There are certain circles in which the name of Donna Haraway is utterly unavoidable, but – as is often the case with such figures – she’s more or less unknown outside of those rather Rosicrucian sub-societies (certainly, the people within them often exhibit a somewhat unfortunate tendency to think of themselves as latter-day illuminati!)…which is perhaps not so very surprising when one considers that the source of Haraway’s fame, such as it is, is her claim that every one of us is now a cyborg, ‘a cybernetic organism, a hybrid of machine and organism, a creature of social reality as well as a creature of fiction’.[1]

Now, this may initially seem a somewhat outlandish assertion, but the important thing to appreciate about Haraway’s argument is that it’s not at all an anti-humanist position to take (a criticism which is frequently, and almost always erroneously, levelled at any thought which falls under the general rubric of ‘postmodernism’) – although she conceives of us all as ironic, fragmented, transgressive beings, situated at (and constituted by) the point of interaction between social and bodily realities, for Haraway, our humanity is inescapable, even as we are cyborgs, and even if what we mean by ‘humanity’ has changed in the process.

So why have I bothered to devote the first two paragraphs of this review to what probably seems a fairly pointless excursion into the relatively abstruse realms of contemporary theory? Well, partly because I love ‘theory’, for all of the negative connotations summoned by that word, and partly because I hate writing to formulae - but mostly because I want to propose that the Icelandic chanteuese known across the world by her given name, Björk, is close to the perfect example of what Haraway would call a cyborg, and I wanted to be as clear as possible about what I meant by this...but before that, a brief historical digression is in order...

A lot of good things happened to music in the nineties, but the decade saw few artists as utterly vital and indefinable as Björk Gudmundsdottir. Having leapt into the global consciousness with indie outfit the Sugarcubes (and particularly the brilliant hit single “Birthday”), and then firmly establishing her position at the forefront of contemporary pop music with a lovely solo set titled, simply, Debut, Björk had set the stage for world domination (or, at least, domination of the part that matters – i.e., the music-loving part) by 1995, and Post, a delightfully dizzying concoction of quirky pop melodies, icy yet lush strings, hard beats and subtle electronic tones, and that unmistakable voice, went a long way towards taking her to those lofty heights.

I glossed over this a second ago, but one of the most striking things about Post is the manner in which it sees Björk mixing these disparate elements in a manner which never once seems contrived or self-conscious; rather, she emerges with a musical blend which is at once disarmingly simple (‘Why has no-one ever done anything like this before?’) and wonderfully, breathtakingly visionary (‘How on earth did she do that?’). In fact, Post (and Björk herself) is all about crossing boundaries, and pushing our intuitions and expectations beyond their ordinary compasses – classical, jazz, pop and electronic sensibilities all mingle and run throughout the album, and the whole emerges as something quite unique, a glimmering synthesis of its many elements.

But what really makes Post glow is the manner in which Björk’s essential ‘self-ness’ – her emotions, feelings, thoughts, dreams, wishes, fears – flow throughout this brave new world (capitalisation most deliberately omitted) in which technology and humanity are synthesised to create an entirely new creature. A different artist’s voice might well have been submerged beneath this incredible melange of sonic potpourri – but Bjork’s, both figurative and literal (for it truly is a uniquely, expressively idiosyncratic voice, capable of traversing the full range from exultant through to despairing, covering commandinguncertainhopefuldesperaterelongingresigned and just plain inscrutable in between), always comes through in unmistakable fashion.

This is most obvious in songs like “Isobel” and “Hyper-ballad”, both of which deservedly found single releases. “Isobel” is effortlessly poignant and moving, rushing gracefully forwards on the breath of a swooning ‘nana na nana’ refrain and a sweeping string arrangement (both complemented by obscurely naturalistic lyrics), while “Hyper-ballad” is, somehow, what its title promises – a beautifully shimmering, beats-driven, string-touched meditation from the top of a mountain, in which the melody, despite its disregard for conventional structure and progression, lingers and resonates long after the final, shivering strings have drawn wistfully away. It’s a brave, expressionistic, unutterable touching love song, and, in this reviewer's humble opinion, may well have been the best single of the last decade.

Actually, a large part of the reason why Post has ended up in so many music collections around the world came in the form of another single, the jazzy “It’s Oh So Quiet”, an energetic, subversive take on the traditional dance-hall number, complete with dramatic soft/loud dynamics and characteristically capricious, melodic (and, on first listening, completely unexpected) screeching. It’s completely irresistible in its wilful mixing of musical genre-conventions, but also completely uncharacteristic of the album as a whole, except in so far as it showcases Björk’s willingness to ignore those irritating, limiting norms.

In fact, the true measure of this album’s greatness can be found in its less immediate tracks. At times, the programmed beats come to the fore, as they do on the ominous, swaggering opener “Army Of Me” at others, the electronic tones which make up the cloud-bed upon which Post floats are muted, delicately insinuating themselves into the spaces between the music rather than demanding attention in their own right (this works to wonderful, dreamy effect on the album's last two numbers, “Cover Me” and “Headphones”, each of which drifts along so unobtrusively that it’s almost impossible to tell where their music stops and silence begins).

Elsewhere, Björk’s sonic palette ranges from the positively (albeit rather unbalancedly) upbeat (“Enjoy”, “I Miss You”, both of which recall the tasty pop of Debut), through to the almost reverently hushed (as in “You’ve Been Flirting Again”, which would recall nothing so much as a nursery rhyme were it not so suffused by half-hinted regret, and “Possibly Maybe”, a gently building love song, of sorts), to the plain uncharacterisable (“The Modern Things”, a perpetually off-centre pop number sung half in Icelandic, falls into this category. It’s also a clear highlight).

And of course, it must also be noted that Björk has a wonderfully apt way with words. Her lyrics are almost childish in their deceptive simplicity and non-linear flow – but do recall, as you read these words, that it’s often said that there is a wisdom in the thoughts of children…Somehow, from out of fractured sequences of near non-sequiturs, a real poetry emerges throughout Post (as in all of Björk’s work), and in the end, her vividly lyrical images often linger as long as the music they accompany – a rare feat indeed when the music is so challenging, and yet so very rich and warm.

In the years since this record was released, Björk has arguably gone on to even greater things, pushing popular music in the direction of ever further shores. But Post will always retain a certain charm for me, a charm which owes something to nostalgia, but more still to the amazing way in which the album fuses so many elements which shouldn’t work together, but somehow, indisputably, do. Perhaps this – stylistically bold, genre-crossing, and beautifully, unmistakably alive music – is the future. Perhaps – and perhaps this is indeed apt music for cyborgs. But if so, it’s also perfect music for humans, and I’ll go forward with hope and wonder in my heart, hope for the future, and wonder at what we may be capable of – for as long as Björk continues to make music this breathtakingly good, there is nothing at all to fear.


Final rating: 9.3

* * *

[1] Haraway, Donna, ‘A Manifesto for Cyborgs: Science, Technology, and Socialist Feminism in the 1980s’ (1985) 80 Socialist Review 65.

Recommended: Yes