Chris
09-25-2004, 03:20 PM
http://www.mediaprofis.net/images/articles/3D/xsi-bjork.jpg
Icelandic singer Björk did something entirely revolutionary
when she released her new album this year called "Medulla."
Read:
It would be difficult to accuse Björk of making music shaped by commercial or critical expectations at any point in her career, but her post-Homogenic work has been even more focused on following her bliss, whether that means acting and singing in Lars Von Trier's grim musical Dancer in the Dark; crafting tiptoeing laptop lullabies on Vespertine; or, in the case of Medúlla, sculpting an album out of almost nothing but singing and vocal samples. Before Medúlla's release, she declared that "instruments are so over," and considering what a distinctive voice and vision she has, it's almost a reasonable claim.
The album's title and concept refer to the truest, most undiluted essence of something, and Medúlla explores both the ritual power of the human voice and some of the most essential themes of Björk's music in a way that's both primal and elaborate. In some ways, the album feels like an extension of the concept behind Family Tree: it traces and unites the elements that make Björk's music what it is.
Several songs are sung in Icelandic, which works especially well, not only because it ties in with Medúlla's concept, but also because of the language's sonic qualities: the rolling Rs, unexpected (to non-Icelandic ears, anyway) guttural stops, and elongated vowels reflect the alternately chopped and soaring arrangements behind them. Neopaganism and unfettered sensuality also wind through the album, particularly on "Mouth's Cradle," along with meditative, Vespertine-like pieces such as "Desired Constellation." It took a large cast of characters to make the album's seemingly organic sound, including vocalists ranging from Icelandic and British choirs to Inuit singers to Mike Patton and Robert Wyatt; programmers like Matmos, Mark Bell, and Mark "Spike" Stent; and beatboxers such as Rahzel and the onomatopoeically named Japanese artist Dokaka. The results are, in their own way, Björk's most intimate-sounding music.
Throughout Medúlla, her voice is miked very closely, and with the dense layers of vocals surrounding her, it often sounds as if you're listening to the album from inside her larynx. Even the album artwork's black-on-black song titles and lyrics require you to get physically close to decipher them. But this intimacy can often be intimidating, and even unnerving: despite being reconfigured, the vocals that make up the arrangements still retain their ingrained emotions. Toward the end of "The Pleasure Is All Mine," a contented sigh repeats in the left channel, juxtaposed against an almost weeping sound on the right, giving the song an unusual depth and ambivalence.
Some of the heavy breathing, grunts, and ululating woven into the album come close to provoking physical reactions: the massed vocals, eerie sighs, and throat singing on "Ancestors" make the chest ache and border on the animalistic, suggesting a particularly melodic pack of wolves. Meanwhile, there's something simian about Dokaka's cheerful babbling and beats on "Triumph of a Heart." Despite gently whimsical moments like the Robert Wyatt duet "Submarine" (which bears an uncanny resemblance to TV on the Radio's postmodern take on doo wop), on the whole its mix of raw, heavy rhythms and rarefied choral washes make Medúlla the most challenging work of Björk's career. "Where Is the Line" is one of Björk's tough, no-nonsense songs, and Rahzel's hard-hitting beats and the accusatory choir behind her make the track even starker than anything on Homogenic.
Even the album's most accessible songs, such as the gone-native loveliness of "Who Is It (Carry My Joy on the Left, Carry My Pain on the Right)" and "Oceania," which Björk wrote for the 2004 Athens Olympics, have an alien quality that is all the stranger considering that nearly all of the songs' source material is human (except for the odd keyboard or two). Aside from a few simple, a cappella, or nearly a cappella songs like "Show Me Forgiveness," this is also Björk's most process-oriented album, as reflected by layered, experimental tracks such as "Öll Birtan." In fact, fans of world, contemporary classical, or avant-garde music might find more to appreciate in Medúlla than anyone looking for a "Human Behaviour" or "It's Oh So Quiet." It's not a poppy or immediate album, but it is a fascinating one, not to mention a rewarding one for anyone interested in the world's oldest instrument being used in unexpected ways.
Icelandic singer Björk did something entirely revolutionary
when she released her new album this year called "Medulla."
Read:
It would be difficult to accuse Björk of making music shaped by commercial or critical expectations at any point in her career, but her post-Homogenic work has been even more focused on following her bliss, whether that means acting and singing in Lars Von Trier's grim musical Dancer in the Dark; crafting tiptoeing laptop lullabies on Vespertine; or, in the case of Medúlla, sculpting an album out of almost nothing but singing and vocal samples. Before Medúlla's release, she declared that "instruments are so over," and considering what a distinctive voice and vision she has, it's almost a reasonable claim.
The album's title and concept refer to the truest, most undiluted essence of something, and Medúlla explores both the ritual power of the human voice and some of the most essential themes of Björk's music in a way that's both primal and elaborate. In some ways, the album feels like an extension of the concept behind Family Tree: it traces and unites the elements that make Björk's music what it is.
Several songs are sung in Icelandic, which works especially well, not only because it ties in with Medúlla's concept, but also because of the language's sonic qualities: the rolling Rs, unexpected (to non-Icelandic ears, anyway) guttural stops, and elongated vowels reflect the alternately chopped and soaring arrangements behind them. Neopaganism and unfettered sensuality also wind through the album, particularly on "Mouth's Cradle," along with meditative, Vespertine-like pieces such as "Desired Constellation." It took a large cast of characters to make the album's seemingly organic sound, including vocalists ranging from Icelandic and British choirs to Inuit singers to Mike Patton and Robert Wyatt; programmers like Matmos, Mark Bell, and Mark "Spike" Stent; and beatboxers such as Rahzel and the onomatopoeically named Japanese artist Dokaka. The results are, in their own way, Björk's most intimate-sounding music.
Throughout Medúlla, her voice is miked very closely, and with the dense layers of vocals surrounding her, it often sounds as if you're listening to the album from inside her larynx. Even the album artwork's black-on-black song titles and lyrics require you to get physically close to decipher them. But this intimacy can often be intimidating, and even unnerving: despite being reconfigured, the vocals that make up the arrangements still retain their ingrained emotions. Toward the end of "The Pleasure Is All Mine," a contented sigh repeats in the left channel, juxtaposed against an almost weeping sound on the right, giving the song an unusual depth and ambivalence.
Some of the heavy breathing, grunts, and ululating woven into the album come close to provoking physical reactions: the massed vocals, eerie sighs, and throat singing on "Ancestors" make the chest ache and border on the animalistic, suggesting a particularly melodic pack of wolves. Meanwhile, there's something simian about Dokaka's cheerful babbling and beats on "Triumph of a Heart." Despite gently whimsical moments like the Robert Wyatt duet "Submarine" (which bears an uncanny resemblance to TV on the Radio's postmodern take on doo wop), on the whole its mix of raw, heavy rhythms and rarefied choral washes make Medúlla the most challenging work of Björk's career. "Where Is the Line" is one of Björk's tough, no-nonsense songs, and Rahzel's hard-hitting beats and the accusatory choir behind her make the track even starker than anything on Homogenic.
Even the album's most accessible songs, such as the gone-native loveliness of "Who Is It (Carry My Joy on the Left, Carry My Pain on the Right)" and "Oceania," which Björk wrote for the 2004 Athens Olympics, have an alien quality that is all the stranger considering that nearly all of the songs' source material is human (except for the odd keyboard or two). Aside from a few simple, a cappella, or nearly a cappella songs like "Show Me Forgiveness," this is also Björk's most process-oriented album, as reflected by layered, experimental tracks such as "Öll Birtan." In fact, fans of world, contemporary classical, or avant-garde music might find more to appreciate in Medúlla than anyone looking for a "Human Behaviour" or "It's Oh So Quiet." It's not a poppy or immediate album, but it is a fascinating one, not to mention a rewarding one for anyone interested in the world's oldest instrument being used in unexpected ways.