Björk
Biophilia

The sprite has returned, with stardust in her eyes and spells drawn on her face.

When I talk about Bjork, I risk coming across as a diehard fan. There's nothing to be done: she is my muse, my wandering soul, and my blood. Every time I talk about her, I risk diving into pure sentimentality, into the hyperbole of primordial love. But now I am sure. I believe it's impossible not to fall in love with an album like "Biophilia", a true masterpiece, a record made of sighs, suggestions, and beats, where all the clear gazes of the sweet Nordic siren intersect: the most exhilarating and the most exquisitely sepulchral ones.

A record that opens with a stage fantasy like "Moon", an extraordinary whisper of constellations and milky ways, of poetic sentiment and lyrical beauty. Clear, comforting, and terribly captivating, it's one of those songs that are not easily forgotten, until a final twist of wonderful carnality exalts its stories: when you want to start over, start from your miserable failure and throw everything that caused it back to the starting point. 

And then comes "Thunderbolt", an unforgettable track that, with frenzied violence, pulls you into the darkest oblivion. A storm of silent thunder and lightning that brands the flesh with passion reaching unimaginable peaks. "Crystalline" is the dancing easy-listening parade of crystals, extremely colorful and sparkling, exploding into rhythms and dancing gameleste, and then, unexpectedly, explodes into one of Bjork's most explosive finales: violently erupting volcanoes, waiting only to destroy everything. And so it would be if the splendid sweetness of an airy "Cosmogony", a ballad with a one-way ticket to Eden, did not envelop the listener in all its depth.  

Then, a free fall into hell. "Dark Matter" is a short track, but sepulchral and sacred, that flirts with darkness and makes it music. A jewel of intensity, studded with epic suggestions, with slashes leading to unexpected and overwhelming suffering, continuing with "Hollow", the undisputed masterpiece of the record, where sacredness translates into a sustained organ and choirs and voices that, even in their darkness, give redemption and hope. It is an unforgettable piece, of the screeching calm that comes after a violent storm. 

And when you think it's there that the record has reached its highs, here comes "Virus", one of the most beautiful love songs ever written. An embrace of eros and thanatos between a living organism and a deadly virus translated into the sweetest melody, but never cloying, that one can listen to. "Virus" steals a piece of sky and translates it into heavenly music.

"I feast inside you. My host is you".

The organism is dead, but one can continue to love always. All Is Full Of Love.

And in "Sacrifice", even before thinking that one could dangerously venture into a winking prewar folk, the song is disrupted by the selfish outburst of explosive electronic beats of rare beauty and power. 

But beauty does not stop, and this essay of visceral emotions closes with two tracks with a capital T. First, "Mutual Core", an explosive and light electronic fury of natural scenarios that, first stuns in its frantic whirling and then unexpectedly opens the dances. And finally, "Solstice", the last minimal glance toward the stars and no return. It sends you up there, among the clouds. With one last kiss on closed eyelids.

And once again it's love. The new great promise of an artist who has never stopped moving the soul, mine and many other followers who love to travel through their temples. An orgasmic masterpiece that, I believe, I will never abandon. And I don't exaggerate. Or maybe I do, but it doesn't matter. Let me love in silence. 

"My Romantic Gene Is Dominant"