In 1994, Iceland celebrated 50 years of independence. To mark the occasion, a compilation CD appeared that featured several of the country's best known independent music acts. Bjork was perhaps the star attraction, but there also a little-known outfit called Sigur Ros: a bunch of teenagers who have since grown into one of the most intriguing acts around.
"We are not a band," they say. "We are music: we are simply going to change music forever, and the way people think about music." Bold words, but not rash, because Agaetis Byrjun, their current album, is very hard to argue with.
The music is usually discussed in terms of the Icelandic landscape, and it's difficult to describe it in any other way - although reviewers have scribbled the most extraordinary metaphors in the attempt. The talk is usually of mountains, glaciers, geysers, elves and clear air. It sounds daft, but perhaps it's as good a way as any to discuss such indefinable music. The pressing questions, therefore, are: where did Sigur Ros come from? And what mystical Icelandic forces combined to produce such ethereal sounds? Georg Holm, the band's bassist, has the answers.
"When I was growing up, what I was listening to mostly was Leonard Cohen. The punk thing was going on, too, and after that The Sugarcubes, but I didn't listen to the Icelandic punk bands very much, because they were boring. In Iceland today it's more rap music and r 'n' b."
So much for their origins in the swirling mists of time. The landscape of their country is still an influence, however, deeply affecting the way they create their sound. A gushing fan might even be tempted to suggest their music is the sound of Iceland. It's dodgy territory, and much has been written about Sigur Ros that has been preposterous. There is some truth in it, however, and Holm, for one, believes that if you listen closely, you just might hear those glaciers creak.
"We never realised any of this until we started doing interviews every day, and we kept being asked what our influences were. And so we realised that we didn't have any influences musically, as in other bands who had influenced us. But we soon realised that if we had an influence it must be Iceland itself. It's Iceland in general - both the landscape and the people. But when I was about 15 or 16, all my friends and me were listening to Led Zeppelin. And Jon Bon Jovi has always been my hero. But then we changed, and we just grew up and started wanting to be ourselves rather than somebody else."
The first album, Von, was recorded in 1997. Von Brigoi, a remix version, appeared a year later, with the song Leit af lifi reaching the top of the Icelandic charts. Then, in the summer of 1998, they began work on Agaetis Byrjun - which rou ghly translates as "a new beginning" - and people began to take notice.
WORKING with Ken Thomas, who had previously played with The Sugarcubes, they came up with a strange and beautiful record. With the songs delivered in a mixture of Icelandic and the private language of Jonsi, the singer, it breaks the rule that for any hope of global success, songs have to be done in English.
"It used to be that everything was automatically sung in English, but I think that's changed. The first song Sigur Ros ever did was in English, but we realised as soon as we had finished it: well, why should it be in English? We're an Icelandic band and we're doing music for Iceland. So we changed everything about the way we did things."
And while Holm contends that their music doesn't particularly need real words, he realises it's a statement to sing in their native language. It sounds beautiful, but it's hardly the pop language of world domination. That, however, is to assume Sigur Ros are a pop band - and they are not. They don't even refer to themselves as a band.
They also maintain that they don't want to be millionaires - and their creative moves, particularly the decision not to sing in English, suggest they mean it.
"It was difficult in the beginning, but Icelandic is a very strange language, and you can actually write lots of really good lyrics in it, so things changed very quickly. The Sugarcubes and Bjork were very important in proving that it can be done - that it can go somewhere abroad.
"But maybe it was not so good, because now Iceland is really trendy, and record companies are coming and signing any shitty band - or almost. It's like when the punk thing exploded and record companies signed bands who never did anything. I just hope that doesn't happen in Iceland."
What Sigur Ros prove above all is that things aren't as uniform as we might think. The sound of the language has attracted many who cannot understand it, and the glacial music - now I'm at it - has proven further that young audiences are far more receptive than we've been led to believe. A Sigur Ros gig makes demands of its audience, after all, sitting on the floor and actually listening being the main one. The reward is the old-fashioned delight of being reduced to tears - of being weak in the presence of beauty.
"I think music can be both uplifting and depressing. But if it gives you some sort of feeling, then it has worked. Our show should be an experience. It should leave you with something. I don't know what - but not just aching ears."
Sigur Ros play the Temple Theatre, Dublin, on April 26th (bookings on 014569569). Agaetis Byrjun is on Fat Cat records.