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The Comic Genius of Sigur Rós
by Hans Kneesenboom-Zedeysie
Friday, January 18, 2008
The Universiteit van Ghwenste Fanie is a uniquely
progressive institution, encouraging at all times the
maxim(um) of mixing between the student bodies
and the teaching body, in order to promote the great
mittel-Europische ideal that we must all rub along
together because it is the law from Brussels.
This facet of my work I take very seriously, and so I endeavour each
week to spend, velleicht, five or even sex nights in the student union
bar. My post-graduate students seem to have a developed
understanding of the spiritual and mental relaxation this ‘time out’ affords
me, and they are supportive of my fervid intellectual desire always to be
in touch with inner youth. Often they will say to me, ‘Herr Professor
Doktor Kneesenboom-Zedeysie, you are behaving like a child,’ and I find
much solace in this.
But this week my childish things were abruptly put away when, during
one of my bierhof tutorial sessions, while trying to keep tabs on a girl
who was the spitting image of Elisha Cuthbert, I overheard a student
near the jukebox remark that Sigur Rós were ‘like an unimaginative
Doves, on really boring drugs’.
This remark is obviously beneath contempt (the student in question was,
needless to say, not one of mein), as anyone who knows the music of
Sigur Rós will attest. But I have a strong personal reason to refute the
claim: Sigur Rós were the subject of my first academic publication – soR
rugiS: life in three dementias – a monograph which led directly to my
appointment as Professor of Comparative Literature here at UvGF.
I keep an eye out for news of Jonsi, Goggi, Kjarri and Orri Páll Dýrason
(and sometimes, if I’m feeling generous, of Agúst Ǽvar Gunnarsson, the
former drummer who left back in 1999). I feel I have formed a bond with
them. Though presumably Mr Gunnarsson thought that too.
What I like most about Sigur Rós is the inherent sense of humour that
shines through in their oeuvre. So I was delighted to hear that, for their
fifth studio album, Sigur Rós have been working with Producer Flood* –
the catalyst behind famously light-hearted hits from such comic greats
as Smashing Pumpkins, U2, pj harvey and Nick Cave. (I can also tell you
– in confidence, of course – that Producer Flood is a lot like Simon
Cowell: I used to have flugelhorn lessons with Simon, and I must admit
even then we thought his tight t-shirts made him look more than
somewhat in the style of AC/DC.)
The central argument of life in three dementias was simple: Sigur Rós
are an absolute hoot.
The first time I heard ‘Viđrar vel til loftarasa’ I laughed so hard I nearly
fell off my chair. The second time, I gemaäk en pinkel [?! – Eds.] in my
shorts.
And what of ‘bamm bamm bamm’, their tribute to the also-ran Rubble
family in The Flintstones? The tempered mirth ticks along under the
ersatz-morose tune like the taut (and/or ‘taught’) rhythms of a Jimmy
Carr joke, and with every bit as much chance of offending your mother.
Another reason why ‘bamm bamm bamm’ is a comedy classic is that the
violin ostinato is a reversed sample of ‘A Day In The Life’ from Sergeant
Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Playing things backwards is pretty
tricky in the digital age: the effect is very difficult to recreate on a CD
player, and almost impossible on an iPod. But the whole business is ganz
amusant because everyone knows that Sergeant Pepper was not at all
lonely. Look at all his friends standing with him on the front cover!
The ‘Ae-ie-aye-oh-yü… (yeah…)’ choruses of ‘Starálfur’ crack me up
because they always remind me of the farting-in-the-lift scene in
Liar Liar. I have fond memories of that scene, mostly because I was
actually once in a lift with Jim Carrey** when he made a breaking of the
wind. A real flugelhorner, as Simon might have called it.
[The incident occurred while Mr Carrey was on sabbatical at the
Universiteit in the mid ‘90s. He had come to study with my colleague
Glottfried Friedglott, in our department of Suggestive Glottals. The
department is internationally renowned: Professor Freidglott was recently
awarded a research rating of five gold stars for his ground-breaking work
on Implied Glottalisation in the Mid-Kent area of the UK. (I have seen the
certificate many times, when I have been – what is the phrase – doing
the horizontal oom-pah with Frau Friedglott.)
The 39 members of the SG department’s teaching staff are housed in the
UvGF’s tremendous $450m performing arts centre, built to a brilliant
design by Frank Gehry, the specifications of which are so precise that it
leaks only in summer because in the winter months ice accrues in the
exterior walls, thereby sealing the gaps. Wunderbar! Most of the time the
lifts didn’t work, owing to the fact that the building was constructed at a
14° angle to the horizontal plane, but on this occasion they must have
been working, because I was in one with Jim Carrey when he let one go.
Naturally, he tried to pin it on me. Or waft it onto me, at any rate. And
then he tried to blame one of the office secretaries.
But I was having none of it, and with deft use of Schoeperv’s Secondary
Blowback theorem I demonstrated beyond contention that it had
definitely been he who had guffed.
Shortly after this incident Mr Carrey left the Universiteit in a sulk. Idiotic,
rubber-faced punk-hundin.]
Everyone in Iceland knows as sure as his feet are numb that the funniest
hour of the day is the 18 seconds before sunrise.
In a touching nod to their kinsmen, the liner notes to Ágtis byrjun open
with the famed Icelandic song of yore (actually ‘their’):
by Hans Kneesenboom-Zedeysie
Friday, January 18, 2008
The Universiteit van Ghwenste Fanie is a uniquely
progressive institution, encouraging at all times the
maxim(um) of mixing between the student bodies
and the teaching body, in order to promote the great
mittel-Europische ideal that we must all rub along
together because it is the law from Brussels.
This facet of my work I take very seriously, and so I endeavour each
week to spend, velleicht, five or even sex nights in the student union
bar. My post-graduate students seem to have a developed
understanding of the spiritual and mental relaxation this ‘time out’ affords
me, and they are supportive of my fervid intellectual desire always to be
in touch with inner youth. Often they will say to me, ‘Herr Professor
Doktor Kneesenboom-Zedeysie, you are behaving like a child,’ and I find
much solace in this.
But this week my childish things were abruptly put away when, during
one of my bierhof tutorial sessions, while trying to keep tabs on a girl
who was the spitting image of Elisha Cuthbert, I overheard a student
near the jukebox remark that Sigur Rós were ‘like an unimaginative
Doves, on really boring drugs’.
This remark is obviously beneath contempt (the student in question was,
needless to say, not one of mein), as anyone who knows the music of
Sigur Rós will attest. But I have a strong personal reason to refute the
claim: Sigur Rós were the subject of my first academic publication – soR
rugiS: life in three dementias – a monograph which led directly to my
appointment as Professor of Comparative Literature here at UvGF.
I keep an eye out for news of Jonsi, Goggi, Kjarri and Orri Páll Dýrason
(and sometimes, if I’m feeling generous, of Agúst Ǽvar Gunnarsson, the
former drummer who left back in 1999). I feel I have formed a bond with
them. Though presumably Mr Gunnarsson thought that too.
What I like most about Sigur Rós is the inherent sense of humour that
shines through in their oeuvre. So I was delighted to hear that, for their
fifth studio album, Sigur Rós have been working with Producer Flood* –
the catalyst behind famously light-hearted hits from such comic greats
as Smashing Pumpkins, U2, pj harvey and Nick Cave. (I can also tell you
– in confidence, of course – that Producer Flood is a lot like Simon
Cowell: I used to have flugelhorn lessons with Simon, and I must admit
even then we thought his tight t-shirts made him look more than
somewhat in the style of AC/DC.)
The central argument of life in three dementias was simple: Sigur Rós
are an absolute hoot.
The first time I heard ‘Viđrar vel til loftarasa’ I laughed so hard I nearly
fell off my chair. The second time, I gemaäk en pinkel [?! – Eds.] in my
shorts.
And what of ‘bamm bamm bamm’, their tribute to the also-ran Rubble
family in The Flintstones? The tempered mirth ticks along under the
ersatz-morose tune like the taut (and/or ‘taught’) rhythms of a Jimmy
Carr joke, and with every bit as much chance of offending your mother.
Another reason why ‘bamm bamm bamm’ is a comedy classic is that the
violin ostinato is a reversed sample of ‘A Day In The Life’ from Sergeant
Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Playing things backwards is pretty
tricky in the digital age: the effect is very difficult to recreate on a CD
player, and almost impossible on an iPod. But the whole business is ganz
amusant because everyone knows that Sergeant Pepper was not at all
lonely. Look at all his friends standing with him on the front cover!
The ‘Ae-ie-aye-oh-yü… (yeah…)’ choruses of ‘Starálfur’ crack me up
because they always remind me of the farting-in-the-lift scene in
Liar Liar. I have fond memories of that scene, mostly because I was
actually once in a lift with Jim Carrey** when he made a breaking of the
wind. A real flugelhorner, as Simon might have called it.
[The incident occurred while Mr Carrey was on sabbatical at the
Universiteit in the mid ‘90s. He had come to study with my colleague
Glottfried Friedglott, in our department of Suggestive Glottals. The
department is internationally renowned: Professor Freidglott was recently
awarded a research rating of five gold stars for his ground-breaking work
on Implied Glottalisation in the Mid-Kent area of the UK. (I have seen the
certificate many times, when I have been – what is the phrase – doing
the horizontal oom-pah with Frau Friedglott.)
The 39 members of the SG department’s teaching staff are housed in the
UvGF’s tremendous $450m performing arts centre, built to a brilliant
design by Frank Gehry, the specifications of which are so precise that it
leaks only in summer because in the winter months ice accrues in the
exterior walls, thereby sealing the gaps. Wunderbar! Most of the time the
lifts didn’t work, owing to the fact that the building was constructed at a
14° angle to the horizontal plane, but on this occasion they must have
been working, because I was in one with Jim Carrey when he let one go.
Naturally, he tried to pin it on me. Or waft it onto me, at any rate. And
then he tried to blame one of the office secretaries.
But I was having none of it, and with deft use of Schoeperv’s Secondary
Blowback theorem I demonstrated beyond contention that it had
definitely been he who had guffed.
Shortly after this incident Mr Carrey left the Universiteit in a sulk. Idiotic,
rubber-faced punk-hundin.]
Everyone in Iceland knows as sure as his feet are numb that the funniest
hour of the day is the 18 seconds before sunrise.
In a touching nod to their kinsmen, the liner notes to Ágtis byrjun open
with the famed Icelandic song of yore (actually ‘their’):
| CONTACT THE LIZARD |
| Updated at least 26½ times a day |
| Kultur Kolüm |
Ég gaf ykkur von sem varđ ađ vonbrigđum …
Why did the blonde*** cross the road …[?]
Why did the blonde*** cross the road …[?]
Petta er ágætis byrjun
To get to the Superboats Exhibition.
To get to the Superboats Exhibition.
And so we find the secret tucked away (in full view, so to speak) in the
very title: such is their love of their native Iceland, they choose to name
their album for their countrymen’s second favourite hobby after
alcoholism.
When Steps sang their iconic, hetero-ska sonata-form hit La-la-la-la-la-la
I had feared the pinnacle of ironic pop wit had been reached, and from
here on it could only be down, down, all the way to the depths of Jarvis
Cocker’s legs.
But Sigur Rós’ ethereal counter-cultural homage to the Olsen twins
(‘Olsen Olsen’) has given me renewed hope.
These boys wear their comic heart on their sleeve-notes, and the
wingéd, gestating foetus on the cover of Ágætis byrjun says it all: here is
the tragicomedy of life, from birth to the grave. The great joke, by the
Big Prankster up in the sky. And they are laughing right back at him.
Addi 800 allt mögulegra
Álafosskór söng
Pétur strauk stáliđ
Gerdur kontrabassađist
Ken Thomas allt mögulegt
Ask for Sigur Rós whenever you wish; you shall not find them grave men.
Listen to extracts from Sigur Rós’ DVD Heima/Hvarf-Heim HERE
---
* who moonlights as Organist and Master of the Choristers at Canterbury
Cathedral.
** Not to be confused with George Carey, the former Archbishop of
Canterbury, and consequently the erstwhile employer of Producer Flood.
Though I understand that George is a big fan of Jim’s work (with the
obvious exception of Bruce Almighty: the clergyman felt that the bit
where Jennifer Aniston’s boobs grew three sizes overnight was pushing it,
even within the logic of divine intervention).
*** More accurately - ‘flaxen blonde’; but the Icelandic variant words for
‘blond(e)’ fell out of common usage centuries ago, owing to a total lack of
adjectival competition. They are retained by poets only (alongside the
extensive vocabulary dedicated to lava formations and the manufacture
of fibre-glass hulls).
Hans Kneesenboom-Zedeysie is Professor of Comparative Literatures at the
Universiteit van Ghwentse Fanie
© lizardmagazine.com, 2008
Last week:
very title: such is their love of their native Iceland, they choose to name
their album for their countrymen’s second favourite hobby after
alcoholism.
When Steps sang their iconic, hetero-ska sonata-form hit La-la-la-la-la-la
I had feared the pinnacle of ironic pop wit had been reached, and from
here on it could only be down, down, all the way to the depths of Jarvis
Cocker’s legs.
But Sigur Rós’ ethereal counter-cultural homage to the Olsen twins
(‘Olsen Olsen’) has given me renewed hope.
These boys wear their comic heart on their sleeve-notes, and the
wingéd, gestating foetus on the cover of Ágætis byrjun says it all: here is
the tragicomedy of life, from birth to the grave. The great joke, by the
Big Prankster up in the sky. And they are laughing right back at him.
Addi 800 allt mögulegra
Álafosskór söng
Pétur strauk stáliđ
Gerdur kontrabassađist
Ken Thomas allt mögulegt
Ask for Sigur Rós whenever you wish; you shall not find them grave men.
Listen to extracts from Sigur Rós’ DVD Heima/Hvarf-Heim HERE
---
* who moonlights as Organist and Master of the Choristers at Canterbury
Cathedral.
** Not to be confused with George Carey, the former Archbishop of
Canterbury, and consequently the erstwhile employer of Producer Flood.
Though I understand that George is a big fan of Jim’s work (with the
obvious exception of Bruce Almighty: the clergyman felt that the bit
where Jennifer Aniston’s boobs grew three sizes overnight was pushing it,
even within the logic of divine intervention).
*** More accurately - ‘flaxen blonde’; but the Icelandic variant words for
‘blond(e)’ fell out of common usage centuries ago, owing to a total lack of
adjectival competition. They are retained by poets only (alongside the
extensive vocabulary dedicated to lava formations and the manufacture
of fibre-glass hulls).
Hans Kneesenboom-Zedeysie is Professor of Comparative Literatures at the
Universiteit van Ghwentse Fanie
© lizardmagazine.com, 2008
Last week: