Arctic Role

Interview by Laura Lee Davies

Pictures links...

Photography by Lorenzo Agius

Credits to Gideon Overhead

timeout1.jpg

This is a cropped picture of Bjork's face against a big silver microphone and is taken from the front cover.
(Size: 170039 Dim: 716x710 , JPEG format, ? bit B&W) Download from ftp.uwp.edu

timeout2.jpg

This is two waist length pictures of bjork standing with the silver microphone. Her face has a different expression in each.
(Size: 121746 Dim: 620x523 , JPEG format, ? bit color) Download from ftp.uwp.edu

timeout3.jpg

These are essentaily the same, but Bjork has different expressions again.
(Size: 113169 Dim: 604x512 , JPEG format, ? bit color) Download from ftp.uwp.edu

ARCTIC ROLE

Björk has flu. It wouldn't matter if she

wasn't in the middle of a photo-shoot,

hardly able to leave the box of tissues

alone, and if she didn't have to be on a

plane to New York this afternoon to 'do' Roll-

ing Stone. But when your first major solo al-

bum ('Debut') unexpectedly goes top three in

the charts, you don't have time for clogged

sinuses and runny noses. Still, on the coldest

day of the summer, she turns up at the studios

in a long, shiny evening dress and an extreme-

ly fluffy bolero, game for anything.

  For those who never thought Sugarcubes

were anything more than something sweet

you gave up for Lent, and those who lost touch

with the Icelandic indie-pop band when the

promise of their first few enchanting singles

got lost in three on the whole rather disap-

pointing rock albums, the appearance of

Björk's little face in not just the music press

but Vogue as well, and her stunning new

dance-pop sound on television and even Radio

4's 'Woman's Hour', might need some explain-

ing. It comes as a bit of a shock to Björk

herself.

  'I'm very surprised by the success of the

album,' she manages to say between the

sneezes and sniffles. 'I thought this album was

kind of withdrawn, sort of backwards a bit'

She had rather expected her own individual

project (her first solo album outside Iceland) to

get even less of the red-carpet treatment than

the Sugarcubes' minor-league offerings had.

  Instead, acclaim has been almost unani-

mous. Like Sade's first album, and kd lang's

latest, 'Debut' is the kind of record that will

eventually find itself in almost everyone's liv-

ing room. It's a magical work of superb musi-

cianship and inspired lyricism. It's going to be

one of those you-must-give-me-the-recipe al-

bums - the kind of tip you pick up round at

someone else's house, rather than the hype

you're force-fed from poster campaigns. Natu-

rally enough, Björk is fiercely proud of 'Debut',

but has mixed feelings about its runaway suc-

cess. She dismisses it simply as something she

had to do before she died ('kind of thing').

  'It was now or never. I owed people things,'

she continues in her trilling Arctic tones, after

another cracking blow on her tissue. 'I led a

very happy life in Iceland. I was a housewife,

working casual jobs, went on tour once in a

while with the Sugarcubes (which was a bit of

a joke, really, because we didn't really take

ourselves seriously). I could've quite happily

lived like that forever after. And after a hard

day's work, you kinda sit down, have a glass

of red wine, put your favourite tape on, read a

brilliant book or see a brilliant film that saves

your life, y'know? And all those people who've

gone out of their way to make those things-

like the perfect cheese, or the comfortable chair

- you just sit there and enjoy it all. And I

think it's not fair. You kind of owe it to the

world to try once and do what you're best at,

whether it's shoe-making, cookie-baking, elec-

tricity, or singing.'

  So the 27-year-old singer snapped out of her

Icelandic way of life, moved to London with

her seven-year-old son Sindri and got down to

making 'Debut'. A month after the album's

release, with the second single and a support

slot to U2 imminent, the accolades are still

coming. 'Of course I'm very honoured, espe-

cially because it was my own little album of

just the things I like. But sometimes you so

badly want something else and you need to get

that first. Say it's a number, like 5.7, and you're

at 1.2, then suddenly you get 9.8 and you

wanna get that 5.7. Everyone thinks you're

really ungrateful, 'cos you got 9.8 and you

should be very happy, but it's a bit tricky.'

  Björk has a very clear, level-headed way of

looking at things, even if her point of view is

90 degrees off centre from the mainstream.

The product of a hippy upbringing in rural

Iceland; she puts her eclectic taste in music,

film and books down to a privileged position

passing between parents, grandparents and

school, where everyone believed their ideas

were most definitely the right ones, 'and every-

one else were idiots'.

  Even at home people used to think Björk

looked 'a bit foreign'; in England her accent,

and her features, set her apart again, but it's

something she's used to. She might have given

up using her surname (Guðmundsdóttir) be-

cause it saves a lot of time and trouble correct-

ing people, but her patience with those who

have tagged her (however affectionately) an

Icelandic pixie is saintly. It's fair enough that a

childhood living in purple-painted apartments

might make great copy, but there has been a dis-

tinct hint of patronisation - 'good for a

foreign person' - about the rave reviews.

  'I think that's more a British than an Ameri-

can thing. Americans tend to like things that

are not what they see every day, they're even a

bit addicted to it - their Minnie Mouses, Don-

ald Ducks, "Star Wars". But the British are

more conservative. They've also got this Impe-

rialist way of thinking. It's just very hard to

explain to a British person, I've got a British

boyfriend and he kind of almost doesn't get it

when I explain. It's like sexism, it's so deep

that you don't realise it, and the biggest sex-

ists, they are the ones who think they're not.

It's the same with British people. They're so

sure that they're much better, they don't even

think about it. They tend to treat other people

like rarities, like something you should keep

in a box and put in a museum. They don't deal

with them as equals with feelings. You can see

that a lot in their films, how they portray Indi-

ans and Chinese people. It's kind of like some-

thing pretty to look at and then throw away.

An object, like a rhino's skull from Africa.

That manifests itself in the rock business as

well, you know. They take someone like Ofra

Haza... I guess I've been caught up in that

as well.'

  Björk does, however, feel a responsibility to

Iceland, in the light of this unanticipated ap-

reciation. The British

success of her album is the biggest news back

home since an Icelandic girl won several med-

als at the disabled Olympics many years ago.

'It's a bit like Wales. If they won a gold medal

in the Olympics, everybody would go drunk

for a month.'

  Still, Björk was rather hoping this piece of

her history would be the kind of artefact some-

one might find at the back of a second-hand

record shop in ten years' time, take home, and.

be pleasantly surprised by. As it turns out,

she's made the kind of sophisticated pop, soul,

jazz and dance collaboration that someone like

Lisa Stansfield would probably give her broad

Rochdale accent for. Björk shuffles on the sofa,

embarrassed, and snuffles into her disintegrat-

ing hanky.

  'I've always been very anti-style. Music has

got nothing to do with style, it's a question of

sincerity. So I wanted to make it irrelevant

what style was used. It's just like a jumper and

a pair of trousers. When you meet a person,

you try to find out what the person is about.

What she's wearing doesn't matter. The songs

were what mattered, and they could have any-

thing they wanted. It didn't matter if they

needed a 20-piece brass orchestra from Bom-

bay, or a trombone player from Kent. Journal-

ists see all these different styles as a statement,

but why I was doing it was to make that invisi-

ble, to make the songs more visible.'

  Björk might be somewhat bemused by the

faith her record company (One Little Iildian)

has put in her voice, and the attention being

paid to her record, but at least she now has the

best producers and musicians at her disposal.

She worked closely on the album with Nellee

Hooper (who was heavily involved in creating

the highly influential Soul II Soul sound), long-

time co-conspirator Graham Massey of 808

State, and a host of top instrumentalists like

Talvin Singh, and vocalist Jhelisa Anderson

(oft associated with The Shamen). Mick

Hucknall has recorded a remix of her new sin-

gle, the enchanting ballad `Venus As A Boy',

and Annie Lennox video director Sophie

Mueller has produced the promo for it. It's the

one perk of the job that makes the promotional

hassle and bouts of illness worthwhile. Her

latest treat is the impressive band line-up she's

rehearsing to tour with. 'I've got seven people,

and each one is like a treasure on its own.'

  She might look 12 years old (in fact, she'd

already recorded her first album by that

time), but her wide knowledge of jazz and

blues, and her involvement with the current

club scene are the reasons her album is so

good; it's not some cobbled-together record

company gimmick to relaunch her voice.

  'There are a lot of really good things going

on in England. Especially the generation of 18-

to 23-year-olds. They're very enthusiastic,

very positive - musically, and attitude-wise

as well. It's not muso.' She blows her nose and

from somewhere between her nostrils and the

last scrap of dry tissue, it sounds like some-

one's grinding some very hard nuts. `Before

me were the Woodstock generation. Their

roots were in rhythm and blues. My generation

have our roots in jazz. Not that we're actually

playing jazz, but it's just kind of Lego - build-

ing blocks we get to make things out of. Like,

chord-wise, musically, that's definitely where I

come from. There are a lot of people of my

generation making jazzy-house, jazzy-punk,

jazzy-techno, whatever. A lot of these jazzy,

funky sort of people are playing in London,

like, really live. A lot of people who were play-

ing when I was brought up were misunder-

standing jazz, in an academic way. They just

thought jazz was like a formula, which is rub-

bish. Young people now are playing jazz when

they don't even know a note, 'cos they like the

sounds, 'cos it's in their blood.'

  Björk doesn't go clubbing every night, but

she keeps in touch with the scene. She puts it

down to her never-ending search for the per-

fect song to save her day. 'I don't really give a

fuck where that song comes from. But I don't

think the DJs are taking as many risks, they're

playing safe 'cos there's so much competition.

Nowadays you have to wait till seven o'clock

in the morning, when the DJs stop playing for

other people, and start playing for themselves.

98 per cent of music is crap, but you have to

try 98 times, so the ninety-ninth time it works.'

  Three years ago she recorded an album of

jazz standards back home, and put down the

Jimmy Van Heusen classic, `Like Someone In

Love' - in her own soaring style - for this

album. Although her voice always did seem

wasted on indie music - no matter how out-

landish the Sugarcubes' version of that was -

no one could've expected the classic sound she

has produced for this album. Its best songs -

the new single, and the haunting 'Come To Me'

- are the most recently written, which bodes

well for a healthy future.

  In the meantime, Björk is settling into her

Little Venice home with son and boyfriend.

She decided to move to London when her son

started school in Iceland last autumn. Björk

was used to being able to take her son with her

(he'd been on tour with the Sugarcubes since

he was one), and suddenly the separation

whenever she had to go away on business was

too much. She decided to make a home in a

place where she could work and he could go to

school. 'Kids are so excellent,' she laughs. 'He

has been the bravest of it all, and he's right

into it. His English is better than mine!

  'I haven't really got into it yet. I moved here

in January and I've just been so busy since. I'll

probably wake up in a year's time. Obviously I

know the luxuries - coming from a small

village in such an isolated country, where it

takes you a month to earn an aeroplane ticket

away - of being able to see whatever film you

want, eat every food, buy any book or record.

But especially in my job, I can find almost any

musicians in the world, 'cos it's such a meeting

point. That's what I enjoy more than the fact

that it's British, or English. I still haven't really

gotten into that. I think it's because the culture

is just so different from my character - it's

conservative, traditional, all these cliches. I'm

kind of the opposite: I like things that are

spontaneous, unplanned, raw, risky, instinc-

tive, not brainy.' She smiles. 'That sounds

more like Venezuela, doesn't it?'

'Debut' is out on One Little Indian Records.

'Venus As A Boy' is out Aug 23. She plays the

Forum on Aug 19, and supports U2 at Wem-

bley Stadium, Aug 21.