Björk’s human nature shines through multimedia overload

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This article was published 24/10/2014 (3995 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Documenting a concert is a tricky business. So much of the experience has to do with the communal setting, the anticipation, the in-the-moment emotions music can elicit. It’s not just a combination of sight, sound and spectacle; there’s something visceral and quicksilver about a live show. Capturing that on film is, as the saying goes, like trying to catch lightning in a bottle and it’s not easily achieved.

Björk: Biophilia Live — recorded at London’s Alexandra Palace on the final show of Björk’s two-year tour — gets the lightning part down, almost right out of the gate. An electromagnetic musical Tesla coil shoots out alarming bolts, illuminating the Icelandic singer, who, with her enormous, lichen-textured fright wig, looks like a Technicolor Bride of Frankenstein.

And much of Biophilia Live is similarly electrifying. The live show is just part of a multi-disciplinary multimedia project in which Björk explores the intersections of technology and nature (the Biophilia album was released in traditional format, but also as a set of apps with an educational component), but you don’t need a degree in astrophysics to appreciate her weird and wonderful work.

The film opens with the plummy tones of Sir David Attenborough talking about the meaning of biophilia — the love of life and the living world — and the show does nod to nature documentaries (though the use of time-lapse footage of mushrooms growing or DNA sequences or animated renditions of sea anemones is a bit been-there, seen-that, like snippets of an art-school film from 1980).

Perhaps they work better in a live setting, but in any case, Björk doesn’t need the multimedia elements to command attention. Clad in a bumpy, stiff white dress that looks one part mother-of-pearl, one part ligament, she cuts a striking figure — a bit daffy, with that wig and blue tights that catch the light like a deep-sea creature, but her voice, with its peculiar diction and unexpected power, is always utterly compelling.

With backing from the 24-member all-female Icelandic choir Graduale Nobile, whose pure vocal harmonies lend a very Nordic feel to the proceedings, Björk takes us through the Biophilia album (plus a couple of other songs, including Isobel and Possibly Maybe). She’s accompanied by two musicians playing an array of fascinating instruments, including “gravity harps” of her own devising, set on swinging pendulums; the Hang, a kind of steel drum; and a midi-controlled celeste.

And despite the arty overtones, the show remains endearingly human: there’s plenty of whimsy and exuberance. When the choir dances maniacally — as when Crystalline erupts into a drum ‘n’ bass party track — it’s more about unbridled enthusiasm than choreography; a welcome departure from the usual slick back-up singer/dancers who accompany today’s divas.

However, when you’re at a live show, it’s possible to bask in the total experience or focus on a detail. In a concert film, the director dictates your gaze — and sometimes we’d rather not explore dendrites or watch lava erupt (two of the more trite multimedia projections); occasionally we’re made aware that perhaps the choir’s sack-like sparkly outfits were not meant to be viewed from so close up.

As for the “you are there” sensation, Biophilia Live is hit-or-miss. The in-the-round stage is rarely filmed from a distance, so it’s hard to see what the audience is seeing or get a full picture of the setup, and the camera doesn’t dwell long enough on Björk’s expressive face. In lieu of that kind of immersion, it might have been nice to have some backstage insights, but that clearly isn’t part of the singer-artist’s intent.

This is not Björk’s The Last Waltz, but local fans who might never get the chance to see her perform live may find Biophilia the next best thing.

jill.wilson@freepress.mb.ca