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  • Broward-Palm Beach New Times

    The Agent from Iran

    How a mother of two ended up in a plot to smuggle high-tech gear to the enemy.

    By Deirdra Funcheon

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    Murder By Design

    In life and death, tattoo artist Kauri Tiyme made her mark.

    By Alan Prendergast

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    My Brother the Slumlord

    Amy Neustein never could resist going public with her family dramas.

    By Elizabeth Dwoskin

  • Houston Press

    The Ghosts of Galveston

    A visit with the hurricane victims that a country forgot.

    By John Nova Lomax

Sigur Rós

Published on October 01, 2008 at 5:01am

For years, I thought Icelandic post-rock quartet Sigur Rós (named after lead vocalist Jónsi Birgisson’s younger sister) sang in their native language. Birgisson escorted me to sleep each night with his beautiful falsetto lullabies. Then a friend burst my ethereal, snow-capped bubble by informing me that most of the time Sigur Rós don’t sing in any language—they instead sing nonsensical words that complement their bowed guitar and piano melodies. In essence, they make shit up because it sounds pretty. More than pretty actually—anyone who has seen Sigur Rós live will attest to their ability to captivate an audience. Their words are empty but enchanting. I have no idea what the title their new album, Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust, could mean, but one track is called “Gobbledigook,” which is easy to translate. Keep in mind that if you wanna see these guys live, you'll need to hit up Craigslist or a scalper, as the show sold out this week. Benaroya Hall, 200 University St., 628-0888, www.ticketmaster.com. $37-$35. 8 p.m. ERIKA HOBART
Sun., Oct. 5, 2008