After nearly two decades into her career as a solo artist, it's safe to say Björk is in a league of her own. Every album she's released has solidified her glass-encased trademark of combining electronic wizardry in boldly stated structure, ethereally lurking beside her glaciered vocals. Biophilia is no different, though it marks what is quite possibly her most experimental album to date; from an artist who's left-field nature is the crème de la crème. It's an exciting progression from 2007's Volta, an album that suffered from critical backlash as writers attempted to fill their deadlines to write about an album that requires more than a week of public consciousness to settle in and appreciate. The same goes for Biophilia; a future-thinking, forward-adapted, post-post-modern pop album the world may not be ready for. Despite this, it's risen from a deep, deep sleep inside the ice cold, bio-carbonized pressure tank of its creation; and a unique beast has been released.
All it takes is the last 40 seconds of "Crystalline" to realize Björk is onto something here. Throughout the track, playful metallics reside as electronics wisp, curl, and sweep about the landscape under throbbing bass hits. Though it eventually falls victim to "Crystallophobia", as judgment day arrives in the form of surging drills, exploding bass tones, and hardcore electronica; stealing its innocence within a matter of seconds. Björk foreshadows a similarly violent effect by opening with, "I shuffle around the tectonic plates in my chest" on "Mutual Core", where a bleak organ tone paints an ill-fated picture. All the while her monotone slowly building to a wailing aggression, and before she can warn, "This eruption undoes stagnation / You didn't know I had it in me", abrasive electronics and unforgiving bass collisions break the sonic tectonics, bursting into a formless lava of digitally threatening noise.
These effects are exclusive to the aforementioned tracks, as the music that surrounds them ranges anywhere from blissfully lush to difficultly afflicted. "Dark Matter" is the furthest example of the latter, sounding as bleak and hopeless as anything she's ever recorded. It ignites harsh low-end and blackened drones through a cosmically inspired poem, as her voice slowly transforms in a shivering torment. Following the inferno is "Hollow", bringing with it orchestral inspired percussion and a striking cathedral organ; maintaining the dreary atmosphere of its predecessor. It's interesting to note these raw, slow burners are placed in the middle of the album, as the tracks that surround them all sound relatively optimistic. "Moon", "Cosmogony", "Virus", "Sacrifice", and "Solstice" all carry the stripped-down nature of Björk swan-song Vespertine, but sound distinctly biophilic, cradling childlike instrumentation and her smoothly free-flowing vocal cure.
Like an intelligent experimental release, Biophilia refuses to reveal itself from a passive first listen. For most it will siren attention to its subtleties and loose-end structure, ultimately resulting in a resonating and memorable listen for those willing to dig deeper. It's the kind of album that's likely to sneak up on you when you least expect it. Sadly, it may end up with a similar fate to the likes of Volta; fans mistaking its experimental and oddball nature for lackluster music. Although because of tracks like "Crystalline" and "Mutual Core", many will come back for more, causing the subtle architecture surrounding the album to fully reveal itself. Biophilia is remaining proof that experimental music is alive and well within today's mainstream, and once again Björk continues to test the fabric of pop music, and how far it can truly be stretched.
[Björk Website]
[Buy Biophilia from the Björk Shop]
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