Sat for a while inside Jónsi’s FLÓÐ today at the Nordic Museum. It was a dark, fog-filled room, pitch-black except for the shifting beam of light overhead. The scent of sea brine and stone permeated the air—a tincture of seaweed. Hazily through the mist, if the light shifted brightly enough, I observed the silhouettes of the other few people in the room with me, most of us sitting on the floor with our backs against the wall. The soundscape shifted from blaring ship horns to thunder and crashing waves—sometimes more peaceful and sometimes less peaceful—to Jónsi’s echoing voice accompanied by deep, near-monastic tones. Between the scent, the sound, the light and the texture of the air, the experience was certainly immersive. It felt like sharing a moment of respite with strangers in a safe cavern while the apocalypse crashed in waves above us.