Sigur Rós -- Untitled #1 / Vaka

7/10

Sigur Rós' catalogue's nooks and crannies are stuffed with b-sides and rarities, and I'll be reviewing a few of them here. 2003's Untitled #1 / Vaka could have just been a single, as the opening track is "Untitled" # 1 from their great ( ) album. However, the band have imagined a new continuation of the track, adding three additional songs that head in quite a different direction than the seven that followed "Untitled" #1 on ( ). In the spirit of ( ), though, none of the three songs have titles, going by simply "Track 2," "Track 3," and "Track 4," respectively.  These nondescript titles are also apt, as this 18.5 minute EP features some of the coldest, most alienating music of Sigur Rós' career.
I previously described ( )'s "Untitled" #1 as "a morning mournful call through snowy fog," but the song does a have a hopeful, wall-of-noise climax, and the response to its call is ( )'s ever-warming first half. The response on this EP, however, is diametrically opposed to that. "Track 2" is even more mournful and desperate, carrying on the pitch-shifting vocal drone of "Untitled" #1," and adding a new high and searching alien vocal from Jónsi Birgisson, along with rising, elegaic horns, and funereal strings.

This wintry blizzard of emotion is carried off by a nasally, somehow even more alien Birgisson vocal line, buzzing uncomfortably as "Track 3"'s piano slowly rises. The sad, slow piano figure, along with the gently weeping strings, gives the impression of slowly rolling end credits in an empty theater, after a film about a life ended tragically. I must ad the caveat, either I was undergoing one of the more intense depressive periods of my life when I first heard this, or it just really is that damned depressing. And the bleakest moment is saved for last.
Imagine you've fallen off a ship with a weight tied to your leg in the middle of the night. The water is icy, miles deep, obsidian. The ship sends a deep, slowly repeated call into the depths as you sink, lack of oxygen slowing numbing your brain, as you realize this is the last sound you will ever hear. I'm gonna go have a drink.
Yes, this work is not only the single most depressing music I have in my collection, but possibly have ever heard. It is like God is weeping. It is like the lamentations of the dead. It is as heavy as an infinite, entombing sea. Every time I hear it, I am reminded of that feeling where you have been in your room with the lights off for weeks, and should be crying, but you can't cry because you can't feel anything. For my own health, let's move on to the next review.

2003 Fat Cat
1. Untitled #1 / Vaka 6:43
2. Track 2 4:38
3. Track 3 2:47
4. Track 4 4:22