Bjork has always been one of those artists I've always been interested in but never got around to properly checking out. With my recent upgrade to Spotify Premium, I now have easy access to thousands of records I would otherwise overlook. Sure, I've always downloaded music, but typing "Bjork" into Spotify and pressing play is easier than researching a band and then finding links to the "best" record, downloading the .rar, importing into iTunes, yadda yadda yadda. Hence Bjork happened, after like eight years of being put off.
A few weeks ago my girlfriend Jo buggered off to New York for a week and left me in the house all alone. With absolutely nothing better to do with my time, I consumed my body weight in fried chicken and out-done my personal best in the consumption of bowls and blunts. One particular evening I smoked so much of "the good" that I pressed play on Bjork's Spotify page and let it run for five hours. What I did within that time I'm not entirely sure, but I imagine a large portion of it was spent staring at the wall. I decided soon after to buy some Bjork records. Go figure.
I started at the beginning, with Debut. It is no secret to most that Bjork is absolutely fucking batshit insane, so by her standards, Debut is as tame as a fat Persian cat loaded to the gills on catnip. There isn't any breakbeat here, or any enormously 90s dance vibes. There is a smattering of jazz and alternative instrumentation, even some dubby tracks and some with the old house feel. But what leads the whole circus is Bjork's somewhat retarded and Welsh-sounding - not to mention eternally mesmerising - voice. It literally sounds like a "special kid" has been given access to a million dollar budget and a high end studio crammed with all the musicians in the world. And I mean that in the nicest way possible. I might be a bit late to the party, but Bjork, I think I'm in love with you.
No comments:
Post a Comment