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bjork: vespertine
BY ANA NERSESSIAN
Like PJ Harvey before her, Bjork has fallen in love. Her latest release, Vespertine, is a 12-song ode to the warm-and-fuzzies, and those who liked Harvey's newfound accessibility on Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea may be similarly drawn to the mellow beats and shallow lyrics of this album. Unlike the spunky Debut, which fused light-hearted techno with Bjork's trademark arctic banshee wail, or the symphonic cacophony of the brilliant Homogenic, Vespertine is as close to a "Pure Moods" CD as Bjork is ever going to get. Or at least we hope.
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The album kicks off...well, rolls over and whimpers, with "Hidden Place," a breathy and self-satisfied monotony of throbs that invites Bjork's lover—"the beautifullest, fragilest" fish in the sea—to run away together and hide in (gasp!) their hidden place. It's more than a little disconcerting to hear Bjork's cavewoman growls and triumphant shrieks tamed to adolescent sing-song. The result, instead of being intimate or sensual, is that of a Powerpuff Girl asking for a cookie.
If you're good and stoned, you might be able to make it through the next few tracks, which, with their droning vocals ("Cocoon") and ineffectual use of synthesizers ("An Echo, A Stain") will make you long for the strident blast of classics like "It's Oh So Quiet." The mildly intriguing "Pagan Poetry" disintegrates into a chorus of what sound like Oompa-Loompas chanting "she loves him, she loves him," as their zoned-out den mother obligingly affirms, "I love him, I love him." But by the time "Sun In My Mouth" rolls around, its gleaming strings and harps can't redeem the eight narcoleptic lullabies that preceded it, and "Heirloom" seems to have wandered in from another, better album. Unfortunately, that album has yet to be made; while Bjork may finally be getting some, her fans, it seems, are not. (Elektra)
All materials © 2001 The Yale Herald, Inc., and its staff.
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