REVIEW: Bjork, Homogenic (Elektra)
- Joe Silva
When it comes to that point where we need to start pegging down the artists of the decade, her Bjork-ness will be right there front and centre. Like U2 and REM, you figure at one point she will have to fail, and will produce a record that flat out stiffs. But so far, she's batting a thousand and uno. While the pack of electro-chanteuses that are now among us are largely groundlings, she resides in a far loftier portion of the atmosphere.
If you can sidestep the voice for a moment (but for only a moment), the most stunning aspect of this LP has to be the shameless way Bjork shows off to the world how masterful her ears are. Her ability to draw out of herself and her collaborators the most alluring, sensuous sounds is beyond top flight. Consciously or not, she borrows, appropriates wholesale, and nods to the best of her peers and then demonstrates how she might go them one better. Wonder why the second Portishead platter falls markedly shy of their debut? Because while they were suspended in that mini-eternity fretting over their arrested development, Miss Icelandia snuck in to their sampler and stole all the aching sorrow and film-noir-ness out of the circuitry for use in "Bachelorette." Who got the "honour" of doing the next James Bond song? Sheryl Crow? Somebody somewhere is kicking themselves.
Comments have been made by the artist herself of having returned to a sexuality that fed on nature (mountains, the ocean) and in turn fired Homogenic's inspiration. To be sure, it can be heard everywhere within. On "Unravel" you are beneath a cold Northern sea, floating in space for "Immature," and on the mountain top for "Alarm Call." And above it all, singing straight into a hand held mirror, is a voice that arcs and swoops and is as thrilling as any fairground attraction I've ever ridden.
As a parting comparison though, take a look at ol Mozzer. For all his smarts and vocal charisma by shedding his connection to Mr. Marr, Morrissey has developed a blockage to and from his pop instinct that is so severe that any number of bypasses may be too late. Your Arsenal was nothing short of a miracle. But even that transfusion was short-lived. Bjork, however, keeps her resources fresh and close at hand. Anything stale is probably dispensed with with the same keen awareness that keeps her hunting sonically and otherwise. Having brought back the goods once again, we've only to sit back and join in the revelry.
