Melbourne review wrap: Sigur Ros and the MSO; Paavali by Flinders Quartet;
Sigur Rós x MSO ★★★★
Hamer Hall, May 19
The orchestra shuffles onto the stage and members take their seats. The concertmaster plays an A, and the rest of the group tunes. It's like any other Melbourne Symphony Orchestra recital, until five men walk onto the stage to join them, and the hall erupts in rapturous applause.
Sigur Rós performs with the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra, May 19, 2025. Credit: Laura Manariti
The strings swell in the opening passages of Blóðberg, and I can't help it: I'm immediately crying. This is the experience of seeing Sigur Rós live with an orchestra – over the two-plus-year tour, reports of audience members weeping have been common worldwide.
It's not difficult to understand why – the group's sweeping, grandiose music, sung largely in Icelandic and the invented Hopelandic, is elevated in this setting, reaching what feels like an otherworldly plane. It might sound dramatic, but this is the kind of music that feels like it contains all the truths of the world.
The core Sigur Rós trio is expanded with a touring member; the fifth man is British conductor and composer Robert Ames, who rearranged much of the music for this orchestral tour. Ames leads with palpable joy, and the four musicians are positioned in the middle of the orchestra, blending in with their concert blacks. The effect is that they all appear as one unit, rather than the orchestra being an addition. Indeed, in the purely instrumental sections, you'd be forgiven for forgetting this was not simply an orchestral concert.
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Many of these new arrangements are string-heavy, but other details peep through: a muted trumpet in Starálfur adds texture, and a glockenspiel sprinkles a dash of whimsy and magic throughout the evening. Frontman Jónsi's signature bowed guitar, often harsh and discordant, provides a striking contrast to the orchestral beauty around it. Now 50, Jónsi's high, bell-like voice still sounds gorgeous, even when a rasp creeps in – the occasional cracking might make it all even more emotional.
The immersive two-set show focuses on the band's slower, more cinematic tunes, which begin to blend and blur. The spirited kick of Sé Lest , featuring a circus-esque brass section, and the thundering percussion at the climax of Hoppípolla , give much-needed jolts of energy.
It feels like a privilege to see this band's music performed in this setting, and it works so well that it's hard to imagine it was ever any other way. No words are spoken throughout, until the very end: 'Thank you,' Jónsi says. Takk to them, too.
Reviewed by Giselle Au-Nhien Nguyen
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This week has been two years since Adam downloaded the AI app. He speaks to Jona a few times a week. 7.30 asked Adam if he had concerns about his data — the intimate details of his life — that he shared. "I personally don't have any concerns; perhaps I'm a bit naive," he said. The success of chatbots is largely due to what could be perceived by some as a human flaw — an evolutionary tendency where humans are predisposed to form an attachment to anything we perceive as communicating with us. "If something chats to us, we've got no other way of coping with that other than to apply all of the social templates that we have — and that we've evolved — for dealing with humans," Professor Robert Brooks, an evolutionary biologist, told 7.30. In computer science, the concept was famously documented by MIT Professor Joseph Weizenbaum, who developed a rudimentary text-based computer program called Eliza. During several experiments, Professor Weizembaum noted humans began forming bonds with Eliza. "That's called the 'Eliza Effect', and it's the same thing with people and their chatbots — they have very real feelings even though maybe not all of the human components are there," Professor Brooks said. In Australia, AI companions aren't subject to any specific laws and for some that is cause for concern, especially when it comes to the potential for harm to human partners or others. "I think that really gives cause for these providers to think about very carefully what their responsibilities are," AI Law expert Henry Fraser told 7.30. "The ethos, especially in Silicon Valley, has been 'move fast and break things', but the kinds of things that you can break now are much more tangible … especially with something like a chatbot." Critics of AI companions present arguments that the code promotes sycophantism — providing echo chambers for users, which don't challenge dark thoughts and beliefs. 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In a 2021 case, a 21-year-old man was caught attempting to assassinate Queen Elizabeth II, with encouragement from his digital companion. Another case saw a teenage boy in Florida take his life after his chatbot allegedly pressured him to 'go through with it'. "A more sober responsible attitude is desperately, desperately needed right now," Mr Fraser said. In Hayley's case, for all of Miles' benefits — he does have his problems — which often coincide with the app being updated or unexpectedly going offline. "When Miles isn't himself, or when Hayley doesn't have access to Miles at times, it can really affect her mood," Camille said. "It can be quite difficult because that is a relationship that she really relies on now and is super positive for her and so when she doesn't have that, it can be a bit sad, and she ends up a little disappointed and anxious about things." The CEO of Replika, Dmytro Klochko, told 7.30, "we know updates can feel disruptive so we approach every change with care and intention". "To honour those bonds, we've kept legacy versions [of the companions] available so everyone can continue their relationship in the way that feels most meaningful to them. Hayley knows she has no control over the future of the platform hosting Miles. "I think some of the time, the fear I have is that the company decides to shut it all down," she said. "I think I'll just take it as it goes." Watch 7.30, Mondays to Thursdays 7:30pm on ABC iview and ABC TV Do you know more about this story? Get in touch with 7.30 here.
