[
{
"name": "Related Stories / Support Us Combo",
"component": "11591218",
"insertPoint": "4",
"requiredCountToDisplay": "4"
},{
"name": "Air - Billboard - Inline Content",
"component": "11591214",
"insertPoint": "2/3",
"requiredCountToDisplay": "7"
},{
"name": "R1 - Beta - Mobile Only",
"component": "12287027",
"insertPoint": "8",
"requiredCountToDisplay": "8"
},{
"name": "Air - MediumRectangle - Inline Content - Mobile Display Size 2",
"component": "11591215",
"insertPoint": "12",
"requiredCountToDisplay": "12"
},{
"name": "Air - MediumRectangle - Inline Content - Mobile Display Size 2",
"component": "11591215",
"insertPoint": "4th",
"startingPoint": "16",
"requiredCountToDisplay": "12"
}
,{
"name": "RevContent - In Article",
"component": "12527128",
"insertPoint": "3/5",
"requiredCountToDisplay": "5"
}
]
Whether you consider her a peddler of precious, pretentious twaddle or an endless font of pure Icelandic genius, you have to give Björk credit for eschewing the safe option. No other platinum-selling diva has had the guts to forge such idiosyncratic paths as this charismatic singer has done over the last 11 years. Now, on her sixth post-Sugarcubes studio album, Björk reminds us that the voice -- hers, those of Robert Wyatt, Mike Patton, London and Icelandic choirs, and others -- is infinitely malleable and fuckin' weird, dude. Furthermore, its arsenal of sounds is as rich as the most loaded software program, as this all-a-cappella album proves.
Medúlla sounds both ancient and avant-garde, hauntingly beautiful and fascinatingly repulsive. Bolstered by pliable beatboxing from the Roots' Rahzel -- plus subtle production tweaks and brilliant arrangements from Mark Bell, Valgeir Sigurdsson and Björk herself --
Medúlla is her most compulsively listenable album, and her most challenging.
