Kveikur is as melodic and, in places, as fragile as anything the band have released before.
On Kveikur, even the tracks that start off poppy end up dark, a trait that comes across as honest and dynamic rather than relentlessly morbid.
This is dark, progressive music for dark, adult emotions. There’s little that’s whimsical or playful to it, and yet it’s still, somehow, pop music – despite being quite unlike anything else currently in the global mainstream.
Kveikur is a masterstroke effort.
Though Kveikur is more anxious and busy than a lot of their past output, it still possesses the heavenly quality all their other records so admirably held on to as well.
It's unsettling, chaotic, vengeful, astounding, invigorating and forces you to feel a plethora of cacophonous emotions concurrently. It's their loudest record. It's their darkest record. It's their best record in a long, long time.
The variety of experience it offers not just from Valtari, but from the band’s entire catalogue, means that it stands among their best.
It’s breathtaking as well as bloodcurdling.
For Sigur Rós, Kveikur is their most gloves-off release to date and they land the punch.
A collection that works as effectively as a spiritual experience and pop music, the essence of their overwhelming, widescreen grandeur conveyed with the immediacy of a 50-minute rock record.
Kveikur is joy untrammelled.
If the intuitive, star-gazing Valtari served as the rediscovery of Sigur Rós's signature sound, then the instinctual, sober Kveikur is its compulsive reinvention.
There’s little on this album that could be relegated to background music, but it still delivers the emotional payload of their earlier material. Coming fairly quickly on the heels of their 2012 album Valtari, Kveikur reassures their audience that the band hasn’t lost momentum trying to regroup.
I think Keveikur will, for awhile, make a lovely soundtrack as I walk along the shore.
What Kveikur finds these musicians doing is expanding their sound with a sort of Goldilocks principle: not too much or to little change—especially considering how the latter has plagued them before—but just exactly the right amount.
The reinvention of Sigur Rós as clandestine creatures of the night, thunderous and full of chest-out bluster is a development that carries an intrinsic visceral thrill their output could never lay claim to.
While Kveikur isn't a complete reinvention of their sound, it's the kind of palette shift that shows just how versatile and creative Sigur Rós can be.
For those whose faith might have been temporarily tested by Valtari, Kveikur is a vibrant and much-needed reminder that the band's creative well is far from running dry.
On seventh album ‘Kveikur’, Sigur Rós are at their blackest and most sinister, sounding not so much reborn as in the ferocious throes of an almighty exorcism.
It's initially unnerving to witness indie's most celebrated airy faeries butch it up, but the result ultimately satisfies their what-the-hell-do-we-do-next dilemma better than any record since Ágætis byrjun.
The payoffs on Kveikur are close to immediate, but they're no less orchestrated than previous work, coming across like a more focused and fleshed out Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra with sweeter vocals.
Those who have followed the band down the same trails for years will happily be able to do so again. But those who are still hungry for the thickets of Ágætis byrjun or the haunted tundra of Von won’t find many new landmarks here.
It’s a startling album, at once declaring the band’s total independence, their adoration for the music they have made, and their desire to break free, as if somehow trapped.
Kveikur has structure and, hello, grit like never before.
Kveikur largely conforms to existing Sigur Ros templates, and though the quirky rhythms and ethereal vocals of Isjaki spawn a certain magic, something is audibly lacking here.
Kveikur is by no means a bad record: beautifully arranged, it does a good job of avoiding the twee sugariness of Sigur Rós’ last couple of albums. That said, its elements of darkness feel incidental to the overall triumphal blueprint.
Overall, Kveikur is their most teeth-out release for a while.
Wasn't expecting a dark side to Sigur Rós!
Kveikur (meaning either fuse or candlewick) is the 7th album from the Icelandic post-rock band, released in June 2013. It sees the band taking a new direction in contrast to their previous works, musically & thematically.
I'm always fascinated by the cinematic grace of Rós' music and the journey it takes us all on along the way. It poses an uplifting cinematic undertone that slowly unleash all the negative vibes I'd have out into ... read more
One of the many things I adore about Sigur Ros' discography is how alive their music sounds. It sounds almost alien at times, in a good way- I sometimes find it really hard to believe actual humans were behind this rather than some peaceful otherworldly species from another galaxy. This album, though... Kveikur is really different. Yes, it's grandiose, ethereal, and shockingly well-performed and crafted... but this record is NOT peaceful. This album is alive, but not as a peaceful alien ... read more
Sigur Rós Discography Speedrun #7:
This record sounds exactly like the album cover in a way that I can not explain. Scary as fuck I guess...
With this album, Sigur Rós switches to a less ambient style again, and I have to say that this works out way better than their last record. Every track is amazing, and the drums on songs like Yfirborð (which is rated the worst?!). Stormur and Kveikur sound amazing.
And as usual, the instrumentation is insane as well. After all these ... read more
1 | Brennisteinn 7:44 | 97 |
2 | Hrafntinna 6:22 | 91 |
3 | Ísjaki 5:03 | 94 |
4 | Yfirborð 4:19 | 84 |
5 | Stormur 4:55 | 89 |
6 | Kveikur 5:55 | 93 |
7 | Rafstraumur 4:57 | 93 |
8 | Bláþráður 5:11 | 93 |
9 | Var 3:43 | 90 |
#16 | / | CraveOnline |
#20 | / | The 405 |
#29 | / | musicOMH |
#30 | / | Obscure Sound |
#30 | / | Rough Trade |
#32 | / | Urban Outfitters |
#36 | / | Gigwise |
#45 | / | Q Magazine |