01 – Moon
02 – Thunderbolt
03 – Crystalline
04 – Cosmonogy
05 – Dark Matter			play
06 – Hollow
07 – Virus
08 – Sacrifice				play
09 – Mutual Core
10 – Solstice

The biggest artists in the world might look on in envy at the advance publicity for Björk's eighth album, Biophilia. It's been heralded not merely as an important new release but the future of the entire record industry. "Björk Fights to Save Music" offered the headline in Mojo, not a magazine renowned for working itself up into a state of breathless over-excitement. According to a cover feature in Wired, it represents not merely an attempt to "define humanity's relationship with sound and the universe" but also to "pioneer a music format that will smash industry conventions", neither of which are claims anyone was in a hurry to make for, say, Beady Eye's Different Gear, Still Speeding.

But then, who can blame them? Biophilia invites a degree of grandiosity. It is, by all accounts, the first album to be released as a suite of iPad and iPhone apps, intended as "a semi-educational project for children using sound, texts and visuals" covering, among other topics, plate tectonics, genetics and human biorhythm. It took three years to make, a period that involved discussions not merely with Björk's record company, but Apple and National Geographic. It required the employment of an immense supporting cast. David Attenborough provides narration. Dr Nicola Dibben, a senior lecturer in music at Sheffield University, wrote the essays that accompany every song. An American mathematician and a British scientist and film-maker, bonded by their desire to collect every element in the periodic table, developed some of the apps, and a robotics company's director of engineering was commissioned to build four "gravity harps", which, according to their creator, "make music using the oscillating transformation of gravitational potential energy into kinetic energy and back again".

The fact you feel a bit of a mouldy fig for actually mentioning the music – you have Attenborough announcing you're "on the brink of a revolution that will reunite humans with nature through new technological innovations" and you want to talk about pop songs? – means Biophilia has already succeeded as a kind of multimedia event. At least one critic is entirely prepared to believe his own intellectual deficiencies are what led him to find the apparently direct correlation between the scientific topics and the composition of the music hard to grasp. But even if you loved every minute of the extravaganza, it would be a shame if the tap of fingers on touchscreens drowned out the music, not least because the music doesn't need any support. There's a moment on Crystalline when sparse electronics and the tinkling of the gameleste – another of her specially commissioned instruments – unexpectedly give way to a fizzing, old-fashioned drum'n'bass breakbeat; it provides a visceral thrill that no academic explication or interactive game can really improve on. The lovely, gasping choral swell of Cosmonogy's chorus communicates a sense of wonder at the universe's vastness more directly than the accompanying stuff about orbital ratios and holistic imperatives can.

Indeed, there's a strong argument for uncoupling the music from the apps entirely. Once you've read the essays, there's virtually no room for the listener to put their own interpretation on the songs, which at a stroke cancels out a portion of the pleasure of listening. The whole thing has clearly been designed to make music more malleable and interactive, but risks unwittingly robbing music of the malleability and interactivity it's always had.

Perhaps it's better to just listen. Though it's exquisitely controlled and filled with space where its predecessor Volta was packed to bursting with sound, Biophilia still teems with invention. There's something audacious and impressive about the way Hollow attempts to strike a weird balance between menace and calm, the vocals as lulling as the staccato backing is unsettling. Or Mutual Core's repeated shifts from a wheezing keyboard – it was doubtless built in a laboratory by the provost of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and professor Brian Cox, but it sounds like a 13th-century portative organ – to electronic bombardment. For an album that presents itself as an academic exercise, it's big on moments of pure, indulgent pleasure: though you're some considerable distance from the comforts of standard verse-chorus structure, the melodies of Virus and the closing Solstice are so beautiful they carry you along regardless. It's certainly restless and innovative, but Biophilia never feels like hard work, however much the accompanying bumf tries to convince you it is.

Whether the app album becomes the industry standard or whether it's even a good idea for it to become an industry standard is up for debate: it's hard not to feel your buttocks involuntarily clench a little at the thought of, say, Kings of Leon having a go. Far less questionable is the quality of the music on Biophilia, which would underline how far apart from the rest of rock and pop Björk is, regardless of how it was delivered.---Alexis Petridis, theguardian.com

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01 - Hunter
02 - Jóga
03 - Unravel
04 - BACHELORETTE
05 -All Neon Like
06 - 5 Years
07 - Immature
08 - Alarm Call
09 - Pluto
10 - All Is Full Of Love

Personnel
    Alasdair Alloy – glass harmonica
    Vaughan Armon – violin
    Mark Bell – keyboards
    Sigurbjorn Bernhardsson – violin
    Mark Berrow – violin
    Björk – keyboards
    Mike Brittain – bass
    Jeffrey Bryant – horn
    Roger Chase – viola
    Ben Cruft – violin
    Sigrun Edvaldsdottir – violin
    Paul Gardhaim – bass
    Roger Garland – violin
    Wilfred Gibson – violin
    Isobel Griffiths – orchestra contractor
    Sigurdur Bjarki Gunnarsson – cello
    Hrund Hardardottir – viola
    Bill Hawkes – viola
    Steve Henderson – timbales, tympani
    Paul Kegg – cello
    Yasuhiro Kobayashi – accordion
    Peter Lale – viola
    Chris Laurence – bass
    Helen Liebmann – cello
    Martin Loveday – cello
    Alasdair Malloy – glass harmonica
    Perry Mason – violin
    Jim McLeod – violin
    Perry Montague-Mason – violin
    Trevor Morais – drums, electronic drums
    Jon R. Ornolfsson – cello
    Peter Oxer – violin
    Paul Pritchard – bass
    Maciej Rakowski – violin
    Frank Ricotti – snare drums
    George Robertson – viola
    Guy Sigsworth – clavichord, keyboards, pipe organ
    Moeidur Anna Sigurdardottir – viola
    Una Sveinbjarnardottir – violin
    Mike Thompson – horn
    Sif Tulinius – violin
    John Tunnell – cello
    Helen Tunstall – harp
    Gavyn Wright – violin

By the late '90s, Björk's playful, unique world view and singular voice became as confining as they were defining. With its surprising starkness and darkness, 1997's Homogenic shatters her "Icelandic pixie" image. Possibly inspired by her failed relationship with drum'n'bass kingpin Goldie, Björk sheds her more precious aspects, displaying more emotional depth than even her best previous work indicated. Her collaborators -- LFO's Mark Bell, Mark "Spike" Stent, and Post contributor Howie B -- help make this album not only her emotionally bravest work, but her most sonically adventurous as well. A seamless fusion of chilly strings (courtesy of the Icelandic String Octet), stuttering, abstract beats, and unique touches like accordion and glass harmonica, Homogenic alternates between dark, uncompromising songs such as the icy opener, "Hunter," and more soothing fare like the gently percolating "All Neon Like." The noisy, four-on-the-floor catharsis of "Pluto" and the raw vocals and abstract beats of "5 Years" and "Immature" reveal surprising amounts of anger, pain, and strength in the face of heartache. "I dare you to take me on," Björk challenges her lover in "5 Years," and wonders on "Immature," "How could I be so immature/To think he would replace/The missing elements in me?" "Bachelorette," a sweeping, brooding cousin to Post's "Isobel," is possibly Homogenic's saddest, most beautiful moment, giving filmic grandeur to a stormy relationship. Björk lets a little hope shine through on "Jòga," a moving song dedicated to her homeland and her best friend, and the reassuring finale, "All Is Full of Love." "Alarm Call"'s uplifting dance-pop seems out of place with the rest of the album, but as its title implies, Homogenic is her most holistic work. While it might not represent every side of Björk's music, Homogenic displays some of her most impressive heights. --- Heather Phares, Rovi

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01 - Pleasure Is All Mine
02 - Show Me Forgiveness 
03 - Where Is The Line 
04 - Vo¨kuro´ 
05 - O¨ll Birtan 
06 - Who Is It 
07 - Submarine 
08 - Desired Constellation 
09 - Oceania 
10 - Sonnets - Unrealities XI 
11 - Ancestors 
12 - Mouth's Cradle 
13 - Mi?vikudags 
14 - Triumph Of A Heart 
15 – Komid

Björk's long-awaited Medúlla presented the Icelandic innovator with a challenge. Not only did she have to follow-up her breathtaking 2001 masterpiece Vespertine, but she also decided to do away with instruments. "I only wanted to work with vocalists," she proclaimed in a recent magazine interview.

No instruments? No problem. Welcome human beatbox artists Schlomo, Rahzel (of The Roots) and Dokaka. And many tracks still have a distinctly electronic edge, helped along by Björk's longtime collaborator Mark 'LFO' Bell. Björk also has the most powerful instrument of all at her disposal - her voice.

Fans will feel at home with the opener, "The Pleasure is All Mine", with those familiar trademark wailings and some pleasant Vespertine-like harmonies courtesy of an Icelandic choir. Many songs have a minimalist feel, such as "Show Me Forgiveness" and "Submarine" which features Robert Wyatt. The Icelandic "Vökuró" and "Sonnets / Unrealities XI" are full-on choral numbers with an almost religious tone to them. "Desired Constellation" is one of the more effective slow tunes, with Björk warbling over a background of delicate digi-noise.

It's not all simplicity though. "Where is the Line" is a mish-mash of ideas, sounding like a fight between a choir and a rack of effects boxes, with neither winning. "Oceania" too, which opened the Athens Olympics, is spoilt by some overenthusiastic vocal whoopings. An Inuit throat singer called Tagaq is also brought into the mix, whose contributions range from unnerving ("The Pleasure Is All Mine") to downright horrid ("Ancestors").

This is not a radio-friendly album. There are no "It's Oh So Quiet" moments here. The only really immediate tunes are the enjoyable "Who Is It" and the closing track "Triumph of a Heart" (listen out for the rather splendid human trombone on that one).

Medúlla has some high points, and it never gets boring, but it still left me feeling rather confused. It was recorded in 18 different locations, and you can tell - the end product feels disjointed and at times claustrophobic. Whereas previous albums like Vespertine were real growers, some people may lose patience with this one. The unquenchable desire to try out new ideas, which makes Björk such an exciting artist, may prove to be her downfall on Medúlla, as too much of the experimentation doesn't quite hit the mark. ---David Hooper, BBC Review

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Disc 1: Voltaic Live At Olympic Studios, London 

1. Wanderlust 05:47 
2. Hunter 04:19 
3. Pleasure Is All Mine 03:21 
4. Innocence 04:00 
5. Army Of Me 04:20 
6. I Miss You 03:31 
7. Earth Intruders 03:52 
8. All Is Full Of Love 04:05 
9. Pagan Poetry 05:15 
10. Vertebrae By Vertebrae 05:09 
11. Declare Independence 04:18 

Disc 2: Voltaic - The Volta Mixes 

1. Earth Intruders (Xxxchange Remix) 04:38 
2. Innocence (Simian Mobile Disco Remix) 07:47 
3. Declare Independence (Matthew Herbert Remix) 05:23 
4. Wanderlust (Ratatat Remix) 05:26 
5. The Dull Flame Of Desire for girls 06:19 
6. Earth Intruders (Lexx Remix) 06:41 
7. Innocence (Graeme Sinden Remix) 04:32 
8. Declare Independence (Ghostigital Remix) 02:51 
9. The Dull Flame Of Desire for boys 05:25 
10. Innocence (Alva Noto Unitxt Remodel) 06:16 
11. Declare Independence (Black Pus Remix) 08:47 
12. Innocence (Simian Mobile Disco Dub Remix) 07:46

Following the less than stellar 'Volta', I approached Bjork's live adaptation of her 7th album with caution and with lower hopes than of her other works. Surprisingly, 'Voltaic' has surpassed expectations. The live recording from Olympic Studios consists of material from half of 'Volta' and songs from her previous albums as far back as 'Post', and brings a fusion of her iconic, electronic sound with her recent brash experimentation with brass instruments to create a very unexpectedly enjoyable performance.

A refreshing aspect of 'Voltaic' is the differences with its material's studio counterparts, warts and all. In comparison to Bjork's near flawless voice on her studio albums, this live performance misses the mark ever so slightly, and slightly must be stressed. There's a little twinge of disappointment listening to 'Wanderlust' and 'Earth Intruders' in that Bjork tiptoes around some of the high notes; although this is probably for the better, as the result may have been a safer choice than the catastrophe in missing an unreachable high note. Yet there are precious moments in this album where her voice really shines; evident in the highs hit in the lines 'how Scandinavian of me' and 'he makes me want to hand myself over' from 'Hunter' and 'Pagan Poetry' respectively, and her powerful, gravelly attitude in her voice in 'I Miss You' and 'Declare Independence'. Despite these differences in Bjork’s vocal range, there are more notable differences in the timing in certain songs. The takes of ‘Vertebrae by Vertebrae’ and ‘I Miss You’ are the main culprits in that the vocals are phased from their studio counterparts, but this is not necessarily a bad thing. It could be that Bjork forgets her cue and tries to regain her place in the song, or that she’s intentionally freestyling due to her creative nature in an attempt to be refreshingly unpredictable - I like to think that it is the latter. On the whole, the vocal performance in the album still remains very impressive, and I find that her unpolished voice in 'Voltaic' shows a more human side to Bjork than her studio performances have done. And thankfully, 'Voltaic' is untouched by the tragic voice of Antony Hegarty that plagued and ruined potentially great songs on 'Volta'.

The selection of songs in 'Voltaic' effectively represents the broad spectrum of Bjork's work in both aspects of discography and emotion. From the bouncy 'I Miss You' from 'Post' to the haunting 'Vertebrae by Vertebrae' from 'Volta', there are very few bases left uncovered in this live album. Due to 'Voltaic's proximity to the release of 'Volta', the performances of songs from that LP are naturally very similar in their sound, with only subtle differences between the studio and live versions; the most notable instrumental change being the alternate bridge shoehorned into the end of 'Earth Intruders', which is rather quaint. Perhaps the greatest aspect of the album is the adaptations of Bjork's earlier work; where 'Pagan Poetry' remains relatively unaltered, songs like 'All Is Full Of Love', 'Army Of Me' and 'Hunter' adopt the brass sections to replace certain synthesizer and string lines brilliantly. Unfortunately not all songs benefit from this change, as an unpleasantly sounding organ, that may as well have come from a child's Fisher Price keyboard, replaces the vocal backing in 'Pleasure is All Mine' and lurks in the middle of 'Hunter'. The biggest surprise in this album is 'I Miss You', where you're lulled slowly in by a soft reed-sound and smacked in the face with an intensely heavy bassline - I dare say that I prefer this adaptation to the original. Despite the hiccups of some of the instrumentation, it is more than made up for in the bass and percussion throughout the album. From the hectic percussion of the chorus in 'Wanderlust' to the crushing bass and heavy drum beat of 'Declare Independence', these parts of instrumentation in 'Voltaic' are solid from the beginning to the very end.

In essence, this album showcases the very best of Bjork's history and fuses her older, iconic sounds with her recent experimentations in music. Setting aside a few minor vocal and instrumentation mishaps, the performance as a whole is an excellent and enjoyable experience - 'Voltaic' is what 'Volta' should have been. --- JJKeys, sputnikmusic.com

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1. "Stonemilker" 6:49
2. "Lionsong" 6:08
3. "History of Touches" 3:00
4. "Black Lake" 10:08
5. "Family" 8:02
6. "Notget" 6:26
7. "Atom Dance" 8:09
8. "Mouth Mantra" 6:09
9. "Quicksand" 3:45

The Icelandic art-pop queen charts the breaking of a heart on a devastatingly direct album Björk's 2011 Biophilia addressed the universe, from molecular to cosmic levels, and was presented in elaborate formats, including an interactive app. Her latest couldn't be simpler: a breakup album, that most common pop coin. But with Björk, even simplicity is intricate business. Arranged for voice with orchestral strings and electronic beats, Vulnicura is a unified set of nine dark, swarming, melodically distended songs. There is clearly some autobiography here about her relationship with artist/co-parent Matthew Barney. But whatever informed it, this may be the most heart-rending music she's ever made.

The first six songs chart the before-and-after arc of a crisis, pivoting on the 10-minute "Black Lake." It's the set's most devastating number, unfurling in slow-mo, with knife-twist lyrics ("Your heart is hollow") and droning gaps that read like choked emotions. Electronic prodigies Arca and the Haxan Cloak add production touches here and there; "Atom Dance" is a digitally distressed duet with Antony, recalling the break between human and computer in 2001: A Space Odyssey. But this is primarily the sound of a woman alone, riven yet indomitable. When, on "Black Lake," she declares she is a "Rocket/Returning home," trilling her r's, it's a scarred triumph. ---Will Hermes, rollingstone.com

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1 ‘Arisen My Senses’
2 ‘Blissing Me’
3 ‘The Gate’
4 ‘Utopia’
5 ‘Body Memory’
6 ‘Features Creatures’
7 ‘Courtship’
8 ‘Loss’
9 ‘Sue Me’
10 ‘Tabula Rasa’
11 ‘Claimstaker’
12 ‘Paradisa’
13 ‘Saint’
14 ‘Future Forever’

Arranged By [Vocal, Choir And Cello Arrangements] – Björk
Cello – Júlía Mogensen
Choir – Hamrahliðarkórinn
Conductor – Þorgerður Ingólfsdóttir
Contrabass – Hávarður Tryggvason 
Electronics, Synth [Synth Melodies], Beats – Arca
Flute – Berglind María Tómasdóttir, Berglind Stefánsdóttir, Björg Brjánsdóttir,
 Dagný Marínósdóttir, Emilía Rós Sigfúsdóttir, Hafdís Vigfúsdóttir,
  Melkorka Ólafsdóttir, Pamela de Sensi, Sigríður Hjördís Indriðadóttir,
   Steinunn Vala Pálsdóttir, Sólveig Magnúsdóttir, Áshildur Haraldsdóttir, Þuríður Jónsdóttir
Soloist [Flute Solo] – Berglind María Tómasdóttir, Melkorka Ólafsdóttir, Áshildur Haraldsdóttir 
Harp – Katie Buckley 
Vocals, Flute [Digital], Flute – Björk 

Bjork’s magical ninth mixes up female flute choirs and sounds of the natural world

The last material we heard from Björk was a bit of downer, wasn’t it? 2015’s ‘Vulnicura’ was a sweeping, majestic break-up album that saw her creating a raw, emotive narrative within her otherworldly soundscapes. It was incredible, but damn it was gloomy. Happily, the febrile ‘Utopia’ sees her on more upbeat – but no less creative – form, coming on like new age titan Enya if she signed to Hyperdub, home of pioneering dubstepper Burial.

Earlier this year Björk smirkingly described her ninth record as her “Tinder album”, dealing with the process of falling in love again after experiencing monumental heartbreak. This is most evident on the twinkling harp-swathed ‘Blissing Me’, where she dreamily sings of “two music nerds, obsessing” and “sending each other MP3s, falling in love to a song”. In keeping with the ‘Utopia’ of its title, Björk has created a paradise-like world here, with birdsong dotted throughout the album, transporting the listener to a magical sonic rainforest, with tracks like ‘Saint’ having more in common with a David Attenborough nature documentary soundtrack than a pop song. Most evocative of all though, is the sound produced by a 12-piece Icelandic female flute orchestra, the lushness of which lifts every track with a lightness that is at once hopeful but haunting. --- Leonie Cooper, nme.com

Konstruowanie prywatnych utopii, to zajęcie którym zajmujemy się właściwie codziennie. Większość życia spędzamy we własnych głowach, tworząc wyidealizowane wersje naturalnego środowiska oraz pielęgnując wyimaginowane, perfekcyjne koncepty. Regularne wycieczki do świata wyobraźni oczywiście niosą ze sobą pewnego rodzaju reperkusje. Zbyt długie minuty poświęcone na penetrację własnego "ja" mogą doprowadzić do wybudowania muru odgradzającego stan psychicznej higieny od świeżego powietrza. Natomiast odpowiednio dawkowana częstotliwość mentalnych eksploracji ma również pozytywne skutki. Sporadyczne epizody intensywnej introspekcji cementują afirmatywne nastawienie do regularnych zmagań z teraźniejszością. Ostrożne korzystanie z osobistego zbioru utopii nie tylko nie zamydla pragmatyzmu, a wręcz motywuje do praktycznych działań. Rozważnie kontrolowane autorefleksje działają jako punkty zapalne dla ludzkiej kreatywności. Fantazyjne idee połączone z pokładami zdrowego rozsądku funkcjonują niczym profesjonalne narzędzia do zamieniania abstrakcji w rzeczywistość.

Pierwszym krokiem do efektywności jest stuprocentowo unikalny proces twórczy. Kreacja solidnych fundamentów zakłada więc, pożyczoną od egzystencjalistów, filozofię konstrukcji totalnej. Jednostka powinna samodzielnie ułożyć szereg znaczeń i definicji, które według jej specyficznych potrzeb nadają sens bytowi. Na Utopii Björk bawi się archetypowymi elementami przylepiając im niepospolite etykiety. Na przykład wokalne popisy islandzkiego chóru mają zupełnie inny kontekst niż większość tego typu kolaboracji. Kawalkada głosów nie przytłacza zapierającą dech w piersiach monumentalnością, a raczej zaskakuje kameralnym posmakiem. Intymny dialog pomiędzy artystką a wspierającą ją grupą Hamrahlíðarkórinn reprezentuje emocjonalną rekonwalescencję – powrót do formy po rozczarowaniu relacjami międzyludzkimi. Autorka unika rozmachu i prezentuje tę niezwykle ważną, wewnętrzną bitwę jako bliskie sercu słuchacza wydarzenie, będące pomostem pomiędzy intencjami twórcy a naszą empatią. Kolejnym przykładem interesującej dekonstrukcji powszechnych znaczeń, jest niezwykłe zastosowanie wysamplowanych odgłosów natury, a konkretnie ptasiego śpiewu. Björk odziera niebiańskie stworzenia z typowej dla nich mistycznej aury, posiłkując się konwencjonalną produkcją od pana znanego pod pseudonimem Arca. Zdolny Wenezuelczyk tym razem trzyma swe niepokojące imaginacje na smyczy, ponieważ ma za zadanie przybliżyć istotę metafizycznych cierpień w formie przystępnej zwykłym śmiertelnikom.

Utopia to optymistyczna siostra Bernhardowskiej Korekty. Wokalistka, niczym główny bohater wspomnianej powieści, traktuje proces twórczy jako kojącą nerwy psychoterapię. Różnica między podejściem protagonisty austriackiego pisarza i protagonistki tej recenzji polega na wymowie epilogu. U autora Wymazywania artystyczne działania mają znamiona fatalistycznej ironii – pozwalają zapomnieć o problemach, jednocześnie podsycając perspektywę nieuchronnej katastrofy. Zrodzony z niezdrowej obsesji zapał wzbudza jedynie współczucie i uśmiech politowania. Z kolei mistrzyni awangardowego popu pragnie spożytkować całą energię na wzmocnienie potarganej przez los duszy. Jej najnowsze dzieło ujmuje dziecięcą naiwnością, która sprosta nawet najcięższym próbom. Pozytywne wykorzystywanie potęgi wyobraźni przełamuje ideową monotonię epoki gorzkiego cynizmu. Naprawdę miło mi obcować z projektem skupionym na psychicznej rezurekcji, a nie upartym krzyżowaniu własnego szczęścia.

Konkluzywny charakter wydawnictwa sprawia, że nie da się go traktować inaczej niż jako refleksję na temat problematyki poprzedniego krążka artystki. Utopia to katartyczne post scriptum do Vulnicury próbujące uporządkować zastany dwa lata temu chaos. Nie jest to oczywiście sequel idealny, albowiem najlepiej radzi sobie właśnie w zestawie ze swoim poprzednikiem. Odważne działania Björk pozostawione same sobie są oczywiście intrygujące, ale atakują pełną siłą dopiero w parze z nerwowym prologiem.

Trzeba również wspomnieć o tym, że te ponad siedemdziesiąt minut muzyki potrafi wykończyć nawet największego twardziela. Emocjonalnie wyczerpująca podróż, w jaką zabiera nas islandzka wokalistka, wymaga wręcz medytacyjnego skupienia. Największą przeszkodą jest impresjonistyczny charakter większości utworów, przypominający o tym, iż autorka Homogenic już dawno temu porzuciła melodyjność na rzecz dźwiękowego malarstwa wrażeniowego.

Utopia zaskakuje, uwodzi, dręczy i hipnotyzuje. Wciskając przycisk "play", godzimy się na mentalne turbulencje bez zagwarantowanego miękkiego lądowania. Album delikatnie zahacza o granicę ciężkostrawności, ale dzięki kunsztownej współpracy duetu Björk/Arca obyło się bez uczucia przesytu. ---Łukasz Krajnik, porcys.com

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1.Hidden Place 5:28
2.Cocoon 4:28
3.It`s Not Up To You 5:08
4.Undo 5:38
5.Pagan Poetry 5:14
6.Frosti 1:41
7.Aurora 4:39
8.An Echo, A Stain 4:04
9.Sun In My Mouth 2:40
10.Heirloom 5:11
11.Harm Of Will 4:36
12.Unison 6:47

After cathartic statements like Homogenic, the role of Selma in Dancer in the Dark, and the film's somber companion piece, Selmasongs, it's not surprising that Björk's first album in four years is less emotionally wrenching. But Vespertine isn't so much a departure from her previous work as a culmination of the musical distance she's traveled; within songs like the subtly sensual "Hidden Place" and "Undo" are traces of Debut and Post's gentle loveliness, as well as Homogenic and Selmasongs' reflective, searching moments. Described by Björk as "about being on your own in your house with your laptop and whispering for a year and just writing a very peaceful song that tiptoes," Vespertine's vocals seldom rise above a whisper, the rhythms mimic heartbeats and breathing, and a pristine, music-box delicacy unites the album into a deceptively fragile, hypnotic whole. Even relatively immediate, accessible songs such as "It's Not Up to You," "Pagan Poetry," and "Unison" share a spacious serenity with the album's quietest moments. Indeed, the most intimate songs are among the most varied, from the seductively alien "Cocoon" to the dark, obsessive "An Echo, A Stain" to the fairy tale-like instrumental "Frosti." The beauty of Vespertine's subtlety may be lost on Björk fans demanding another leap like the one she made between Post and Homogenic, but like the rest of the album, its innovations are intimate and intricate. Collaborators like Matmos -- who, along with their own A Chance to Cut Is a Chance to Cure, appear on two of 2001's best works -- contribute appropriately restrained beats crafted from shuffled cards, cracking ice, and the snap-crackle-pop of Rice Krispies; harpist Zeena Parkins' melodic and rhythmic playing adds to the postmodernly angelic air. An album singing the praises of peace and quiet, Vespertine isn't merely lovely; it proves that in Björk's hands, intimacy can be just as compelling as louder emotions. ---Heather Phares

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