This very refusal to cohere, to make sense, to play the game of identity and otherness, of harmony and disharmony, makes Bish Bosch this year’s only necessary work of art.
The album is wonderfully uneven and mysteriously unfinished, and while we might look forward to its second half for a sense of balance and completion, I’m content enough to dwell amidst its own jagged remains.
Indeed, with Biophilia, Björk is doing nothing less than rebuilding the human body itself as a music-making machine, and in this she’s just like every other brilliant pop artist.
It is undeniably an album about “growth,” and it has a way of pushing you out of your comfort zone.
With efforts like this one, Panda Bear and his coterie have established a genuinely avant-garde movement in America.
Kaputt is a rare work of historical interpretation and pop artistry, full of beauty and wonder.
At best, The King Is Dead is a patchwork of genre exercises, giving listeners little more than a chance to play “spot the influence.”
The whole album is a gorgeous mess, and you’ll immediately want to be dragged through it all over again.