The Sound of Ruins: Sigur Rós’ Heima and the Post-Rock Elegy for Place (excerpt)
By Lawson Fletcher
Post-rock’s soundscapes
… to pour sound between wood and stone, like rain on an April morning.
- Richard Skelton, Landings
Post-rock’s specific form of performance – using mediated forms to ‘sound out’ the repressed or unnoticed dimensions of particular places – complicates Schafer’s well-known argument that artificial sounds are a negative intervention into an otherwise harmonious ‘natural’ soundscape (1993). Rather than producing a ‘lo-fi’ din (Schafer 1993, p.52), for instance, Sigur Rós’ recordings and performances interact with the natural and built environments in which they play in a form of resonance, enabling them to represent the absences of such spaces through technologised additions. Paradoxically, these additions produce the very ethics of hearing place that Schafer himself advocated, an active attentiveness to the unnoticed and, moreover, lost dimensions of the acoustic and physical ecology of a place. Certainly, there is a profoundly melancholic dimension to this practice, insofar as it remains a temporary ‘audio restoration’ (Ximm 2007) that precisely cannot bring back or directly embody the Icelandic landscape, but instead only resonate with its aporias.
Indeed, the enduring paradox of Heima, that which gives the film its power as an audiovisual experience of loss and change, is that highly technical forms – digital documentary, concert spectacle and recorded music – can be used to symbolically invoke these aspects of the ‘natural’ environment. Whilst certain aspects of the film suggest a false dichotomy between rural and urban, natural and artificial, in terms of apparently ‘natural’ acoustic performances at the protest camp and in rural villages against the amplified, post-dubbed stage spectacle at the Reykjavík city concert, these distinctions are, in fact, subtly blurred. Consider the complex movement from the entirely acoustic performance of ‘Vaka’ at the protest camp, which almost imperceptibly segues into a separate, post-dubbed performance of the same song in a different location for its final moments.
Whilst the sparse quality of the former fits with the stark beauty of the intercut shots of the wilderness, it is the specific technological details of electric amplification, fully-microphoned recording and post-production, that lend the latter a profoundly elegiac quality, as the band play facing an empty hillside, juxtaposed with footage of the dam construction and subsequently flooded wilderness. Sigur Rós can no longer play at this place – as keyboardist Kjartan Sveinsson remarks, “it can’t be taken back … it’s flooded now and it’s really sad” – so their electrified performance plays to its memory, becoming a means to enact the overwhelming sense of loss that comes with its destruction. The implication here is that only the reverberative and affective qualities of recorded sound can properly ‘fill in’ such a massive spatial and emotional erasure.
http://www.interferencejournal.com/articles/a-sonic-geography/the-sound-of-ruins