…it was also an effective advertisement for the record's bleak majesty: Agust's English-language introspection wrapped in an orchestral rapture that recalled Robert Kirby's arrangements for Nick Drake. Wearing a black jacket embroidered with glass-teardrop thread and topped with a high collar of black feathers, Agust looked like Marc Bolan crossed with Sir Francis Drake and made even the hardcore drinkers at the back bar pay attention to the gorgeous exhaustion in his songs -- and the salvation never far from the surface.

"I keep searching/Repeatedly inside of me/For that sound, sweet sound/That makes so much sense/And harmony," Agust sang near the end of his half-hour, in "Sparks Fly." It's a universal truth: That's what singers and musicians do, everywhere. But at that moment, in a city and country so rich in such adventure, it sounded like the national anthem…

Daniel Agust made his name as lead singer of electronica outfit Gus Gus and as a soundtrack producer in his native Iceland. It's easy to hear why on both counts with his debut solo album, "Swallowed a Star."

Think of Agust's music as new age with a club influence. Grand orchestral sweeps combine with electronic flourishes. The proceedings are fluid and always seem to be in motion — swelling and subsiding, rising and falling, rousing and solemn.

That juxtaposition is evident throughout "Swallowed a Star." The moody "Someone Who Swallowed a Star" combines hymnal music with a storminess. "If You Leave Me Now" is both eloquent and eerily jellified.

Elsewhere, Agust is able to combine elements like a complicated formula to make his muse rich in variety and unquestionably his own. The seesawing low-end to "The Stingray" could work in a smoky jazz club. "Intersection" is one of the more bizarre compositions to grace the CD — a shuddering outburst filled with outré elements like bleeding horns and beats that sound like whips hitting flesh.

The only problem might be "Swallowed a Star" is too pastel for some. It's not blustery, high-energy music by any means, but its shape-shifting features and melding of old sounds with new serve an important purpose in adding expanding dimensions to popular music.

For another, "Swallowed a Star" is yet one more example of the strange and satisfying sounds emanating from Iceland (Sigur Ros and Bjork are others who quickly come to mind). I'm not sure if there's a place more musically creative than there.

Iceland is an isolated island of a country, set adrift off the northwestern edges of Europe. There are about 300,000 people in this country that is roughly the size of the state of Kentucky. Perhaps it's the isolation, or perhaps it's the low density of souls, but everyone there seems to be involved in holing themselves up long enough to make really interesting music.

The Icelandic music scene really came to prominence in the 1980s with the emergence of The Sugarcubes, led by pre-solo artist Bjork. Since then we've had the pleasure of also experiencing Bjork, Gus Gus, Sigur Ros, Mum, and a slew of other artists who seem gloriously unaffected by the popular music trends running rampant in the rest of the world.

Ex-Gus Gus frontman Daniel Agust is one of the latest to emerge from this cultural collective, and in what is becoming typical Icelandic fashion, has created an intriguing and unique album. Swallowed A Star is his first effort as a solo artist, and is quite a departure from his previous band's blend of house, downtempo, and hipster lounge music. Instead of exploring the various synthesized clubs of the city, Agust seems to be taking a very leisurely stroll in the woods, as well as channeling a much more introspective artistic voice.

Swallowed A Star will probably appeal most to fans of later Talk Talk, as well as some of Mum's output. Arrangement leans more on the sparse side of things, and instrumentation is focused more on live sounds, although augmented by various electronic effects. It's not surprising through the course of the album to find a small chamber ensemble of strings and winds taking the place of a traditional "band". This also serves the mood of the music better, as it is much more organic in nature.

It's difficult to pull out certain tracks over others, as the whole point of this style is the journey as a whole and not the pit-stop of a particular song. In fact, the opening song "Someone Swallowed A Star" sounds more like a mournful opening of a musical or play than for a pop album. But that's also how most of the album unfolds, through small vignettes of story as opposed to bold declaration. The gentle lyric sweetness of "The Gray" could be about young love, while the instrumental "Intersection" might be better seen as an emotional (-less?) Intermission. But even as you get to the slightly more buoyant and upbeat "If You Leave Me Now", you have a sneaky suspicion that things will turn out alright for him/them/us.

The songwriting itself is very singer-songwriter oriented, and comparisons to some of Nick Drake's work wouldn't be out of order. What Agust does that is unique, however, is to reign in all these diverse elements (singer-songwriter content, art-deco arrangements) into a cohesive way of thinking. He doesn't just dabble in this particular world of sound, he is completely immersed in it.

The question is, do we as listeners even allow ourselves to get immersed in music anymore? It often seems that many people's interest in music extends no further than what a commercial or a ringtune can do for them. Has our attention span been swallowed? Not for all of us, and I hope not for you. But my guess is that if you're this far into a music review for an Icelandic troubadour, you will be most pleased with Swallowed A Star.

The former vocalist for Iceland's dance collective Gus Gus swaps traditional trip-hop for misty chamber-pop. Aided by production whiz Bix (whose resume includes remixes for Madonna and Beck), Agust combines found sounds, cello pulses and vocal choruses to create a spaced-out tribute to the majesty of love. It's a bit like Sigur Ros covering Brian Wilson in the middle of driving snowstorm. Agust is a whiz at writing lines that are as simple as haikus.

The mind-blowing "Nobody Else" contains only ten words. Unfussy lyrics and the warmth of Agust's voice are essential ingredients of a CD that sounds like it was plucked whole from a mysterious corner of the universe.

Daníel Ágúst made his name as a singer and songwriter for electronic ensemble GusGus, which created a stir in the international underground and was quite popular at home in Iceland. Swallowed a Star sublimates (but doesn't banish) the digital rhythms and bleeps, instead revolving the arrangements around a stately string section and Ágúst's coolly reserved singing. Tunes like "If You Leave Me Now" and "The Gray" navigate the same emotional and melodic terrain as Nick Drake and David Sylvian, and fans of those notables will find Swallowed a Star very much to their liking.

Former GusGus vocalist Daniel Agust makes his solo debut with a swirling symphony of sound that grips the listener slowly, then all at once. Some critics have been quick to compare the Iceland native to Nick Drake and while that comparison sticks, Agust also calls to mind a grander-minded Neil Finn (Crowded House) or Jarboe with different chromosomes. The gorgeous, glorious moments here are too numerous to mention, though "Nobody Else," "The Gray" and the opening "Someone Who Swallowed A Star" may be good starting points.

You aren't likely to hear Daniel Agust's music on the radio — it's too smart for that — but you will hear it over and over again in the radio of your mind where it will feed your soul and your heart.

Could Swallowed A Star signal the emergence of a 21st century Brian Wilson? Actually, symphonic pop purveyor Daníel Ágúst, late of Gus Gus, remotely resembles the Pet Sounds maestro, serving ably as artist, writer, and producer. Surrounded entirely by keyboard samples deftly approximating classical instrumentation (cellos, violas, string bass, tympani) plus assorted trip-hop trickery (bleeps, bloops, techo-percussion), Ágúst's reedy/sultry delivery (think Decembertist's Colin Meloy awoken from an erotic dream) exudes dark romanticism at every twist and turn (well, there are also sound-bites aplenty by anonymous women in the throes of passion).

Amidst plucked violins, a simple four-to-the-bar high-hat beat, and assorted rhythmic groans "The Moss," with its repeated chorus chant "high on love" is the stuff of Depeche Mode debauchery. Art rockers will appreciate the instrumental "Intersection" replete with atonal trumpet blasts spitting through a series of somnambulant synthesizer patterns reminiscent of numerous Eno/Cale collaborations. The lone mesmerizing melodic motif of "Nobody Else" seductively weaves through the din of howling winds, incidental clatter and weeping strings. Surf's Up anyone?

Think of Swallowed A Star as the soundtrack of your most lovely dream. But don't mistake Daniel Agust's soon-to-be-released ten-track CD as "easy listening."

Far from it. Agust's dark, haunting vocals backed by rich orchestration, a hint of pop, and subtle side effects, combine to create powerful stories that would fit in with any contemporary format.
Of particular note is the opening track "Someone Who Swallowed A Star," a captivating tale told through Agust's full vocals and lyrics ("I inhale the air, as someone who swallows, as someone who swallows, a star in a dream") accompanied by enchanting string-dominant melodies.

Another selection, "The Moss" (with the lilting chorus "High on Love") also evokes powerful images and emotions. Of course, not all songs are as powerful.

"The Stingray" reaches just a bit too far into sound effects. (Ghost sounds? Clanking steps? An old phonograph playing?) But even though such missteps can be a bit disconcerting, they don't detract from the overall delight of the CD.

Consider this Rolling Stone review of an Agust concert: "[Agust] made even the hardcore drinkers in the back pay attention to the gorgeous exhaustion in his songs - and the salvation never far from the surface." Let's face it — Agust is a man who knows what he's doing musically.
As co-founder and main vocalist of seminal electronica collective GusGus, Agust was the driving force behind the band's two critically acclaimed albums, Polydistortion and This is Normal. No wonder this solo album, slated to be released in the U.S. on February 6, combines just the right balance of pop and lyrical poetry.

The only downside is that the CD was five years in the making. Hopefully Agust won't make us wait that long again or more of his work.

Apologies: there are a few accents missing from this review. For Agust's correct name, or rather the correct spelling of his name, please refer to the sleeves of your old GusGus records, as he is none other but the former singer in said Icelandic success story, and co-founder to boot. GusGus achieved no fewer than three domestic number one singles and a slew of awards, no meagre feat by any means, but for his debut solo album Agust has ditched the dance-friendly beats so easily crafted by his former outfit: Swallowed A Star is a grand work, symphonic pop in its finest, gently alluring pomposity.

But wait, please: much like the more understated moments of Björk's work to date – Vespertine for example – Agust's quasi-classical work rarely sounds bloated; rarely does it layer strings where they're unnecessary. Thus, we're left with a record that skilfully employs violin and cello where it's at its most beautiful; never does a song come across as an Embrace-authored ballad of utmost blandness, indie-rock dressed in the emperor's tattered and tired clothes.

'Nobody Else', for example, is lyrically simplistic, literally repeating "You don't want nobody else", 'til the song's end. Why? "Cos you got me, babe." And that's that – two lines, but the most exquisite, subtly stirring strings you're likely to hear this side of daytime Radio 3. The following song, 'The Gray', treads a similar path: grand in design yet wonderfully accessible in execution. The trick's repeated, almost throughout – only a handful of songs stray from the strings-and-vocals-and-little-else construction of Swallowed A Star's first few offerings. On paper it sounds contrived; when the music wraps itself about you, blanket-like, you'll forget about such relatively minor gripes, such is the beauty and warmth everywhere your ears can bend. Agust's music can easily turn the hardest of men into quivering jelly babies; chances are it could melt the northern icecaps so near to its author's homeland with its beauty, too.

Agust is assisted throughout Swallowed A Star by a gentleman named Bix, remixer to the likes of Madonna and Beck. It's unclear what tracks belong most to whom, but Agust's name and face on the cover suggests it's he that guided these songs to their destination; that's to every single beat of your aching heart, incidentally.

Daníel Ágúst first made his name as a singer/songwriter in the electronica/trip-hop-oriented group Gus Gus, who had quite a bit of success in their native Iceland, Ágúst writing or co-writing all of the singles that became hits in that country. It might come as somewhat of a surprise, then, that his debut album is not especially electronica-oriented, though it's conscientiously textured and layered.

Instead, it leans toward chamber pop, with violin and cello often complementing Ágúst's breathily sung, wispy singer/songwriter-like material. As a very rough approximation, at times it sounds like a singer/songwriter such as Nick Drake might have, had he been mated with early 21st century technology and trends...these are still affectingly vulnerable ruminations with a sensitive wind-blown romanticism that avoid being overly pretentious or sentimental.

The production weaves imaginative, if occasionally gratuitously busy, embellishments of bells and electronic washes/effects around the song-oriented cores, with input from Bix (noted for remixing some of Madonna and Beck's work).

Daníel Ágúst´s (Daníel Ágúst Haraldsson) debut solo album, Swallowed a Star, is a true masterpiece. Imagine the best of modern classical music together with Daníel´s talent for compositions and melodies. It´s something really unique. Symphonic pop in its best. Gentle and flowing harmonies, excellent violin and cello and Daníel´s dark and haunting vocals. It is the collection of ballads, rich orchestrated with backing vocals and echoey beats. At once sweet and dark.

Daníel Ágúst is a former band member of Icelandic GusGus who achieved no fewer than three domestic number one singles and a slew of awards. The solo album has been five years in the making till its stunning release this March on One Little Indian and Smekkleysa. I highly recommend.

Former Eurovision (1989) challenger and wonder child behind Iceland's frothy and finessed GusGus, Daniel emerges on this symphonic-infused digital landscape, aka electronica record, which is remarkably warm and spacey at times, none too stilted or overly relaxed and paper thin either. It's pop with taste, refined urges, and almost sutra-like simplicity in lyrical refrains that make it feel more like Ane Brun than Coldplay. "I've been wondering in my mind/what the rightest thing is to do," he acknowledges on "Sparks Fly," noting a soul search for an inner compass to lead him down some sensible paths to harmony. "Let's grow bigger in our minds," he pushes, as if the envelope to the soul could be stuffed with good intentions and dictums from the soft core of the brain. There are chimes, sweeping strings, even the muted sound of deep drums as he outlines the "sweet sounds that make so much sense." It's a plea for peace in the middle of daily dissatisfaction and conundrums. Though a bit pat, it is also intimate in the same way that John Lennon used to prod us towards greater examples of honest living.

Soft and cushioned, "The Gray" comes down like a warm mother's hand, telling him to wait for "another day." Even the gray pallor, like the wintry tide around us at this time of year, is kept at bay by his nods to "driving away" such somnolence by seeking patience, companionship, and solace. It's all winding violins, dispersed echoey beats, and cellos holding and stroking our palms. "Intersection" rolls out a more experiment layer — horns bleating in rhythmic combustion as a piano trails along and strings skitter like reeds in the wind. It feels cinematic and slightly claustrophobic, a kind of impressionism that paints the body as slightly fragmented. "Throw me in the soft moss/ take me to the amorphous" is the apropos analogy that drips from the song "The Moss," a neo-psychedelic proposal to expand our consciousness by entering a highland of cognition, where the green acres can be our "sweet oblivion." It has a slightly tribal beat, almost Krishna-like chanting, and again, enough strings to lift it beyond ordinary. Call it beatific, new age, or a ripening of the fabric of consciousness, Daniel does make this feel, with the nuances of a mix-master used to helping Madonna and Beck, like a quasi-religious experience in which the star is not a cosmological twinkle but a place in the human body ready to remap the way we explore and live our days ahead.

You can credit an island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean for some of the most interesting soundscapes in modern music. Sure, the number of Icelandic musicians who've made name for themselves outside its shores are few -- Björk, Sigur Rós, and GusGus -- and it's only because they're so similarly odd that comparisons are fair. Let's face it: They're all a little weird. And also, a little brilliant at the same time.

Daniel Ágúst, formerly of trip-hoppers GusGus, has kept true to Iceland's musical spirit in his solo effort "Swallowed a Star," a mixture of tender vocals, swelling strings and incidental noises that is surprisingly beautiful and soothing.

Cellos and violins make up the majority of the background on each track, yet Ágúst takes advantage of the instruments' ability to manipulate mood to weave darkness and light throughout his songs. (For Björk fans, it's a lot like "Vespertine" without the twinkle of the music box.) On top of the symphonic foundation, Ágúst layers his songs with sprinkles of vocal gasps, the occasional angry trumpet bleat, creepy circus sideshow Victrola, and various other clicks, clacks and chirps.

If you're used to the Icelandic sound, then the somewhat randomness of the music will be nothing new. But to give Ágúst credit "Swallowed a Star" is truly accessible -- he seems to have kept in mind the orchestral nature of his pieces, keeping the mood generally sweet and mild, and reigning in anything that might startle the listener. And it's pleasant enough to listen to from start to finish with your grandma, but interesting enough to show off to your friends.

My favorite songs at the moment are "The Moss," which has a Cirque du Soleil vibe going on; "The Stingray," which incorporates the old-timey Victrola sounds; and "Sparks Fly," which is a nice little lullaby. For the danceophile and/or the interested, a single of "The Moss" is also available with respectable remixes attached.

Regardless of what you already think about the above-mentioned Icelanders, "Swallowed a Star" is worth a listen, both for its experimental merit and its highly appropriate wintriness.

Daníel Ágúst was once one of the main songwriters for Gus Gus, the late-1990s Icelandic collective that strove to splice indie-pop melodies with insistent dance rhythms, cinematic expressiveness with disco hedonism. Here on his first solo album, electro-flourishes are subtle and totally removed from the dance aesthetic. There are, for one thing, no drums at all, and only the subtlest synthetic beats. In fact, the main accompaniment to Ágúst's wispy pop melodies is a full-on string quartet, whose swooning sustained tones and edgy pizzicato's define his songs as much as the vocals. "Here inside the core / cellos play," observes Ágúst in the title cut, his lyrics melting into dreamy wordless vocals around vibrating string swoops. On the pseudo-tango "The Moss," he sings "Take me to the amorphous," seemingly bent on escaping the conventional bounds of time signature and structure.

The string quartet can be a sweetening element, or it can lend a necessary gravity and drama to Ágúst's songs. Honestly, it's hard to imagine this album exciting anyone without them. Another aide is the production work from fellow Icelander Bix, who has remixed albums for Madonna and Beck. His "Stingray," the album's obvious highlight, arises out of a muffled bed of moans and hisses before a gypsy violin emerges faintly, as if heard over static radio. There's an anachronous old-time feeling to the cut, as if Andrew Bird's Bowl of Fire had somehow lost its way and ended up at a warehouse rave.

The rest of the album hews closely to Ágúst's string-enhanced, electro-altered pop formula, his easy, mellifluous voice accompanied by zig-zagging slashes of violin and cello. The single "If You Leave Me Now" (fortunately, not a Chicago cover) is quite pretty, both in its unadorned verse and its denser, more celebratory chorus.

Swallowed a Star is carefully constructed, subtle and, in its way, quite beautiful. It's a chilly sort of work though, carefully calibrating its emotional impact like a film score. I'd like to see Ágúst in less controlled mode, at least once in a while, letting the music carry him away a little more than it does here.

Daníel Ágúst was once the principal singer/songwriter of the Icelandic electronica-cum-trip-hop collective Gus Gus. His solo debut, Swallowed a Star, is a far cry from the rhythmic danceable beats of Gus Gus; instead Ágúst follows a much more mellow chamber (bordering on symphonic) pop path utilizing violin and cello to compliment his breathy vocals.

The songs are saturated with richly orchestrated walls of sound lending the album a certain cinematic pastiche similar to fellow Icelander Björk's more mellow forays. I am consistently enthralled by his instrumentation and production, yet Ágúst's vocals and lyrics instantly turn me off. Swallowed a Star could easily have done without the vocals, which often sound forced and overt; this would have been a uniquely sublime instrumental effort.