Björk
Greatest Hits

THE REVIEW

5 years ago I bought my first Bjork album... I was only 11 years old. It was May 3, 2003, and I remember it as if it were yesterday: I was at Bennet to have my parents obligatorily buy me something for my birthday. So I rushed to the audio-video corner and saw something that immediately changed my life, as if it were a precious object... that CD, "Greatest Hits" by Bjork (which I won't forget to say: it's written with two dots on the "O" but I can't type them on the keyboard) caught my eye partly because of the evocative and pure packaging and partly because of that song, that video I had seen a while ago on All Music, where drops of mercury entered the nose, mouth... and exited through the eyes of the Icelandic girl, as if she were showing us what she is made of: pure poetry.

Hidden Place.

The incredible voice of that little big woman entered my skin like a needle, her techno-digital sounds that imitated the noises of snow, machines, and nature were always ahead of the others, lost in a pop limbo. She is fantasy in flesh and blood.

The "Greatest Hits" caught my eye with its light price of 15,90€, with that snow-white cover and an eight-headed black and white monster casually featured on the cover. The temptation was irresistible. And that album saved me.

Having shaken off the pop hangover I previously listened to, all Madonna and Pink, I literally got lost in those 15 tracks. The first chimes of "All Is Full Of Love", in that remixed version for the video clip, were enough to fall into a spiral of emotions: a fluid rhythmic, almost amniotic and Miss Betulla's voice is so pure it seems like the chime of a spoon tapping on a crystal glass, and as the song progresses, her voice becomes a powerful charge of sensations. A hypersonic vortex, on a melody between classical and hypermodern, between violins and cheap-idm electronics. Still hypnotized by the estranging beauty of that piece, "Hyperballad" overwhelmed me: perhaps the best love song of the '90s, the rhythm, like a train, suffocates the chasing violins. Bjork weaves a first-rate vocal melody that moves quite a bit. Pure skill. "Human Behaviour" surprises: from the beautiful forays into ballads, the track from Bjork's false debut "Debut" is extreme dance of a tribal nature: wild and childish, it reveals itself to be an avant-garde masterpiece, even after 15 years. The album, therefore, flows among some of the singles released by the Nordic nymph until 2002: all pinnacle of absolute beauty. How can you resist that pulsating martial march that is "Hunter", where the violins add a touch of Icelandic folk? How can you not get lost in the sublime and naive pop of "Hidden Place" or the archaic and sensationally poetic "Pagan Poetry"? Not to mention "Army Of Me", a bomb of techno-dance space, with almost metal bass and hypersonic alienation: Bjork deepens her voice and transforms into a sex symbol. A piece imitated by many other chanteuses of this period, whether Nordic or French, but never surpassed. "Jòga" is impossible not to mention: a diamond of a song, as beautiful as few in its alternation of poetic violins and harsh rhythms. A sweet and desperate melodic chorus. Immense.

A true musical manifesto.

Beauty turned into art.

A simple pleasure that becomes passion.

Love.