Mashing up disjointed and distorted beats, a flute orchestra, bird noises and a general woodlands vibe, Utopia sounds like the soundtrack to an elaborate piece of performance art about a walk through a wondrous, yet slightly menacing forest.
Bjork has almost completely moved on from traditional ideas of tune and melody and has pretty much done away with song structure as well. Her songs now are free-flowing, constantly evolving ideas that tumble seamlessly into each other until it ends and the next song starts.
At best this sounds thrilling and exciting and unlike anything you've ever heard before (Arisen My Senses, Courtship). But when it doesn't come together it's an endurance test of irritation as Bjork warbles tunelessly over a tasteless soup of Disneyfied chirping flutes and skittering off-time beats (Sue Me, Tabula Rasa).
To say Utopia is a challenging listen is a bit like saying a marathon is a long run. The bold and uncompromising nature of the album is to be applauded but its success hinges on your tolerance for the art and eccentricities of Bjork.
Utopia will be many people's idea of hell, but if you choose to follow Bjork along the woody path, you're in for a fascinating and scenic musical journey.
