Let them wash over you

The disappointing brilliance of Bjork; pleasure, pain and exclusive free downloads from Diamanda Galas; and a great song from the most hyped band of the moment.

By Thomas Bartlett

Sept. 22, 2004 | A few weeks ago, I promised that I'd eventually give an opinion on Björk's "Medúlla." Now I've finally fit in enough listens that I feel able to, but you've all probably read so much about this record (mostly rapturous praise) that you're sick of hearing about it, so I'll keep this short.

I think Medúlla is brilliant, one of the best records I've heard this year. I also think it's the least successful of Björk's five studio albums. My reservations are summed up by the fact that "Desired Constellation," the track with the most nonvocal sounds on it, is by far my favorite. I think she got too caught up in the concept of an all-vocal release, to the detriment of the music.

The all-vocal concept works beautifully in places, especially in the moments when it starts to recall the ghostly, windswept choruses of a Benjamin Britten opera. But there are many moments when some electronics, some instruments or a beat made by something other than a beatboxer would have strengthened the music.

But if Björk, however slightly, disappoints, two other personal idols of mine have delivered in a major way. Tom Waits and Nick Cave are two artists who I (reluctantly) had decided had started on the downward slopes of their respective careers. Waits' "Real Gone" (due Oct. 5th) and Cave's double album, "Abattoir Blues" and "Lyre of Orpheus" (due Oct. 26th), prove me to be (jubilantly) wrong. They're two of the best records of the year. I'll no doubt write more about them as they're released.

Last week I featured a song from Madeleine Peyroux's latest, "Careless Love." This week, I've got an exclusive free download, thanks to Rounder Records, of the record's first single, "Don't Wait Too Long." It's a simple, bluesy, almost imperceptibly swinging song, written by Peyroux, her producer Larry Klein, and Norah Jones' hitmaker Jesse Harris, the man who wrote the ubiquitous and (I might as well say it) brilliant "Don't Know Why." As I said, I hope she kicks Norah Jones' ass. (This download will be available only for a month.)

"I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry" and "Hastayim Yasiyorum," Diamanda Galàs, from "La Serpenta Canta" and "Defixiones: Will and Testament," respectively"
It may be hard to imagine any commonality between an operatic soprano's vocal artifice and virtuosity, the white noise scream of death metal, and a bluesman's moaning lament, but in the singing of Diamanda Galàs all three are present, often simultaneously. If that sounds a little painful, it's because it is. And it's supposed to be. Galàs' work is all about hurt, about pain and loss, and her music is unsparing in its evocation of those emotions.

Not surprisingly, it's Galàs' voice, with the four-octave range and extraordinary tonal flexibility, that gets the most attention. But her piano playing should not be ignored. It often sounds like the darkest, least syrupy part of a Keith Jarrett solo concert, and there's a strange, incantatory, frenetic energy to it. She has a deep affinity for the lowest notes on the piano and makes great use of the ominous, booming, nearly toneless sound they can produce. Sometimes Galàs takes the music so shriekingly, absurdly far overboard that it's hard not to laugh. But then -- and this is her secret -- she takes it even further, and you lose the desire, or even the ability, to laugh.

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