Kukl
Holidays In Europe (The Naughty Nought)

Less successful than the previous debut album, the powerful and gloomy “The Eye,” “Holidays In Europe,” the second album from the band born from the Bjork/Einar Orn collaboration, is nonetheless an irresistible and ambitious journey into the schizophrenia of the Icelandic group, overflowing with the usual originality and a strong desire to confound and give in to spontaneous creativity. An album born from the concept of isolation and exile that should make this album coherent, but always driven by the musical logorrhea that characterizes the pre-Sugarcubes group, where ideas find the freedom to act in the ultimate musical outburst, with the broad expanse of the opening “Psalm 323” or the following, deliberately chaotic and fragmented, “A Mutual Thrill,” where Bjork’s shrill, siren-like vocals blend with Einar’s delirious recitation, while royal-inspired trumpets slice through the despair, throwing you into a subconscious space made of sudden cuts between shadow and light.

Even more complex, “Copy Thy Neighbour,” a theatrical astral journey that proceeds without ever exploding, but with anger in the heart ready to destroy anything: Dadaism of sighs thrown into the air, of sensations leading to psychic and violent death, of punk charisma that becomes lyrical, dark, and childlike, while the overflowing 7 minutes of “Just By The Book,” opened by triumphant horns, transform into the classic race towards the abyss, frankly not very successful, yet still fascinating. The awakening is “Zro,” a rock fragment with a penchant for trumpets that evolves into a tragic lyrical essay that strikes with its preciousness and leaves no escape.

A harsh, fierce and proud album of what it is: a striking and wonderful mess, which can be loved or hated, but whose beauty, even just compositionally, cannot be denied. Less cohesive than “The Eye,” less dark, less successful, yet still enjoyable, with that wonderful closure which is “The Night:” the return home after a long journey, an almost electronic and amniotic apnea, which lays the foundation for the most daring compositions of “Drowning Restraint 9.” “Storm” is around the corner and implodes on chimes destroyed by distant and dark sounds. Bjork’s soul, the most experimental and unsettling, is already here: in these two and a half minutes of continuous sinking and resurfacing from the waters. Delirious in just the right measure, yet exceedingly elegant.

An album sometimes splendid, at other times incomprehensible, sometimes verbose, often ingenious, yet worth retrieving. There’s charm inside, violent charisma, a desire to play with the listener: it is music that originates from the subconscious, more so than from the instruments.

A beautiful and excited punk postcard from Iceland: anarchic, poignant and delirious. A house on fire with walls painted black and a big heart in the basement that refuses to burn.