There is an archway in Oxford – a replica of the Bridge of Sighs – and it stands, for no particular reason, at the head of Queen’s Lane. The only prison it joins is a library, and, yet, its decontextualized nature allows it to become part of the essential semiotics of Oxford. It is fitting, then, that I should pass beneath it as the first humming sounds of Sigur Rós’ #1 came through on a foggy, October evening. The experience of listening to this song, and the untitled album from which it comes, did much to realign my perception of what was possible, and, indeed, what was in my life.

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