Sigur Ros: Takk

Herald rating: * * * * *

It's tempting, as always to get out both the Thesaurus (Ice Age Edition) and cross-reference it to Tolkien's more Elvish chapters when it comes to describing what it is that Sigur Ros do.

The Icelandic art-rock quartet have been doing that for 10 years. This is their fourth album proper. It follows 2002's baffling () - or brackets - a slab of mystical melancholy which suggested they wanted to retreat back into obscurity after the attention they got on second album Agtis Byrjun.

But here, it sounds like spring has sprung in Sigur Ros's misty world. Not only do the songs come with titles this time - unlike () - they sound like songs, not atmospheres swirling around in search of a centre.

They have vocals, choruses, chord changes, and the sort of dynamic shifts which show the band are as adept at dramatics as they are at drones.

Yes, singalongs remain a challenge - Jonsi Birgisson has thoughtfully swapped his made-up "Hopelandish" lyrics for his native Icelandic. But subtitles would ruin the effect, especially as his falsetto on some songs suggests the Flaming Lips in a Scandinavian love-in with My Bloody Valentine, with Bjork banging on the wall next door.

It's an album evoking meltdowns and thawing more than the pristine glacial mood of its predecessors. Some songs like the title track can start out like the sort of celestial whoosh-athons that Legolas has on his iPod.

And there are arpeggiating pianos aplenty - Hoppipolla and Milano start out tickling the ivories with Coldplay-like studiousness before getting swept away in the rising tide of strings, guitars and hydraulic drums.

There are moments when Takk goes volcanic. Like when the spark on slow-fused Glosoi detonates its incendiary guitars.

With perfectly placed explosions peppering its otherworldly lulls, it's an album which gathers momentum. And it's that disarming energy and sense of impetus that makes Takk far more than an avant-garde curiosity.

Label: EMI