A primal set for solo act
As a cool drizzle fell on Koreatown, the line for Jónsi Birgisson’s Sunday night show at the Wiltern wrapped around the block and curled itself into a buzzing snake tail, electric with excitement. The Sigur Rós frontman’s most recent SoCal stop, an abbreviated set during the final day of this year’s Coachella festival, had already stirred up fascination with his latest solo LP Go, an orchestral roller coaster that demands to be heard live and in its entirety. So the crowd was ready for his return to the area.
The spectacle that awaited beyond the Wiltern’s doors might have been the concert event of 2010.
Bennington, Vt., trio Mountain Man opened the evening with a stirring set of folk harmonics, aided by only a guitar but elevated by the haunting, painfully beautiful voices of Amelia Meath, Molly Sarle and Alexandra Sauser-Monnig. Their intimate set was a perfect precursor to Jónsi’s sonic symphony.
Jónsi took the main stage just after 9 p.m., sporting an intricately patterned shirt with red cloth tassels, somewhere between Pawnee and Tibetan in appearance. The crowd was quickly soothed to silence with a beautiful acoustic rendition of “Stars in Still Water,” carried by the spare chimes of a xylophone and Jónsi’s unmistakable, alien falsetto, a voice that brought many to tears.
After a roar of applause, Jónsi’s four-man traveling band consisting of boyfriend Alex Somers and three fellow Icelanders took its places behind an impressive arrangement of guitars, harmoniums and drums.
Yet, instead of launching into the punchier singles of Go, Jónsi and Co. segued into the soft, hymnal “Hengilás,” delving into the song with patience and passion, letting every soft note resonate.
Since his emergence into the popular music scene with Sigur Rós, Jónsi has explored a cathartic, almost primal realm with his work, one that very few artists can claim to have even touched. The world of Jónsi’s music is free of cynicism and driven by the barest of human emotions, the kind many of us can only recall feeling as children. It is the same power that has the branded the likes of Tolkien and Debussy into the hearts of generations.
As Jónsi’s set built throughout the night, the show took on a feeling of timelessness, as though the audience members were witness to something that might not come again in their lifetimes. “Icicle Sleeves” moved the show into post-rock territory, with Thor Thorvaldsson’s thunderous drums kicking the song to a higher plateau. The storm brewed further with “Kolnidur” and “Tornado.”
If the aural beauty of the songs, both violent and calming, was not enough to ensnare the minds of all those present, the visual accompaniments were. The band played before a large screen upon which physical scenery was projected, sculpting the atmosphere of each number.
From deciduous trees to penciled animals to burnt warehouse windows, the band’s backdrop managed to transcend the usual projected fare and take on a life of its own, transforming the Wiltern into forests, factories, fires and more.
Never was this more effective than during “Sinking Friendships,” when water began to drip down dirty panes of glass, gathering on the stage. Then, as the song built to its climax, it bubbled back up in a torrent, a virtual ocean as it reached the ceiling again.
By the time Jónsi’s notably more kinetic numbers “Go Do” and “Animal Arithmetic” reared their heads, the crowd was ready to dance. Jónsi himself seemed most playful here.
When unencumbered by his guitar or ukulele, he gallivanted about the stage, singing to the crowd and even making the occasional birdcall or growl into his microphone. It was both an amusing and touching sight to behold.
After closing the initial set with both the acoustic and electric version of “Around Us” and a brain-bending vocal sample solo twisted into unrecognizable shapes by guitar pedals, Jónsi returned to the stage in a colorful feathered headdress and tore into the frenetically fun “Sticks And Stones.”
The crowd appeared game for anything, some dancing without a care in the world, others simply basking in the sounds around them.
The night’s undeniable powerhouse came with the band’s final song, “Grow Till Tall.” As Jónsi slowly worked his way through the song’s gorgeously melancholic vocals, building to one chilling, repeated line, his bandmates gradually emerged with their own instruments. The sound built to a deafening wall of My Bloody Valentine-worthy feedback amid crashing lights, with Jónsi’s heart-stopping voice still audible through the maelstrom.
By the time the show was over, Jónsi and his backing band had created both a musical and visual spectacle.