( ) [or Svigaplatan, which translates to 'The Bracket Album], 180G Black Vinyl 2LP, Cardboard single sleeve jacket with die-cut ( ) and spot UV inner record sleeves
( ), the band's third LP, is a climactic, tear-jerking diary; the music has the ability to dwarf just about any album played before or after. It's the kind of album that is so intangibly gigantic that you feel unworthy and uncomfortable in its presence, like trying to chat-it-up with Bill O'Reilly about current affairs, or trying to keep up with the elitist art gala frequenters in Manhattan.
Despite its epic scale, ( ) is more reclusive than its over-the-top predecessor, Ágætis Byrjun. The eight tracks are methodically divided into two parts: the first features light-hearted, almost spiritual tracks, while the last half consists of bombastic compositions, replete with crescendos, wailing guitars, and thick layers of noise. The two halves are divided by 30 seconds of silence. Each song retains a snail-paced tempo, opting for a consistently subdued style rather than the eclectic stew of Ágætis Byrjun.
The elements that made Ágætis so affective are hard-at-work again: the reverb-drenched instruments, the bowed guitars, the lush violins, the thick basslines, the falsetto-laden crooning. But these elements are shoved through a different filter, one that is almost monochromatic, as each track has similar emotional outputs. However, the filter did not weed out the consonance and heart of its predecessor; if anything, ( ) continues right where the emotions on Ágætis left off, at least for the first half of the album. The second half, however, shows the darker side of Sigur Rós, a side that has been shown previously, but not in all its unabashed glory like on this album. -Tiny Mix Tapes