Lorna Irvine finds Bjork's latest album to be her 'at her least dazzling'.
"I'm fine-tuning my soul to the universal wavelength," declares Ms Bjork Gudmundsdottir on 'Atom Dance', after a great deal of soul-searching. Thing is, this is a slight exaggeration. She will always be unique, out of step with trends and worldwide appeal.
Since the oddball pop of The Sugar Cubes' 'Birthday' opened my thirteen-year-old ears to the possibilities of the 'other' in pop, I have always admired Bjork's risk-taking: whether recording breathless confessions to friends in night club toilets, to lonely sea ballads or searching for clear paths through "emotional landscapes". Sadly, this new album, leaked a little early, suggests she has lost her way a little.
Ominous strings and the sound of swords being primed hint at a combative woman, ready to do battle. With who or what is unclear. Partners? The record industry? Society?
An elusive tone permeates, sadness and loss gnawing away underneath, with overlapping vocals and themes of memory, love and legacy.
Arca and The Haxan Cloak's production looms large, yet despite the swirling circus thrills of 'Notget' there's little to differentiate between certain songs. Strings sweep majestically, but melodies are not very memorable. Indeed, opening track 'Stonemilker' is like a less inspired 'All is Full of Love'. 'Mouth Mantra' picks up the pace a little, with a spicy electro zeal, but it's Bjork at her least dazzling.
Still, her worst is better than many artists' best.
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