Reykjavík Grapevine - 10.04.2015, Blaðsíða 24

ART 24 The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 4 — 2015MUSIC
Art critics from esteemed publications
have seized upon the exhibit with smug
glee, in a display of snark one-upmanship:
"A Strangely Unambitious Hotchpotch,"
"State of Emergency: Biesenbach's Björk
Show Turns MoMA Into Planet Holly-
wood," "MoMA's Embarrassing Björk
Crush," "MoMA's Björk Disaster." The
reviews are boringly consistent: the crit-
ics fawn over Björk's decades-long career
of envelope-pushing music; they pivot
around a "but" and lambaste the exhibit,
faulting the same aspects (fussy technol-
ogy, “naïve” poetry, tacky mannequins,
and a dearth of things); then, they assert
that their beef is with Klaus Biesenbach,
the exhibit's curator, and with MoMA, not
Björk; they leave off feeling embarrassed
for Björk, wishing—for her sake—that the
exhibit had never gone forward in the
first place, but ultimately writing it off as
an unfortunate goof in a career that is im-
pressive enough to survive this awkward
episode.
The problem with this sentiment—be-
yond it being totally patronising—is that,
no matter how many times they assert
that this is Biesenbach's or MoMA's em-
barrassing fuckup, they've still thrown
Björk under the bus with the lot of them.
She took part in conceiving and executing
the exhibit—but the critics downplay her
agency so they can aim at Biesenbach and
MoMA. They can't have it both ways. Björk
had a hand in it, too. And by the way, it's
really not bad.
Titled "Björk," the retrospective has
four components. A number of instru-
ments constructed for ‘Biophilia’ (2011)
play intermittently in the museum lobby.
The rest of the exhibit is housed in a tem-
porary structure in the atrium: in one room
the video for "Black Lake" from ‘Vulnicura’
(2015), plays on two facing screens; in an-
other, music videos for songs from ‘Debut’
(1993) to ‘Biophilia’ (2011) play on a loop.
The heart of the exhibit, and the subject
of critical vitriol, is "Songlines," a winding
path that guides the visitor through the
seven studio albums of Björk's solo career.
I burn off layer by layer
Before ”Black Lake” begins, a message on
each of the facing screens instructs visi-
tors to walk throughout the space during
the course of the video. No one follows
the instruction: several sit, most stand in
place. The new video, directed by frequent
collaborator Andrew Thomas Huang,
plays simultaneously on the screens. At
times there's variation between them, but
it feels like two cuts of the same thing. The
twinning does little except say, "This is dif-
ferent." Perhaps the effect would be more
palpable had visitors accepted the invita-
tion to wander, like Björk who wanders
through a dim cave in the first half of the
video. But "Black Lake," on either screen,
is good. Björk is at her rawest, singing
some of the most confessional and heart-
breaking lyrics in her oeuvre-to-date. Blue
lava erupts and oozes. She reaches the
open air and transforms, shedding layers,
suspended above an archetypal mossy
Icelandic lava field.
In the next theatre, a larger space with
ample cushions, 36 music videos play in
chronological order. I had seen them all
on my laptop screen over the years, but
seeing them on a big screen makes them
fresh and unfamiliar. If a retrospective is a
showcase of an artist's prominent works
over time, this room is the best realisation
of a retrospective in the whole exhibit. In
her music videos, Björk melds minds with
other visionaries—filmmakers, animators,
designers—to create a captivating audio-
visual universe. But the accessibility of
music videos—the fact that anyone with
computer access can see them—neces-
sitates something more. Hence, "Song-
lines."
My headphones saved my life
"Songlines" takes the visitor, equipped with
an audio guide and headphones, through
seven rooms, filled with costumes, music
video props, notebooks,
and ephemera related to
each of her solo studio
albums (excepting ‘Vul-
nicura’). The audio tour,
a lyric essay written by
Sjón and read by Mar-
grét Vilhjálmsdóttir, tells
the story of a girl who
grew up in a lava field in
a forest by the ocean, or
something like that. It's
hard to look at the ob-
jects and pay attention
to the narrative at the
same time—not to men-
tion, there are location-
triggered sound bytes
that interrupt if you step
in certain spots—but
I suspect that neither
Sjón, nor Björk, nor Bie-
senbach intended every
visitor to listen to every
word on the track. It's
poetry you can tune in
and out of and still find
meaning in. This narra-
tion has been the subject
of much critique. Some
(mostly men, by the way)
see it as further infantil-
ising Björk, whose ap-
parent naïvety and girlish tone have often
been used to distract or detract from her
artistic achievement. Those same critics
must not have been listening as the nar-
rator speaks of physical and metaphysical
penetrations, or as that purported little girl
becomes a woman, a mother, a warrior.
There's a deep sexuality, a frankness, and
a darkness that is hidden behind deliber-
ately saccharine language. Yes, there is
irony here, dry Icelandic irony; but it also
leaves room to take itself seriously. Isn't
that Björk's charm?
The things that comprise the exhibit
are, indeed, few. Much has been made of
this paucity, but I can't help but see humil-
ity in it. Björk is an artist of language and
song, and these remain front-and-centre
in the exhibit. We hear songs from her dis-
cography over headphones, and the ubiq-
uity of notebooks throughout the exhibit
allows us to see Björk toying with words
and notes on paper. There
is something to be said
about her bilingualism—
how she thinks in Icelandic
and English. Sometimes
the two languages express
the same sentiment, as
in the lyrics for "Hafnar-
lag" ("Harbour-song") to
which is appended the
English translation, "The
Anchor Song." At other
times the languages con-
verse with each other. The
marginalia demonstrate
the playful imagination
and voracious curiosity
that make Björk's work so
enchanting and challeng-
ing: "Germs are cleverer
than men," she writes in
one notebook; "Epinoia
(feminine wisdom)," she
glosses elsewhere, refer-
ring to the Gnostic notion
of a grammatically and
inherently feminine form
of Wisdom. I don't under-
stand why critics have
given these manuscripts
short shrift; here we see
the exercises and experi-
ments that led to the fin-
ished product that the very same critics
laud. Like, aren't you a little curious?
To risk all is the end all
After the notebooks, costumes are the
most prevalent artefacts. Yes, the swan
dress, okay. Most stunning is the Alexan-
der McQueen dress made entirely of jingle
bells, which Björk wore in the video for
"Who Is It?" Various props and set pieces
from music videos fill out the rest of the
exhibit—the lovemaking robots from "All
Is Full Of Love," a yak from "Wanderlust."
The selection of props and costumes is
inconsistent: some rooms (‘Volta’) are
richer, some noticeably spare (‘Biophilia’).
I breeze through in 20 minutes, dissatis-
fied, but the second time around, I take my
time, listen to the story of transformations
and beginnings and endings, and take it
for what it’s worth.
Yes, the exhibit is imperfect; but so
is Björk's music. That's kind of the point.
She has the musical acumen, voice, and
lyrical gift to create music that is digest-
ible or successful, but there's no challenge
in that. Björk's music is so memorable be-
cause you feel that she is experimenting in
the moment. Her songs never feel like the
real “thing”—each feels like one iteration of
infinitely configurable components, or one
sudden, ephemeral overflowing of lyricism
from a much deeper well. With “Song-
lines,” the "thing" is not a song, but a life,
a career. No configuration of notebooks,
costumes, music videos, or lyric essays will
represent the "thing" that is Björk's career,
but they can try to evoke that.
The exhibit is no jaw-dropping slam-
dunk, but the critics' catastrophic parlance
is empty hyperbole—an attempt to gripe
over MoMA's popularising tendencies.
This is no volcanic cataclysm; it's an exhibit
in an art museum, okay? It's an attempt to
showcase the career of a prolific, elusive
artist and experimenter whose insatiable
curiosity and collaborative work ethic have
realised an expansive world of sounds and
sights. Perhaps MoMA was not the proper
venue for the exhibit; perhaps no museum
would fit the bill. But then, what would?
None of those clever, sour critics seems to
disagree that Björk deserves the degree of
recognition that comes with an exhibit of
this stature, but neither does any describe
what a good Björk retrospective would
look like. I was happy to set aside a couple
hours to see Björk's lyrical process on pa-
per, to listen more closely to her music,
and to follow, vaguely, the transformation
of the woman who appears on the cover of
her albums. Am I participating in the death
of "high art?"
Possibly maybe go fuck yourself.
If you've read coverage of the recently opened Björk ret-
rospective at Manhattan's Museum of Modern Art, chances
are you've read a searing critique ripping the exhibit, its cura-
tor, and the museum to shreds.
Words & Photos
Eli Petzold
Don't Let
Them Do
That To You
In defense of
MoMA's "Björk"
This is no volcanic
cataclysm; it's an
exhibit in an art
museum, okay?
It's an attempt
to showcase the
career of a prolific,
elusive artist and
experimenter
whose insatiable
curiosity and col-
laborative work
ethic have realised
an expansive
world of sounds
and sights.
REVIEW