FEB's album: Biophilia (Bjork)
am i 7 days late? maybe
The thing is that I made a bad decision.
These essays are essentially meant to function as warm-ups for me: low-stakes practice that let me hone my essay writing skills. I chose F65 as the first one I would write on because I felt like I pretty solidly understood the album’s purpose. Choosing a Björk album as my second one was possibly the stupidest decision I could make.
Because, and here’s the thing: I am completely capable of understanding nigh every word IDK says. Like, I don’t have to follow along with the lyrics, usually. This is not a skill that I possess with Björk. Over those four weeks where I looped F65, I became deeply acquainted with every single thing that is said in it, and though I wasn’t confident to analyze and speak on the whole of the album, I was confident enough to handle the portion I did write about.
I started the first draft of this essay about two weeks into the month, and then put it down. My life was getting hectic, I was busy, and burnt out, and if I’m honest: I didn’t have a lot of time to listen to music. So here I am, on February 26th, trying to write an essay about Biophilia, and here I am, on March 7th, trying to publish an essay about Biophilia. My solution to this problem, my quick-fix for this bad decision I’ve made, is that I’m going to change the rules.
These essays don’t have to be analysis, not really, they just have to be essays. Lowering the bar on something already low stakes isn’t wrong. I have to tell a story about this album, I have to tell you what it means to me, not just what it means.
Woman up and kill yourself to Björk is a sentence I’ve been muttering to myself all month — it, in spirit, makes an appearance in the other essay I published on my substack in February: “I’ve been listening to a lot of Björk recently. It feels more human than Radiohead.”1
Music is, and has always been, about catharsis to me. That feeling of my rib-cage being ripped open suddenly, for a reason I’m acutely aware of, and then putting it back together as the song, or album, or whatever, comes to its end. Björk is particularly skilled at this, though Biophilia is not her most popular album — in fact, most people I’ve mentioned Björk to this month don’t know Biophilia. They know Post, or Debut. Sometimes, though rarely, they know Utopia, my favorite Björk album. But Biophilia? Not a soul I’ve spoken to about Björk has been able to recall Biophilia.
It’s unfortunate, because it feels like a microcosm of all the feelings I’ve had this month. From the lowest moments to the highest — I hear them, see them, within Biophilia. All three versions.2
Which, perhaps, that’s what made this so difficult for me. In my agenda, at the top where it says Goals: is where I write that month’s album title. February’s says Goals: Biophilia (all versions) - Björk in black fineliner. I have three different albums to write about, and I feel like I don’t understand any of them.
With Biophilia comes a restless curiosity
An urge to investigate and discover the elusive places where we meet nature
Where she plays on our senses with colors and senses and forms, perfumes and smells
Their taste and touch of salty wind on the tongue
But, much of nature is hidden from us
That we can neither see, nor touch
Like the one phenomenon that can be said to move us more than any other in our daily lives
Sound
— A selection of lyrics from Oskasteinn (Live)
I’m a gateway between the universal and the microscopic, and I can’t understand anything, despite how well the album understands me. It feels like being trapped there, in the music, and screaming that I just want to get out, and to see it from the outside in: to read the words on the page and relay them to another person. I suppose that’s the purpose of these essays.
It’s hard to distinguish a favorite of the three versions, though Biophilia (Live) is a particular standout: something about it feels even more honest than the rest — perhaps solely because you can hear the breaths that Björk is taking, you can hear the audience, the chorus, the band. All of it was real, tangible. The stage she walked on, the people she smiled at. Not that stuff recorded in a booth is less real, not at all, just that it feels less personal. There’s a real reason that those audios of people singing along at Goats concerts feel innately human, it’s because it’s no longer about a few people, it’s about anyone. It’s about you, and me, and the air that separates us.
Maybe there’s something more human about the way Björk says may I, can I, or have I too often craving miracles when you know a mass of people bore witness to her breath in to say that line. She’s craving miracles, and here I am, craving the same thing: the miracle of human connection.
Thank you! She calls at the end of Thunderbolt, and it makes me smile. She sounds so thankful, so humbled, by the people that came to see her.
If there’s one thing that my mentor teacher has bestowed upon me, it’s that humans aren’t special. They’re not innately better, or worse. They’re simply humans, neutral all the way down. Biophilia isn’t an album about this, it’s about anticolonialism and loving nature, but to take the neutrality of human existence even further, you see that loving nature is about loving humanity, that being human must involve nature, and that which lives. You can see that anticolonialism and loving nature, for Björk, are so innately intertwined: without anticolonialism, without keeping Iceland’s industries sustainable, the nation will never be self-sustainable.
Best way to start-a-new is to fail miserably
Fail at loving and fail at giving
— A selection of lyrics from Moon
Is there anything wrong with making a mistake? At being subpar as a human, as an animal, a facet of the world? Or is it all just about being so in love with life that you don’t mind when your hands come back dirtied, your knees bloodied, and your heart broken? Humans make mistakes, but the only way to get over a mistake is to keep working through the mistake, walk through the brambles until you’ve made it to the grotto, and start over from there.
if you enjoyed this, i also blog on tumblr as offslime (music, comics, etc.) or compher (sports). my art is accessible on hlaoruin.
As an aside: Thom Yorke actually appears on Biophilia (Deluxe). I didn’t know this when I chose the album, but every time I get to Náttúra I crack up, remembering how the whole reason I ended up here was that I didn’t want to feel suicidal to Radiohead. And, for what it’s worth, getting to Náttúra is really an achievement, you’ve got to listen to the whole rest of the deluxe edition, including the seven minute version of Hollow and the second recording of Dark Matter…and as a “treat” you’re granted Thom Yorke. I don’t even know what he does on this song, make ghostly moaning noises? It’s a good song.
There’s actually… a lot of versions of Biophilia. Because of all the remixes. I’m partial to Virus (Hudson Mohawke Peaches and Guacamol Remix) as the best one.