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Amiina enchant like a peek inside an elven gathering under the roots of Yggdrasil.
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Amiina now daintily rap at the doors of a larger audience with a sound that is as delicate as it is arresting.
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It almost feels as if there's something quietly revolutionary about this gently overwhelming record. Either way, a revelation.
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Whatever the permutations, Amiina's fragile magic can't fail to beguile.
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Like many within Iceland's post-rock movement, these musicians have not quite mastered the ability to rein in some of their more excessive tendencies. But Kurr exceeds both the promise of Amiina's distinct instrumental premise and the musical and physical landscape from which the band originates.
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Kurr's claustrophobic sound causes a restless reaction. For all its fragile beauty, it's at its best in small chunks.
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In short, it's as Icelandic as whale pie--elevator music, sure, but heaven's own elevators.
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Indeed, when the strings are given the spotlight, the strongest songs are created; ditherings with Theremin, xylophone, and scuttling drum machine are less impressive.