Björk Gudmundsdóttir
- born in Reykjavik, Iceland, in 1965.
She grew up in a communal household (though not a hippie commune,
she's keen to point out).
Music was played 24 hours a day. "I remember a queue by the record
player," she says.
"The record would finish and you'd be ready to put another one on."
At the age of
five she was enrolled in music school where she studied flute and
piano for ten years.
Then at the age of eleven she made an album with the help of her mother
and friends.
A big hit in Iceland, the eponymously titled Björk featured only one
song written by Björk herself, though she became an Icelandic celebrity
on the strength of its success. "I felt a lot of guilt," she admits.
"I promised myself that I would never front anything unless I was
the one who did it." So at the age of 13 she started forming punk
bands.
First came Exodus,
then Tippi Tikarrass, then K.U.K.L., a band that recorded two albums
for the label run by the legendary UK anarchist band, Crass. "When
I was a punk there was no such thing as Icelandic music," she says.
"We had to invent it. Nobody even sang in Icelandic. Maybe now, the
genius bands like Múm and Sigur Ros come up.
I think it's a second generation thing. It's not such a big deal."
That first period of invention included many influences from her peers,
ranging from the compendious musical knowledge of Asmunder Jónsson,
a radio DJ and musicologist who now runs the Bad Taste organisation
in Iceland, and Sjón, poet, wit, dandy and experimentalist, whose
discussions of surrealism with Einer Örn and Björk led to many antagonistic,
drunken and inspiring arguments on the nature of art.
"Being the only girl," says Björk, "it was my role to be a little
punk. I was in a punk band with this long orange hair and no eyebrows.
I'd confront the intellectuals, which is pretty brave because I didn't
even have the vocabulary. It wasn't like we were fighting but it was
basically instinct versus logic."
In 1987, Einer
Örn, Siggi Baldurson and Björk formed a new band, called The Sugarcubes,
with Thór Eldon, Magga Örnólfsdóttir and Bragi Olafsson. From their
first single, "Birthday", they were a band with unique qualities,
combining a raw post-punk feel with touches of experimental sonority,
affecting melodies and Björk's extraordinary, exultant singing.
The Sugarcubes put Icelandic music on the world map, with Björk's
personality, dress sense and vocal style tailor made for an increasingly
faceless music scene in desperate need of strong, innovative and self-determined
individuals.
By 1992, after
4 albums, The Sugarcubes were ready to split.
Their last release - a remix project - reflected Björk's growing involvement
in the UK dance scene.
Beginning a lengthy professional relationship with Graham Massey,
she had recorded with 808 State, singing on two tracks on EX:EL, but
also pursued her love of jazz by recording the Gling-Gló album with
pianist Gudmundar Ingólfsson's trio.
Then Debut, released in July 1993, changed everything.
Produced by Nellee Hooper, emerging as a leading producer after an
apprenticeship in Bristol's vibrantly eclectic hip-hop scene and massive
success with Soul II Soul, and featuring the string arranging and
tablas of Talvin Singh and brass arrangements by Björk and Oliver
Lake, the album introduced Björk as one of the most unusual solo artists
and distinctive vocalists to appear in years.
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Since Debut,
her work has always followed her heart.
Early days in Reykjavik listening to her grandparents' jazz collection,
her mother's rock records, her classical music education, the songs,
sagas and poetry of Iceland, anarchist punk bands and the arguments
about surrealism were all carried with her into the musical vibrancy
of London's stylistic, ethnic and artistic mix. Debut sold over 2.5
million copies worldwide and was followed in 1993 by Post, an even bigger
success that added Graham Massey, Howie B and Tricky to Nellee Hooper's
production skills.
After Post's bigger beats, deeper sub-bass and the cartoonish big band
outburst of "It's Oh So Quiet", Homogenic, released in 1997, was more
experimental in its contrasting textures, more bold in its intensity
and structure. In conversation, Björk speaks often about courage and
cowardice, both of which figure large in the moral framework of her
creative decisions. Characteristically, she has always pulled back from
situations where celebrity or habit threatened to reduce her freedom,
or she has expanded into areas of high risk where the potential for
learning outweighed the possibility of losing credibility or commercial
leverage.
Her decision
to act in Dancer In The Dark exposed her to vitriolic criticism
from some film critics yet earned respect among those who recognised
her need to move forward and take on new challenges. Her choice of collaborators
over the years - fashion designers Alexander McQueen and Hussein Chalayan,
photographers Nick Knight, Stephane Sednaoui and Nobuyoshi Araki, video
director Chris Cunningham, percussionist Evelyn Glennie, remixers Dillinja,
Funkstörung and Mika Vainio - is a reflection of this desire to work
with artists at the cutting edge.
Vespertine is
an adult album, full of childlike joy, sparkling with the fragile
sounds of harp, celeste, clavichord and music box. "Sun In My Mouth"
has a poem for its lyrics, one of a series of songs written in 1925
by American poet e. e. cummings.
It comes as no surprise to find his words in a Björk album. His capacity
to merge sensuality, passion, playfulness and universal wonder with
fierce precision, uncompromising accessibility and unwavering experimentalism
mirror Björk's aspirations and achievements. Vespertine crunches through
the sound of snow, crackles with the sound of digital chatter, flutters
with strange little voices that dart at the edge of perception, whispers
in the fading light. At its heart is a big human heart.
"I think pop music," says Björk, "folk music, just the music that humans
make for humans to get through a day, everyday music as opposed to more
serious music - for it to be all these things that we never see every
day, like ukuleles, and make something magical is easy.
But to use the
noises that everybody is using every day - the remote control, the
mobile, the Internet and fax machine -
it's not about wanting to be weird or something or avant-garde or any
of that shit. It's down to earth.
It's dealing with the porridge and cup of tea. Digital stuff is all
around us anyway. Making a song out of that.
I think it's braver and more taking on the moment than other things.
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