Björk · Grey Nicholson

“I Did Your Wife a Favour” (the 2008-01-11 Friday Fetch-it)

2008-01-11T22:32:00+00:00

Melancholy is a subtle mood. There are lots of songs I find uplifting and essentially happy, that other people think are morose, sad and a general downer. So, depending on which half of the glass you prefer to focus on, Winter Killing could go either way.

It begins abruptly—not “Decent Days And Nights” abruptly, but abruptly nonetheless: there's no intro (strictly, there are 1½ beats before Stina Nordenstam starts singing—hardly an intro) and the song arrives fully-formed.

The intimate electric guitar line (which acts as a bassline despite being much further up in the register) and percussive rhythm that form the song's backbone are present right from the start, as are Stina's vocals. Her vocals are distinctive: close-mic'ed, quiet and understated, with a breathiness and an accent that tend to knit the words together in a slur; her vocals are almost drawled.

When the chorus arrives for the first time, the accompaniment does little to acknowledge that this is actually the chorus; the few extra sparkles are subtle. It doesn't have to do much—the lyrics drop back and let the instruments take over, while still asserting themselves by their repetition.

The lyrics seem to speak warmly of togetherness: “you're safer with me here”. Then, after three of those affirmations and half a minute in that frame of mind, the punchline comes with a wry smile: “and you there”.

As understated as the chorus is, it's still a grooveable sing-, hum- and foot-tap-along, largely thanks to that percussive rhythm, which could easily be transplanted into an upbeat dance-pop tune. (In fact it's very reminiscent of the rhythm underpinning “5 Years” by Björk.)

The second verse retains most of the embellishments from the chorus, and has a bigger feel to it than the first verse. Conversely, though, it's only half as long before launching into another chorus. This second chorus is the song's fully-rounded “complete” sound that you'll be singing back to yourself next time you hear the first chorus—forgetting how restrained most of Winter Killing is.

As with much of the rest of the album, The World Is Saved (and “Parliament Square” is a particularly good example of this), it's the accompaniment's instrumental flourishes that really make the song—here a jazz-influenced, echo-y piano counter-melody most evident in the second chorus.

A modified, dampened third verse takes the place of a middle 8. When the chorus returns it too is subdued and adds a note of fragility: “I'm safer with me here”. The music does kick back in, but only fleetingly, and after the bulk of the words have passed.

Perhaps it's just the title, but Winter Killing does bring winter to my mind. Each piano note is a tiny white light peeking through the leaves of a tree; that percussive rhythm is the sound of snow cracking underfoot; the jangling bells are flurries of snow falling beneath a streetlight or, well, jangling bells. If there were a video for Winter Killing, Stina would be wearing a woolly hat and gloves, with her breath crystallising as she sings.

Throughout, it feels frosty and minimal—not in a white-cube zen–type way; more in that it sounds completely un-produced, or perhaps un-overproduced. There's no wall of sound, no pithy vocal effects and no overdubs. And there's certainly no big, celebratory, radio-friendly, stadium-rocking chorus repeat. In fact, there aren't even any backing vocals: perhaps that's what gives Winter Killing (and the rest of The World Is Saved) such an air of intimacy. There's nothing lacking, but equally nothing excessive. It's not laden with grandeur, pretension or ego.

It's as if she's taken the skeleton of a song and added individual notes, each glistening, until it's just beautiful enough. If you download one song this week, make it Winter Killing.

(How do you follow that? I'm still not really sure. It's the mood of “Hotel” by Broken Social Scene married to the rhythm of “5 Years” by Björk (plus a smattering of frost), so those two go well. “Leaving the City” by Róisín Murphy has lyrics that actually follow and make sense, and the style of Stina's vocals is even (sort-of) echoed in the breathiness of Róisín's. “Rewrite” by Sia also follows it nicely, as does “Waiting” by Cibelle.)

About the blog's title

2007-07-16T23:26:00+00:00

There was a TV advert recently—I think it was for an optician, though it might've been for a camera—in which a person walks through a forest, with Polaroid-type photos dropping behind them every few paces. The point was that we see so many images even over the course of just one day, but remember just a tiny fraction of this. You can generalise that to the other senses as well.

For example, a human can see at a rate of about ten frames per second, so over twelve hours one sees more than four hundred thousand images. And we remember none of them. I mean: we filter these images and extract facts from them, but then we forget the actual image. Even if we consciously try to remember the image, memories are imperfect and some subtleties are always changed or lost. (Animals make rubbish eyewitnesses.)

After a split-second review of each of these innumerate sensations, to extract the juiciest titbits, the brain simply discards all of them. There's decay intrinsic in every perception an animal makes.

In the world of software geekery, a “dataloss” bug (problem or error) is one that causes some of the user's information to be lost. It occurred to me that this advert was expressing a continual state of dataloss. It's one of the fundamental aspects of what's often called “the human condition” (although I should make it clear that I think this applies beyond just humans).

A lot of science fiction stories involving robots—for example—contrast those robots with their human (and roughly-human) counterparts, by having the robots be “perfect”. Flawless memory; absolute objectivity (the absence of emotions influencing decisions); and limitless accuracy and precision in almost every respect are hallmarks of the science fiction robot. (This isn't particularly contrived, as these are attributes that the fictional robots share with real-life computers.)

Often this “perfection” extends to an inability to feel emotions, usually love. While the robots are lauded for their impeccable grasp of the factual, they can simultaneously be pitied for their lack of a “deeper” experience of life, beyond the “merely” factual. (My suggestion that there is something “deeper” than the “merely factual” already assumes that there's more to life than pure facts.)

Is it wrong to say it's love when it tries the way it does?

—The Flaming Lips, “One More Robot / Sympathy 3000-21”

It's concluded that in fact the robots' “perfection”, while ostensibly useful, is also a shortcoming. Imperfection is highlighted and celebrated as being intrinsic to humans' nature—constant dataloss is a fundamental part of life.

There's definitely, definitely, definitely no logic to human behaviour.

—Björk, “Human Behaviour”

I used “Dataloss” in the title rather than “decay” because dataloss is usually seen as being actively induced and thus preventable. Decay is more of a continuous, natural, inevitable process; I wanted to challenge dataloss's preventability. Besides, the latter has connotations of rotting flesh that I didn't want to encourage.

The “Walking” half of the title is the best way I could find to succinctly express the idea that people are dataloss (although, of course, I don't mean that they literally are). I'm also using it to illustrate the idea that what seems to be the most straightforward way to say something often comes loaded with assumptions. Here it's assumed that discussion is naturally restricted to concerning humans and no-one else, and that all humans can (or do) walk.

There should be a conclusion here... ...So! “Walking Dataloss” manages to cover the blog's main thrusts, “decay, perception and dodgy assumptions”, pretty succinctly.

“We Won't Save You” (the 2007-07-13 Friday Fetch-it)

2007-07-13T20:18:00+00:00

When I started the Fetch-it, some fifteen months ago (or seven, if you only count months in which I've actually recommended anything), I decided not to recommend any music by Björk, mainly because I couldn't bring myself to pick one of her songs above all others. It should be very clear at this point that I am less than three Björk.

In 2005, Björk compiled an album of Army of Me remixes and covers in aid of UNICEF. (Pay attention to that link—it has free downloads.) Alongside a country and western version; a couple of hard-rock reimaginings; a bossa nova version; a one-minute a cappella; and a Super Mario-flavoured accelerando, Beats Beyond (of whom I've never heard either) contributed “Army of Me [Bersarinplatz Mix]”.

So this isn't a song by Björk. It's a remix of a song by Björk, which uses bits of her voice, and things, but it definitely doesn't count as a Björk song simply because—as we'll see—it's nothing like the original.

...Although it does begin with the same crescendo as the original song—exactly: you may even be fooled into believing that this is Army of Me, though only for about three seconds. Where the original's beat kicks in with an explosion at the end of the crescendo, here the explosion fades away and is replaced by an electronic throb.

This throb is joined by a dirty, buzzy bassline—like a twitching, edgier version of the original's bassline—and a few choice Björk vocals. And then “The Riff” takes over, and any lingering suggestion that you're hearing Army of Me evaporates. This riff is a drum-'n'-bass dance bassline, only at a more moderate tempo and swung, using triple time. And with a thudding beat. Like Train by Goldfrapp crossed with Shoot The Runner by Kasabian.

The bassline, throb and vocals gradually reappear and are soon joined by a high, rippling electronic countermelody to The Riff. By now, two minutes in, the song's driving along nicely—toes are tapping.

But then with a drone-like, suspended animation Björk vocal (“once more”) along for the ride, in the space of about five seconds, the song swerves to avoid a crossing pedestrian and skids off the side of the road—crashing straight into a black hole, in which all the constituent parts of the song tie themselves up in a knot and collapse in on themselves, like an old-fashioned TV being switched off. More literally, it sounds like a more-warped, grungier version of the end of Phones' Disco Edit of Banquet by Bloc Party. Or a five-second armageddon.

Instantly, the driving beat of The Riff resumes. After passing through a quick loop-the-loop and crashing into another supernova, the song breaks down to just the throb and the rippling countermelody.

But soon The Riff reappears once more, alongside a new counter-countermelody. —On top of the first, rippling countermelody. And the melody of The Riff. And Björk's vocals. Four layers of melody now accompany the driving rhythm, so we're quite happy to dwell here for a minute or so, until the song concludes with a repeat of the opening explosion, again fading, this time to nothing.

Apart from Björk's voice, which sings a very simple line, every melody here is completely original and the rhythm is nothing like Army of Me. It's like calling an ostrich a remix of a velociraptor.

It technically is, but in reality it's a completely different animal. If you download one song this week, make it Bersarinplatz. ...or anything by Björk.

(I <3 Björk)

(How do you follow that? Probably with either Train or Shoot The Runner. Or possibly Den her sang handler om at få det bedste ud af det by Under byen (who're really rather good, you know).)

On “on Volta”

2007-05-09T04:37:00+00:00

I've written some words about Volta, Björk's new album, on my Last.fm journal. A good number of them are quite orthogonal to what might be considered sensible. Yes, I'm aware that my interpretation of the album's narrative is entirely unique.

For posterity, here are those words — since deleted from Last.fm — courtesy of archive.org.

on Volta

8 May 2007, 1:37am

I bought Volta today, what with it being released today and everything. And here was me, like a fool, expecting an album of songs like Earth Intruders. I should know better.

By the way, this isn't a coherent review—just some thoughts. (The Friday Fetch-it will be back soon.)

Volta's sleeve is pretty elaborate (the limited edition, anyway)—the CD and DVD live in the middle of a five-layer Russian-doll–style nest, and the front artwork lives on a sticker that holds together the two halves of the gatefold.

Declare Independence is a blatant contender for a future single. The nearest comparisons to other Björk songs are Army of Me, Pluto and (especially) the Alec Empire mixes of Jóga; but it also sounds kind of like Let Me See Your Eyes, Dance This Mess Around and the start of Banquet (Phones' Disco Edit). (If you download one track off this album...)

I See Who You Are and Hope sound like Colleen—that'll be the plucked strings then. To call The Dull Flame Of Desire “epic” would be lazy but fitting; it has good drumming.

A couple of the tracks sample brass from Drawing Restraint 9 and dramatic or lamentative brass is present throughout much of the album. Volta sounds like it takes place partly aboard a very slowly sinking steam ship, partly in a zen garden and partly inside a drum. And occasionally in Björk's head,

more on Volta

added 8 May, 11:28pm

Actually I think Declare Independence is much closer to Enjoy than to Army of Me. It's kind of like the bastard child of Pluto and Enjoy only with more noise, 10%-Dalek vocals and four times as loud.

The songs on Volta each share a lot of elements with various earlier Björk songs, both sonically and thematically; I won't try to show off by listing every connection I can think of 'cos you'd probably spot them anyway.

(Warning: the following paragraphs were invented inside my head and make absolutely no sense whatsoever; any similarity to any album by Björk is entirely coincidental)

Our story begins—inside a drum in the middle of Africa—with Earth Intruders. Timbaland's there and everything's generally a bit mental: Space Invaders™, subtly renamed to avoid legal difficulties, are trying to take over the... drum. Fortuitously, and quite inexplicably, a steam ship arrives and makes a lot of noise for one minute and thirty-one seconds.

The ship is the venue for most of the album. In Wanderlust, Björk sets sail aboard the S.S. Drawing Restraint 9, leaving Timbaland behind. She meets Antony Matthew Barney Hegarty, the ship's captain, and Björk and Antony perform The Dull Flame Of Desire from deep within the bowels of the ship's hull (because Antony didn't know all of the words to Unison).

Innocence is a flashback to Björk's time with Timbaland... in the drum... when Björk discovered another side to herself (place your bets now on what this is going to end up being) and slowly comes to terms with it.

I See Who You Are, in which Björk admires Antony's body (gender notwithstanding) and decides it's pretty tasty-looking (bear with me on this), takes place in a zen garden inside Björk's head (which is still inside the ship, on top of the rest of her).

Vertebræ By Vertebræ is set back on S.S. DR9—it turns out Björk is a werewolf (or possibly a werewhale).

During Pneumonia, the now-werewolfily-schizophrenic Björk watches herself ravage everyone on the ship (including Antony), despite her own protestations.

Hope cuts back to the zen garden in Björk's head, in which she ponders the ethical ramifications of her werewolfy alter ego's rampage.

Declare Independence takes place inside the ship's engine as it crashes into the ocean floor (Björk ate the pilot, remember?). In her last moments, Björk considers the plight of Timbaland and all those other people who live in the... drum... at the hands of the Space Invaders™.

My Juvenile is set once again in the zen garden in Björk's head / the afterlife, where Antony (as ‹the conscience›) forgives her. 'Cos, y'know, he's a nice guy like that.

It's kind of like the film Titanic, only with a werewolf instead of an iceberg, Antony and Björk instead of Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet, and no string quartet. And Kate rips Leo to bits with her teeth.

I'll be brand new, brand new tomorrow; a little bit tired, but brand new

2006-12-31T14:32:00+00:00

If I wanted to spend the new year being reclusive, I'd start playing Homogenic at 23:21:01, so that Pluto ends at midnight.