A gentle high–pitched chime, somewhere on your left. Another. Filling in the spaces, more join in, forming a gentle tinkling carillon which never quite makes it to perfect tonality. A piano adds an occasional note. A couple of minutes later the carillon fades under its own delicacy, Sigur Rós’ trademark scratches and distortions appearing. Ba. Ballet–shoes plunk on a wooden floor. Ba. Little electronic scramblings, and maybe — Ti. — maybe that might be the carillon again… Ki. And then, everything rests for a few seconds before joining in the final Di. Do. section. It’s only about 20 minutes. To me, it’s lovely and interesting, like a tidesmoothed pebble you keep in your pocket, smooth on one side and sharp on the other. Useless. And even as you hoard it you know it belongs somewhere else.
Read about it, at least. :o)
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