By emily
GRADE: A

Bjork has always had a special place in my heart, ever since the time in 9th grade when I plagiarized one of her songs (Hyperballad, in case you care) in a short story and it won a prize. Also in 9th grade, I think, I choreographed a very floor-writhing-intensive dance to Isobel which won absolutely no prizes whatsoever. Then I stopped liking her as much circa Homogenic, and, later, I did not really understand what the deal was re: people liking or being moved by Dancer in the Dark.

Then last week I read the long New Yorker article about the making of Bjork’s new album, and my interest in her was resparked, for two reasons: 1. There is always something really fascinating to me about (seemingly) happy artist couples. My old fondness for Claire Fisher resurfaced momentarily when she described her crush as follows: “He’s, like, the Matthew Barney of LAC Arts . . . and I am SO not the Bjork of LAC Arts.” Imagining BG and MB’s domestic bliss is very intriguing. Like, what does their furniture look like? Is any of it covered with a thin film of Vaseline?

2. Speaking of artist couples . . . ha ha . . . um, my boyfriend is an ‘experimental noise musician,’ which means that most of the music he listens to or creates is kind of hard to take. Like, if our respective CD collections ever came to life, Fantasia-style, his CDs would tease and beat up my CDs, which would cower in the corner, moping. Recently I mentioned to him that we don’t have much in common, shared-interest-wise. He did not respond by reminding me that we both like Breakfast at Tiffany’s, because neither of us has ever seen it. Sorry if that song is stuck in your head now. Anyway, we resolved to find a mutual hobby or interest (besides, you know, the obvious things). I wondered if, by some miracle, we would both like Bjork’s new album.

I don’t know yet whether or not Henry likes Medulla. My guess is that he won’t, despite a track featuring Robert Wyatt sounding very Soft Machineish. Other than that, the album is not really loud or crazy enough for his tastes. But guess what: I like it.

On first listen, the lack of instrumentation was really noticeable, and I was reminded vaguely the a capella stylings of the Kenyon Kokosingers (I know, right?). Luckily there is no “bob sh’bop” or “mowmowmow” on this album. Bjork’s voice, as always, is crystalline and belty and growly, old-ladyish and little-girlish somehow at the same time. And the songs are more than just elegant settings for it – more than before, they’re meticulously realized soundscapes, layered and precise. I especially like the less noodly, more poppy ones, like Where is the Line. My favorite track is The Pleasure is All Mine with its slow, eerie, hypnotically lulling chorus of oooooooooooohs. It’s like stumbling through a creepy mansion that is haunted by the ghosts of a choir.

Uh, maybe you should just listen to it yourself. Anyway, way to go, Bjork. I like you again! Keep up the good work, and don’t tell Matthew that last year at the Guggenheim I used some of his art as lip balm.