“Instruments are so over”. It is with this
bold statement that Björk recently introduced Medúlla,
her fifth post-Sugarcubes solo album, and by far her
most challenging record to date. Dispensing of almost
any musical instruments, Björk relies on the Icelandic
vocal tradition for this album and investigates the
power of the human voice in all its shapes, from solitary
lament to full choir and treated vocals.
Set against the sonic luxuriance of Homogenic
and the subtle poetry of Vespertine,
Medúlla appears darker, more primal
and contrasted, drafting in clouds of noises, screams
or hums to create dense layers of human sounds. Here
is revealed the very essence of Björk’s music,
stripped down of its normal envelope and exposed for
all to contemplate. Medúlla started
its life as an instrument-laden affair, but Björk
soon realised she had got lost on the way, and swiftly
changed direction, inviting a whole range of artists,
some regular collaborators (Mark
Bell, Mark ‘Spike’ Stent, Matmos,
Valgeir Sigurdsson), others, such as Inuit throat singer
Tanya Tagaq Gillis or Japanese beatbox artist Dokaka,
almost totally unknown outside of their own musical
realm, to provide a vast array of sounds and noises
used either in their natural form or as part of a more
elaborated processing.
The album opens in style with the pastoral The Pleasure
Is All Mine. Apparently partly recorded while Björk
was walking alone on the small island of La Gomera in
the Canaries, this sumptuous song, which also features
Tagaq, Faith No More singer Mike Patton, human beatbox
and Roots member Razhel and The Icelandic Choir, is
a perfect introduction to this album. On the delicate
Show Me Forgiveness that follows, Björk
finds herself alone, with no other effect than a slight
echo applied to her voice.
Calm before the storm, these two songs establish the
vocal nature of this album, but Medúlla’s
true experimental frame is to be found on the more demanding
Where Is The Line?, Öll Birtan
or Ancestors, on which Taraq’s traditional
Inuit throat singing, reminiscent of Maja
Ratkje’s Voice,
swirls around Björk’s voice in threatening
swathes of blood-red clouds. Elsewhere, as on the superb
Submarine, the much talked about collaboration
with Robert Wyatt, and on Oceania, Mouth’s
Cradle or the closing Triumph Of A Heart,
there are hints of Björk’s poppier days cleverly
blended into Medúlla’s unconventional
template. The latter especially is reminiscent of a
rawer version of Human Behaviour.
All the way through Medúlla, voices
are taken in and out of context and applied in a variety
of forms to give the songs subtle tones and atmospheric
edge. Sometimes sitting slightly uncomfortably between
liturgical references, Bulgarian atonal polyphonies
and the experimental framework of Maja
Ratkje, this album is Björk‘s very personal
interpretation of music as a mean of expression. On
here, she doesn’t only challenge her audience
by producing a truly non-commercial record, but, more
importantly, she questions her own vision and manages
to create a truly human record on which she exposes
her weaknesses as much as her strengths.
4.8/5 |
