THERE can be few bands whose music is, like Sigur Ros, so intertwined with and inseparable from their homeland.
It is impossible to hear Sigur Ros and not think of Iceland - and I don't mean cheap frozen food and cringe-inducing adverts starring Kerry Katona.
Their music can be, in turns lasting sometimes only moments, glacially slow and unfathomable, as subtle and beautiful as the aurora borealis and as powerful and dramatic as the shifting of tectonic plates or the eruption of a volcano.
Their performance begins with the band standing behind a shimmering curtain, onto which these kind of atmospheric vistas are projected as the band lurks in the darkness, with their shadows also projected from the rear.
Front man Jonsi almost casually bows his guitar (as is his trademark) behind a shimmering green northern lights-esque screen as he begins to breathe the lyrics of a short, slow-building new song, whose title contains characters from the Icelandic alphabet that I don't know if this newspaper is capable of printing.
It is hard to believe that his vocals, that are so unlike anything else ever recorded, are humanly possible - his tortured and bizarre falsetto is pitch-perfect and achingly beautiful as he treats the audience to the highlights of work spanning six studio albums.
The band is supported by a vast array of instrumentation, which includes a trio of violinists who double as backing singers, a flautist and a xylophone.
All combine to form an ethereal gestalt of epic proportions.
It is testament to the band's understanding of their fans that their best-known song, Hoppipolla (or that song off the Planet Earth advert to the uninitiated), is not the climax of this performance, saving instead epic works such as Svefn-g-englar for the post-encore crescendo.
For those who can't afford a trip to see the northern lights this year - go to see Sigur Ros instead - and come away with memories of a different kind of nordic splendor that will last a lifetime.
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