Yoko Ono is a controversial diva, a woman everyone loves to hate and few follow. One who has managed to look beyond, become conceptual, and create works in all colors: Films, books, visual arts, installations, and also records.

Musically, the Japanese artist does not show a thorough study, yet she is talented: her voice cuts like a razor through moans, screams, and guttural sounds reminiscent of the unattainable Diamanda Galas.

"Fly" is her second album, a concentration of rock and experimentation that remains very current and avant-garde even today, a double album not to be underestimated, unjustly considered unlistenable, with truly excellent and stylish tracks like the opening "Midsummer New York", a strongly rock and riot girl piece that closely resembles the more recent Pj Harvey or Ani Difranco, "Don't Count The Waves", a six-minute sonic avant-garde piece: electronics and voice that make your skin crawl, the pop of "Will You Touch Me?", very catchy and Beatles-like, enough to think it was written by her John, and the title track, 23 minutes of delirium with screams, piercing sounds, and guttural noises, indeed somewhat unlistenable, yet still a piece of great strength and courage.

Bold and Cantankerous, "Fly" is the artistic manifesto of a great woman, often criticized but nonetheless a quirky artist deserving of attention, even when she makes us smile with embarrassment with pieces like "Toilet Piece", where she simply records the flush of a toilet. After all, she just wants to entertain us and imbue us with her humor, so why not listen to her without prejudice?

Tracklist

01   Midsummer New York (03:51)

02   Mindtrain (16:52)

03   Mind Holes (02:47)

04   Don't Worry Kyoko (Mummy's Only Looking for Her Hand in the Snow) (04:55)

05   Mrs. Lennon (04:12)

06   Hirake (03:31)

07   Toilet Piece - Unknown (00:30)

08   O'Wind (Body Is the Scar of Your Mind) (05:21)

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Other reviews

By O__O

 A difficult fresco of creativity that wants to be Dadaist, but proves to be disturbing, almost necrophiliac in the sick atmosphere that it manages to describe.

 Fly is a film that knows no middle ground: you either love it or hate it.