There's a spectre that hangs over For A Minor Reflection's "Höldum Í Átt Að Óreiðu", and it's not the first one you would think of were I to offer the words "instrumental", "rock" and "Iceland" to get you started. No, for while Sigur Rós aren't ever exactly light years away from their Icelandic cousins' second album, both in influence and in more practical terms (the album was recorded in Sigur Rós' studios in Mosfellsbær on the island), the key inspiration to my ears comes all the way from Austin, Texas: Explosions In The Sky.
Not that this is a bad thing. The post-rock (much like Simon Cowell, the term is here to stay, no matter how much it riles) from these four youngsters is entirely competent and, despite the group's relative youth, an at times majestic and mature take on what is becoming an increasingly populated arena. "Andlega Veðurtepptir" retains the slow-burning meander of "Reistu Þig Við, Sólin Er Komin Á Loft..." (the title track from their 2007 debut album) whilst at the same time plundering that almost iconic EITS sound of chiming stately guitars and metronomic percussion.
That said, and the fourteen epically undulating yet warmly beautiful minutes of "Sj àumst Í Virgin íu" aside, the band's second album sees them step away from the measured pace of their debut and focus on a slightly more manageable approach. The variety is perhaps a little limited, but what is here is more than enough to keep fans of the genre happy. The quiet-quieter-loud-louder format unsurprisingly features heavily, but "Fjara", a gentle interlude of stately piano and strings which follows the invigorating wind-tunnel rock of "Kastljós", and "Dansi Dans", a twinkletoed take on the genre which wheels and twirls like a ballerina dancing with an elephant, offer enough ingenuity to prove that the band aren't simply clutching tight to the coat-tails of their more famous countrymen.
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That's not to say that the two bands have nothing in common. In fact, for an album whose title can be translated into "Heading Towards Chaos", there's a remarkable amount of graceful and occasionally even - dare I say it - glacial elegance on display here. "Átta" notwithstanding - an exhilarating track of pneumatic-drill-to-the-cranium immediacy -, FAMR certainly know their way around a carefully developed melody. Stripped of the mourning wear and blinking in the crisp fading light of day, "Tómarúm" plays out like a cheerier b-side to the funereal majesty of Sigur Rós' "Refur". "A Moll" feels like a fish-laden but gleaming trawler weighing fifteen tonnes, building gradually but irrevocably towards full-throttle, whilst the deceptively simple beginnings of "Flóð" belie a soaring finale of screaming guitars and thunderous percussion.
Whatever FAMR do, there will never be any getting away from the Sigur Rós comparisons. I've managed to mention them by name four times in five hundred words without even trying. Thom Yorke's favourite Icelanders will continue to cast long shadows, regardless of the differences in musical leanings. "Höldum Í Átt Að Óreiðu" nevertheless stands ably on its own melodic feet; decidedly warmer in tone than their frost-bitten friends, the album offers both the intense crackle of a midnight sun and the winsomely airy delicacy of a summer breeze.
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