that I did not know about this album. Obscured by Clouds is a soundtrack to a film called La Vallee. In the film, an isolated tribe in New Guinea meets the Western gaze for the first time: a classic rendering of the transformational ethnographic encounter.



Obscured by Clouds was recorded quite quickly during the Dark Side of the Moon sessions. The musical connection it has with this land mark and its predecessor is noticeable. From a certain perspective, it does seem a bit like a collection of Meddle B-sides and Dark Side demos. By itself, Obscured by Clouds might seem less coherent than its bookends, but when viewed as an extension of these classic albums it has an engaging relevance. Regardless, it holds together better than most other bands’ best work.

Pink Floyd rarely played the Obscured by Clouds material live, so vintage performance footage is pretty rare. Still, several tracks, like Childhood’s End, harbor the ghost of future Floyd.



Pink Floyd’s early resume boasts a significant amount of soundtrack work, and doubtlessly their music predisposes itself towards this use. Throughout their career, they capitalized on the visual and narrative capacities of their music (as have their fans – Wizard of Oz, anyone?). This characteristic was most likely cultivated and formed in their early soundtrack work. It’s a particularly unique quality of Pink Floyd’s instrumental side to suggest a narrative where one is not explicitly given. For me, it caused me to contemplate a man I did not know, but that inspired an empty store, a glowing icon, and floral tributes in the breaking dawn.