Does this annoy the hell out of you? My deep love for Björk extends even as far as show tunes and ludicrous Busby Berkeley videos. Her dancing’s woeful, but she’s a game girl.
As is the fickle public’s wont, this became her biggest hit, as out of place as it is. I propped Junior up on the back of the smaller sofa so she could bathe in the music and watch the pretty lights on the mixer. Mesmerised. There was still some debate about where the song was coming from – the CD racks? The record decks? Another dimension? Hell, maybe the speakers? Until she susses it out, I think my stereo’s safe.
Björk’s odd mixture of Icelandic, cockney and Mancunian sounds even more bizarre on this record. The brass stabs failed to make Junior jump despite our fears, but she took the shushes to heart.