Johann Johannsson has been making music for many years, during which time he has become an indispensable part of the Reykjavik music scene. Johannsson’s resume is diverse, as he is not only a co-leader of the Kitchen Motors stable, but also a singer, a soundtrack artist and a member of Apparat Motor Quartet. His solo work (with the exception of Dis) has been marked by a stately grace, utilizing the efforts of orchestras, occasional solo artists and, on his last album, a dying computer.

Fordlandia combines the best of Johannsson’s three orchestral albums. Echoes of Englaborn are found in the eight concise tracks, topping out with the choral excesses of “The Great God Pan is Dead.” The other three tracks are long and languid, a la Virthulega Foresetar, but much less minimal. Last year’s elegiac IBM 1401: A User’s Manual made stunning use of a 60-piece orchestra, favoring the organic over the electronic; on Fordlandia, Johannsson delves even further into the realm of modern classical.

Six years ago, when Johannsson was asked to compose the soundtrack to Englaborn (an Icelandic play), he chose to balance the rough hewn edges of the script with sonic tenderness. This tone has continued through subsequent recordings, and has slowly become the Johannsson “sound,” as bittersweet as a retired Viking drinking mead in a converted brothel. While listening to Fordlandia, one may encounter unbidden tears, or encounter lofty thoughts of fields and fjords.

Young countrymate ‘Olafur Arnalds rides the same carousel. While the vocoder of Arnald’s Variations of Static seemed an obvious nod to IBM 1401, the occasional piano on Fordlandia seems a shout-out to Eulogy for Evolution. Each artist is stingy with percussion, preferring to program beats only to punctuate later tracks. Each prefers the movement to the standalone statement. Despite the difference in age, each artist taps into a mourning for things gone by, and manages to capture the simultaneous sadness and yearning that is found in funeral music. This is never more obvious than in the organ tones of Johannsson’s “Chimaerica,” but it is present throughout Fordlandia’s soarings and swoons.

Listening to Fordlandia is a majestic, all-enveloping experience. The mostly-wordless suite, which includes both overture and finale, is meant to tell a story, but is better enjoyed without an imposed narrative. The album’s contemplative nature lends itself well to introspection. By the time the symphony ends, with the slowly receding notes of “How We Left Fordlandia,” listeners may feel as if they have been transported in time, either backwards in memory or forward in imagination.

It’s been a long time coming, but Johann Johannsson has finally produced his masterpiece. Previous releases have bordered on brilliance, but the cross-stitching of Fordlandia creates an end result greater than the sum of its parts. In the field of modern composition, you’ll be hard-pressed to find a finer album this year.

-Richard Allen