Mysticism And Music: Sigur Ros
Central to mysticism is an acknowledgement that the universe cannot be fully understood, that there is more to existence than what we can experience empirically.
It's what draws so many mystical seekers to music; other than silence, music seems to be the language of the mystics.
Iceland's Sigur Ros is one of a handful of contemporary artists that seem to be tapping into that divine mystery and sharing their discoveries with the rest of us.
On the 2002 album ( ), Sigur Ros singer Jonsí sings in a language he dubbed Hopelandic, phonetically related to Icelandic but made-up and unintelligible.
He has continued using Hopelandic on some songs in subsequent albums, but ( ) is the only record where he uses it throughout.
Songwriters actually do this all the time - as they work with a melodic idea, they'll often sing nonsense syllables as placeholders until "real" words are written.
The beauty of those nonsense words, however, is that they represent and capture the magic of the creative act, the moment where a melody that didn't exist is all of a sudden given form.
Some would argue the melody was always there; it was just interpreted, maybe channeled, by the writer for the rest of us to hear.
Consciously or not, Jonsí has tapped into a central tenet of mysticism, that human-constructed language, indeed human consciousness itself, is not sufficient to express the mysteries of the cosmos.
He has had the courage to surrender his craft more fully to the muse, to God, to the Holy Spirit, to whatever it is that inspires and engenders the creative act.
Combined with the meditative music Sigur Ros creates, the result of this lyrical surrender is something other-worldy, sublime.
In "Untitled 1"on ( ), for example, we are lifted and transported at the song's climax, practically hurtled into the unknown as Jonsí's vocal soars with the reentry of bass, organ, and some unidentifiable celestial noises.
It's a mixture of euphoria and longing, the way I expect one must feel when passing from this world to the next.
One gets a similar feeling in the rising tension and ear-shattering release of "Glosoli" from 2004's Takk.
(Significantly, ( ) is divided into two distinct halves: a "happy" side - songs 1-4 - and a "sad" side - songs 5-8, separated by a long pause between tracks 4 and 5.
) Our lives at their most fundamental are made of light and dark, soil and spirit, bitterness and sweetness.
And the dichotomy is captured in the gorgeous sound and fury of Sigur Ros.
It's what draws so many mystical seekers to music; other than silence, music seems to be the language of the mystics.
Iceland's Sigur Ros is one of a handful of contemporary artists that seem to be tapping into that divine mystery and sharing their discoveries with the rest of us.
On the 2002 album ( ), Sigur Ros singer Jonsí sings in a language he dubbed Hopelandic, phonetically related to Icelandic but made-up and unintelligible.
He has continued using Hopelandic on some songs in subsequent albums, but ( ) is the only record where he uses it throughout.
Songwriters actually do this all the time - as they work with a melodic idea, they'll often sing nonsense syllables as placeholders until "real" words are written.
The beauty of those nonsense words, however, is that they represent and capture the magic of the creative act, the moment where a melody that didn't exist is all of a sudden given form.
Some would argue the melody was always there; it was just interpreted, maybe channeled, by the writer for the rest of us to hear.
Consciously or not, Jonsí has tapped into a central tenet of mysticism, that human-constructed language, indeed human consciousness itself, is not sufficient to express the mysteries of the cosmos.
He has had the courage to surrender his craft more fully to the muse, to God, to the Holy Spirit, to whatever it is that inspires and engenders the creative act.
Combined with the meditative music Sigur Ros creates, the result of this lyrical surrender is something other-worldy, sublime.
In "Untitled 1"on ( ), for example, we are lifted and transported at the song's climax, practically hurtled into the unknown as Jonsí's vocal soars with the reentry of bass, organ, and some unidentifiable celestial noises.
It's a mixture of euphoria and longing, the way I expect one must feel when passing from this world to the next.
One gets a similar feeling in the rising tension and ear-shattering release of "Glosoli" from 2004's Takk.
(Significantly, ( ) is divided into two distinct halves: a "happy" side - songs 1-4 - and a "sad" side - songs 5-8, separated by a long pause between tracks 4 and 5.
) Our lives at their most fundamental are made of light and dark, soil and spirit, bitterness and sweetness.
And the dichotomy is captured in the gorgeous sound and fury of Sigur Ros.