Bjork's Medulla

Björk strips away almost everything on Medúlla. No guitars. Synthisers are rarely heard. Percussion appears on only a few tracks. Instead, we hear a flood of voices. Choirs singing exotic Icelandic words. Rumbling Inuit throat singers. Chirping harmonies. Outer-space doo wop. Human beat boxes. At the center of it all, Björk's powerful voice conducts the chorus of cacophony.

Björk also abandons the traditional structures of pop music on Medúla. More like the recitative of opera than the tight forms of pop music, the songs on Medúlla follow a dramatic rhythm and seem unconcerned about whether anyone will want to dance. There are melodies you could hum, and moment when you expect a back-beat to enter and catchy pop tune to commence. But Björk resists the obvious at every turn, undermining 4/4 beats with unexpected syncopation and deep layers of vocals.

We expect Björk to be daring, and Medúlla does not disappoint. She has reached a point where her fans will follow her. I wonder, though, if the heavy traffic of bootleg remixes of Björk music has freed the singer to ignore the dictates of the pop format. On various websites, amateur DJs slice apart Björk's music on their laptops and create a kaleidoscope of dance hall hits. Lawrence Lessig believes that a freer exchange of intellectual property, a loosening of the locks we place on music and images and words, will lead to an outpouring of creative derivative works. Does the existence of these derivative works also free artists to follow their muse just a little farther beyond the mainstream then they might have before. If you know that a dozen kids will create a danceable version of your music, then why bother with it yourself? People may want solid beats and uncluttered hooks, but if the fans can tease them from the tracks then the artist is not obligated to provide them.

Blogcritic Mark Saleski also reviews Medúlla.

Originally posted at A Frolic of My Own.

Article Author: Todd A. Price

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