Supposedly, there is a special iPad app for every song on Icelandic songstress Bjork's eighth (ninth, if you count Selmasongs, which I probably would) studio album, Biophilia. There is also word of an incredibly designed interactive touring spectacular. Well, two things: I don't have an iPad nor do I have plans on bolstering the bottom line of Steve Jobs' estate any time soon and I live in Philly, a city that usually doesn't make it on the itinerary when The Lady Who Rocked the Swan Dress decides to tour. But that is OK. For the music on Biophilia, Bjork's best, most complete, and most sonically innovative album since Vespertine, is more than enough.
I don't know if Bjork was taken aback by the negative reaction to her last album, 2007's uneven yet underrrated Volta - probably not because she does not strike me as someone who would really care - but with this disc she has chosen to move away from the impulses that had her collaborating with hitmaker Timbaland and gravitated toward a collage of sounds so odd she had to literally invent new instruments to make them possible. One example of this is the album's lead single and strongest overall offering, "Crystalline." Using an instrument dubbed the "gamaleste," because it is a combination of the celesta and the gamelan (two other instruments that I have never heard of, by the way), Bjork crafts a twinkling beat that is instantly addictive. Over this, she layers (and every song on the album benefits from extensive listening) whip-crack percussion and airy, ambient sonics. It is interesting also to note that the song, while avant garde as f*ck, is as effective as it is because it also applies basic pop structure, including a terrific chorus, multiple-part harmonies, and a extremely rocked-out drum-and-bass closer. That's right; I used to hear those all the time on Beach Boys records.
