16th June 2023 – Royal Festival Hall, Southbank Centre, London.

Sigur Rós start with the brand new Blóðberg, named after a bright pink flower that emerges from the cold, dark Icelandic winter each spring. There’s some similarities with the rock flower too, with Sigur Rós emerging on to a dark stage, filled with the patiently waiting London Contemporary Orchestra dressed in black and wisps of Fischersund incense. The band are dotted through the orchestra, letting the music take pride let of place. It’s a stunning start, even if I can only just see Jonsí.

The performance is part of the Meltdown festival, curated by Christine and the Queens, but this is a big day for Sigur Rós marking the start of their tour, and the release of their first album for a decade. Up the road at Kings Cross, a listening party is underway for Átta, and electronic billboards are displaying the album cover across the city.

Older friends arrive in the form of Ekki múkk and Fljótavík, but it’s the emotion stirring Andvari that really captures the audience, who have until now, kept participation to polite applause. Starálfur remains a thing of beauty, forever associated with the sighting of the Jaguar shark in Wes Anderson’s The Life Aquatic. The delicious Dauðalogn follows, before the band leave us with the orchestra to deliver the nearly forgotten Varðeldur.

After an over priced drink or two at the bar, the band return with Vaka, although a restart is required at the request of Jonsí. It’s not the first time tonight, and a reminder that we’re the first stop on a world tour, and after all, practice does make perfect. There’s a bit of a slump in the second half with neither Ylur or Skel being well enough known to match the weight of expectation – the new album was released only 21 hours previously – and All Alright being particularly introspective. I notice the guy next to me has fallen fast asleep, snoring gently.

We needn’t have worried though. A couple of gifts from Takk are just around the corner. Sé Lest injects some energy with its tinkling refrains and honking brass, whilst the sound of hundreds of wedding ceremonies and BBC nature documentaries, Hoppípolla, is reinserted into the set list after being missing in action for several years. It’s much appreciated by the audience.

There’s some disappointment that Popplagið doesn’t make its traditional appearance to close proceedings; instead the orchestra deliver a forbidding Avalon for us. The band return to bow to the audience, alongside conductor Robert Ames. It’s been a magical night. The standing ovation is fully deserved, and my new seat mate is now fully awake.