Björk – Debut (1993)

April 23, 2013

Björk has always been one of those artists I’ve always been interested in but never got around to properly checking out. With my recent upgrade to Spotify Premium, I now have easy access to thousands of records I would otherwise overlook. Sure, I’ve always downloaded music, but typing “Björk” into Spotify and pressing play is easier than researching a band and then finding links to the “best” record, downloading the .rar, importing into iTunes, yadda yadda yadda. Hence Bjork happened, after like eight years of being put off.

A few weeks ago my girlfriend Jo buggered off to New York for a week and left me in the house all alone. With absolutely nothing better to do with my time, I consumed my body weight in fried chicken and out-done my personal best in the consumption of bowls and blunts. One particular evening I smoked so much of “the good” that I pressed play on Björk’s Spotify page and let it run for five hours. What I did within that time I’m not entirely sure, but I imagine a large portion of it was spent staring at the wall. I decided soon after to buy some Björk records. Go figure.

I started at the beginning, with Debut. It is no secret to most that Björk is absolutely fucking batshit insane, so by her standards, Debut is as tame as a fat Persian cat loaded to the gills on catnip. There isn’t any breakbeat here, or any enormously 90s dance vibes. There is a smattering of jazz and alternative instrumentation, even some dubby tracks and some with the old house feel. But what leads the whole circus is Björk’s somewhat retarded and Welsh-sounding – not to mention eternally mesmerising – voice. It literally sounds like the “special kid” has been given access to a million dollar budget and a high end studio crammed with all the musicians in the world. And I mean that in the nicest way possible. I might be a bit late to the party, but Björk, I think I’m in love with you.