Think of a capella singing as a valid art form and it's difficult to present credible examples, especially when vocal 'artistes' such as The Flying Pickets, Bobby McFerrin and (deep breath) Manhattan Transfer all rise like a gruesome scum from the mind's deeper recesses.
Surely we can trust BJORK to invest some credibility into this most maligned of approaches, though? Well, yes and no, for her entirely a capella (well, give or take some low-key programming, beats and suchlike) new album "Medulla" features moments of both transcendency and near-catastrophe.
We'll return to the highlights in a while. However, while you can't deny Ms.Gundsmunsdottir's desire to tenaciously pursue great high art, she does succumb to what Mark.E.Smith would no doubt term 'all that bloody arty shite' on several occasions as "Medulla" rolls uncertainly along.
The tracks mostly at fault are the ones where Bjork eschews the melodic textures grafted on by the Icelandic and London-based choirs who - along with a cast of thousands including everyone from Robert Wyatt to Mike bloody Patton - grace several of "Medulla"s best moments.
When Bjork dispenses with their services for the quirky avant-garde-isms of "Oll Birtan" and the Aphex Twin-style breathing exercise thinly disguised as "Ancestors" you really could take her out and have her shot, while she fares little better on the closing "Triumph Of A Heart", featuring Gregory Purnhagen playing 'human trombone'. Oh fucking joy. If you're feeling lenient, you could say it pushes the post-hip-hop envelope, but then you could just as easily cut out the middleman and say it's simply tedious cack. I'm plumping for this latter.
Of course, this being Bjork, there are still some glorious moments when you're truly empowered by the fact you hung around to hear "Medulla" in its' entirety. Early on, she shows signs of real, ethereal form with both "Pleasure Is All Mine" and the feverishly impressive "Where Is The Line", where - over bullfrog-style bassline burps from Patton and Purnhagen and angelic input from the Icelandic choir - Bjork builds something menacing that turns the most incredible vocal somersaults.
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Elsewhere, co-opting the unimpeachable Robert Wyatt proves a wise move. "Submarine" finds them in tandem and it's truly sublime: creating something stunning and sorrowful with their voices meshing to near perfection. This is as good as "Medulla" gets, though certainly the enigmatic "Who Is It?" is exhilarating enough, aided and abetted by LFO's Mark Bell and San Fran weirdos Matmos's chattering beats and fractious atmosphere. "Vokuro", too, works well. A vocal arrangement of a piano composition written by septuagenerian Icelandic musician Jorunn Vidar, it translates comfortably to a vocal setting and is sung with consummate ease by her enigmatic majesty.
You've got to hand it to Bjork. As a hugely influential cult artist within whispering distance of lasting mass success, she still has the vision, determination and bull-headedness to take chances with a record like this which has all the signs of a fanbase-shrinker. This is all good for credibility, but can cut both ways, and while she chose the name "Medulla" because "it means marrow in medical language...it's about getting to the essence of something", it could just as easily be argued that the resulting album will struggle to get under the masses' skin. We'll see.
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