I don't envy Boston's meteorologists. Not only do they cover most of New England, but they're facing a climate that's notoriously unpredictable and severe, running the gamut from incapacitating heat to marrow-freezing cold, from nor'easters to hurricanes. Under a hovering deadline, they must assess their data using experience, education, and intuition, and then reach a conclusion. And all for what? So that their audience is-- as one media catchphrase goes-- "in the know?" Hmm... these responsibilities sound strikingly familiar. After all, music critics also throw their opinions out to the world and pray that history doesn't ruin their credibility.

Recently, drastic weather patterns headed for the northeast U.S. had meteorologists hailing the "storm of the ½ century." As the predictions became increasingly dramatic, so too did the public's panic. By the time the storm was supposed to hit, everyone was too busy closing schools and buying emergency supplies to notice that nothing had happened yet. And when the storm finally arrived, it wasn't even the storm of the decade, let alone the "½ century." Sure, it dumped an inordinate amount of snow. But, in my town alone, the "perfect storm" of 1991 sucked a house out to sea, sent forty-foot walls of seawater into the air, and threw boulders the size of Geo Metros onto the causeway. And that was supposed to be a routine storm.

But that's just the way it is with storms. And rock bands. Some hit without warning, like Nirvana, and others are boosted as much by prehype as by the music itself-- like Reykjavik, Iceland's Sigur Rós. Since reading our own Brent DiCrescenzo's review of Ágætis Byrjun-- in which he called them "the first vital band of the 21st Century"-- you've probably seen the hype swell, like a beached whale in summer, from indie publications all the way to Spin's Top 20 of 2000. Not that I think the hype is unwarranted: I was among all but two Pitchfork critics to have Ágætis Byrjun in my Top 20.

While history has yet to fully validate DiCrescenzo et. al., the Svefn-G-Englar EP-- originally released in 1999, but just reissued by the UK indie FatCat-- is additional proof of Sigur Rós' immense talent. The first two songs, however, also appear on Ágætis Byrjun. With its rumbling skies, wailing sirens, and a distant toll, the nine-minute title track builds like a scene out of The Odyssey, then clears in a flash. A calming organ sets the foundation for an onslaught of searing guitar notes and Jón þor "Jónsi" Birgisson's alien vocals-- a Joycean concoction of Icelandic and the band's fabricated patois, "Hopelandish." Aside from the awesome descent at the three-minute mark, the song's movements are subtle; one must patiently wade through them to feel the swirl of conflicting emotion.

"Viðrar Vel Til Loftárása," is a decidedly different piece, opening with a plaintive piano and romantic swells of strings. While not carrying as much emotional depth, this song is decidedly more uplifting-- even teetering, at times, on the level of a dramatic Hollywood movie score. But just before reaching maudlin proportions, it either pulls back, turns to orchestral chaos, or is torn open by a guitar wielded like a power saw.

The two tracks that comprise the second half of the EP were recorded live at the Icelandic Opera House in 1999. "Nýja lagið," a previously unreleased number, opens at a turtle's pace, with casual kickdrums and a snare, light strumming, and a feedback-laden guitar. When Birgisson's demanding voice enters, it doesn't sound nearly as feminine or foreign: he actually sounds like a male, and one feels as though, with enough concentration, the lyrics are almost decipherable. While the inhuman nature of Birgisson vocals is one of Sigur Rós' compelling and unique traits, these less-inhuman vocals actually work here, particularly during the descending moments where Sigur Rós are at their darkest and most poignant.

"Syndir Guðs," an alternate version of a cut from 1997's Von, is equally slow, but more melancholy than funereal. The trademark guitar streaks are held to a minimum-- except at the end-- and the rest of the instruments are unobtrusive for the song's entirety. This places the emphasis fully on Birgisson's voice, which vaults into the stratosphere like Neil Young and Elizabeth Fraser performing a duet on helium.

For those who don't own any Sigur Rós material, this EP is a good introduction to the band. Those of you who already own Ágætis Byrjun are understandably concerned about the 1:1 ratio of songs you have and have not heard. But the two live tracks make this EP worthwhile for at least the addicted fan, of which there are more every day. So is Sigur Rós "the first vital band of the 21st Century?" I'm not venturing a guess. But they are, without a doubt, a vital band. There's no risk on my part in saying that.

-Ryan Kearney