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Volume CXXXIII, Number 1 |
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Bjork's album a lyrically strange journey,
but well worth the trip
TED REINERT
Staff Writer
Like the music within, the artwork of Björk's fourth album, Vespertine,
is weird. Her name is not found on the outside packaging, the spine is
blank white, and the cover is a picture of the Icelandic pop star wearing
a swan, reminiscent of her eccentric Oscars attire.
Björk produces a bright but strange type of pop. Her voice is one
of the most distinctive in music-untamed and alternately wailing and breathy.
The backing to Björk's vocals is usually minimal and although strange
noises pop up here and there, there is no wall of sound common in many
albums. Vespertine is a particularly intimate affair, custom-made for
your headphones, with strings, harp, bells, and even a children's choir
to complement the electronics.
This album is also possibly her strongest work to date, which in itself
is quite an accomplishment. Björk has been a musical force in her
home country for a quarter of a century; beginning her career with a hit
album at age 11. Post, her 1995 effort, was listed at number 7 in SPIN's
Top 90 Albums of the Nineties, and her film debut in and soundtrack to
Lars von Trier's Dancer in the Dark last year generated high acclaim.
Now, with this album, Vespertine feels like a career-defining moment.
Its best tracks rank up with "Hyper-ballad" and "New World"
in the Björk canon.
The record starts off strongly with the singles "Hidden Place"
and "Cocoon," two simple, but suggestive love songs with basic
beats. "It's Not Up To You" is the album's first truly great
moment, a pretty pop song with a sing-a-long chorus and a finale highlighting
the choir. "Pagan Poetry" is darker but equally praiseworthy;
featuring propulsive bass, an intense vocal performance, and a cool coda.
The sixth track on the record, "Frosti," is a short instrumental
interlude, and, after this point, Björk takes the listener into stranger
lyrical territory. As a result, the songs aren't quite as catchy throught
the second half of the album, but they're still enjoyable. "Sun in
My Mouth" sets e.e. cummings' poem "I will wade out till my
thighs Are steeped in burning flowers" to music.
The listener who makes the journey through Björk's strange little
world is handsomely rewarded with the final song on the record. Though
long, "Unison" is catchy, but still odd (here's a lyric: "I
thrive best hermit-style / With a beard and a pipe / And a parrot on each
side"). Overall, this record deserves 3.5 polar bears out of 4. o