I loved Sigur Ros when they first broke the scene around 1999. I thought it was so beautiful, and angelic, and weirdly transcendent. I wondered what beautiful poetry was being sung in this mystical Icelandic language I did not speak. Then, I learned that it’s not Icelandic. It’s not anything. It’s a made up language that means nothing. It shouldn’t really bother me, but I felt like I had been tricked, and haven’t been able to get past it.